Spain’s Births Drop 100,000 Below 1939 Levels

The demographic winter: 100,000 fewer births than in 1939

One line in the National Statistics Institute (INE) data is hard to read without rubbing your eyes. In 1939, with Spain emerging from a civil war, 25.5 million inhabitants, and a shattered economy, 419,800 children were born. In 2016, with 20 million more inhabitants and decades of peace, births to mothers born in Spain totaled 312,898. That is 107,000 fewer. The worst demographic year of the last century beats the present by a landslide. The so-called demographic winter is not a dinner-table metaphor: it is a series of numbers pointing in the same direction for four decades.

The figures: from 635,000 births to 372,777

The series starts long before the conflict. In 1858, with just 15 million inhabitants, 546,000 children were already born; in 1861, it exceeded 611,000. Between that date and 1980, there was hardly a single year below the 600,000 barrier. After the 1939 dip—fewer than 420,000 births—fertility recovered quickly: in 1945, over 600,000 were reached again, and it stayed there until 1979, the last year above that figure.

From then on, a near-continuous two-decade decline hit bottom in 1996, with just 362,626 births. Then came an illusion: in 2008, Spain exceeded half a million births again, with 519,779, something not seen since 1982. That same year, the crisis erupted, and many immigrants left the country. Eight years of declines later, 2016 closed with 410,583 births, and 2018 did so with 372,777, the lowest figure in twenty years. The first half of 2019 fell an additional 6.2%, roughly 30,000 fewer births than the previous year.

How many births are to foreign mothers

The entire debate on the number of births hides a nuance that alters the diagnosis. Eurostat broke down 2016 data, which the INE does not offer in long series: of every hundred children born in Spain, 23 had a mother born abroad. In the first half of 2019, that percentage already reached 21% and was still rising. In the 1940s to 1970s, no comparable statistics exist, but it can be assumed that almost all births were to Spanish mothers.

From this comes the comparison that chills the blood. If we isolate mothers born in Spain, the number drops below 313,000 per year, more than 100,000 below the worst year of the Civil War. The contribution of immigration softens the decline but does not reverse it. It also explains why the 2008 crisis hit the statistics so hard: not only did Spanish women have fewer children, but many potential mothers were no longer in the country.

Why are fewer children born in Spain?

The explanations pile up, and none is exclusive. One trend points to precarity and the cost of living: those without stable employment or affordable housing do not dare to raise children. Another points to a change in values, to a society that prioritizes comfort and immediate leisure, arguing that raising a child requires an effort that has become unpopular.

There is also a structural reading that often stays out of headlines. In 1939, the economy was agricultural, and children were labor that helped from a young age; today, the service sector rules, and automation reduces the need for hands. Some point to Japan, which has strongly invested in technology rather than fertility promotion, to understand that it is not just a Spanish problem: Italy, Greece, and Portugal are heading in the same direction.

Pensions: 37 million foreigners needed to sustain the system

The issue ceases to be abstract when looking at the pyramid. The Bank of Spain calculated that approximately 37 million foreigners would be needed to maintain pensions under the current demographic scheme. The same institution advocates extending the retirement age. The arithmetic is stubborn: without replacement in the labor market, financing benefits becomes an impossible mission.

In parallel, the total population rises even as fewer children are born. It is the combined effect of increasing mortality and the arrival of immigrants, a phenomenon that some read as evidence of deliberate replacement. This thesis lacks empirical backing, but it serves as fuel on social media and in press comments.

Fertility as a political battlefield

The issue has entered politics without visible results. A motion in the Parliament requesting subsidies to boost fertility only for Spaniards was rejected, including eliminating the Ministry of Equality and Feminism. Rivera proposed lowering the Personal Income Tax (IRPF) by 60% in municipalities with fewer than 5,000 inhabitants. And a platform announced a lawsuit against all members of Congress for failing to halt the collapse.

Fertility has ended up in the cultural ring. One part of the discourse blames divorce laws, abortion, and equality policies; in this debate, the figure of nearly 100,000 abortions in 2016 is cited, of which only 6% were due to risk to the mother. Another part responds that the problem is material: lack of future, low salaries, unaffordable rents. No figure closes the debate, and that too is a fact.

“70% of 35-year-old women have no children”

Among the most cited statistics is one that rarely appears on the front page: according to the data used in this debate, 70% of 35-year-old women in Spain have no children. Behind this are cases told at any family meal: families of six siblings reduced to a single descendant, entire groups of forty-year-old friends with no children among them, a depopulated Spain organizing to demand a state pact for territorial rebalancing.

Births will continue to fall until something changes at the root. Nobody knows exactly what. And while diagnoses fight each other, the INE continues to add rows to the table.