Vigo is dying. The city of lights is going out

By Álvaro J. Díaz-Mella

A few days ago, I stood in front of a shop window in downtown Vigo. In the foreground was a sleek, modern stroller, perfectly illuminated. For a moment, I thought it was for babies. It wasn't. It was for pets, and next to it was a young man, completely alone, pushing his dog in the stroller. That scene stayed with me for days. Because, unintentionally, it summed up quite well something that's starting to be felt in the city: it's becoming increasingly difficult to build a normal life here.

Not so long ago, the streets presented a different picture. A couple pushing a baby stroller, the three of them together, seemed natural, almost automatic. Today, all that is starting to feel distant. Today, you see fewer children and more dogs in many of Vigo's parks.

Many young people in their early twenties talk about moving out as if it were something almost impossible. When they reach thirty, the reality is worse. Couples living in increasingly smaller apartments because they can't afford anything else, people with stable jobs unable to save, parents financially supporting adult children, retired grandparents providing constant support. Many people live permanently on the edge.

Meanwhile, the City Council flaunts millions in surplus funds, record-breaking budgets, and financial stability as great achievements. The contradiction is now obvious: the Vigo City Council has money. The average citizen has less and less.

Demographics confirm it mercilessly. In 2024, only 1,468 babies were born in Vigo, and 3,034 people died. In sixteen years, the birth rate has been reduced by almost half. Vigo survives thanks to the arrival of people from elsewhere, because on its own it no longer generates enough generational replacement.

Everything accumulates. The price of housing, salaries that don't keep up, rising taxes, the cost of buying or renting, and the difficulty of starting one's own project without constantly worrying about making ends meet. A profound collective weariness is setting in, the feeling that securing a future with some peace of mind has become an obstacle course.

The City Council focuses more on projecting an image to the outside world than on making life easier for its residents. It's unsettling to see how it's building so many massive playgrounds while fewer babies are being born each year.

Even so, it still has potential: industry, a port, vibrant neighborhoods, a strong identity, and economic capacity. To reverse this trend, real political will is needed: more land and affordable housing for young people, strong and stable tax incentives for those who start families here, effective work-life balance measures, and prioritizing the daily lives of residents over the spectacle enjoyed by outsiders. It's about ceasing to treat as a luxury what was once simply commonplace.

A city that stops renewing itself generationally loses something essential. In the end, it's not measured solely by its lights or its healthy finances, but by whether its young people can imagine living there without giving up almost everything.

Cities rarely die suddenly. They fade away slowly, almost silently, when they cease to be places worth putting down roots in. And today, for many, it seems easier to take care of a pet than to raise a family. As long as that equation remains unchanged, the numbers will continue to tell the same story.

Álvaro J. Díaz-Mella. In Vigo, June 2026.

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Álvaro J. Díaz-Mella is a happily retired man from Vigo who is already gray-haired and has too many opinions about what he sees in our imperfect society.

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Translation by Elentir. Photo: Elentir.