Reclaiming the city means taking it back from finance, not blaming people like us
I can understand the anger, especially in neighborhoods like Roma Norte or Condesa in Mexico City, Cabanyal or Russafa in València, or Gòtic or Barceloneta in Barcelona, where locals are being priced out, traditional shops are closing, and city life is increasingly shaped around the expectations of short-term visitors. And in places like Torrevieja or s’Arenal in Palma, where tourism has long been the dominant industry, the challenge lies not in resisting gentrification but in rethinking dependence on a single economic model.
Cities are becoming unaffordable even in places where tourism plays a minor role, and where the average tourist is poorer than the average tax-paying resident. From San Francisco to Singapore, Berlin to Lagos, what connects these cities is not their culture but the fact that urban space has been turned into a financial asset, not a human right.
In Spain, the picture is especially complex. Yes, global investment funds are part of the problem. But so are local dynamics. Around 50 % of landlords are small property owners; only 15 % are large-scale investors or institutional funds. In 2023 alone, over 306,000 tourist rentals were registered in Spain, a 16.4 % increase from the previous year. These aren’t faceless corporations. Many are your neighbors, your friends, your cousins.
In Mexico City, a similar dynamic is unfolding. As of 2025, there are approximately 24,300 active Airbnb listings, with nearly 70 % offering entire homes. In neighborhoods like Roma Norte and Condesa, short-term rentals account for as many as 1 in 10 homes. That’s a locally driven phenomenon too: your neighbor who put up their spare flat, a couple of apartments converted across the street, landlords not knowing how their actions feed displacement.
These cases from both countries show that the issue isn’t just global funds. It’s individual actors embedded in the local fabric, often unwittingly accelerating housing exclusion.
At the same time, we must recognize that tourism is both a common investment strategy and a deeply embedded part of modern life. The culture of leisure is a hard-won right. Studies show that planning and enjoying a holiday reduces stress, strengthens family bonds, and improves overall well-being. Tourism, for many, is a necessity, not a luxury.
So we must ask ourselves: what’s the alternative? Can we imagine Torrevieja producing semiconductors? Or turning Palma’s beach strip into a global hub for art restoration? Perhaps Benidorm as the European capital of quantum computing? Tulum as a centre for marine biotech? Or Playa de las Américas in Tenerife reinvented as a platform for cooperative elder care? These may sound far-fetched, but they expose the narrowness of our current models. Economic alternatives are rarely simple, but they’re not impossible. What we cannot do is tear down the “tourist industry” without a concrete strategy for transformation.
We can’t rely on tourism alone. A true transition means investing in territorially rooted, high-value sectors: culture, education, research, caregiving, bioeconomy, renewable energy, sustainable food systems. Here’s where the concept of related diversification comes in: rather than breaking with what exists, we evolve it. For example, by connecting tourism with cultural heritage, traditional crafts, or local scientific and educational ecosystems. The goal isn’t to replace tourism, but to integrate it into a richer, more resilient economy.
This shift demands long-term public policies, professional training, and a territorial lens. But it also requires grassroots investment through cooperatives, social enterprises, and new forms of sustainable, participatory hospitality.
Toward productive and community-led investment
We need to expand investment channels beyond the stock market or real estate speculation. Tools like community land trusts, neighborhood bonds, and housing cooperatives enable residents to invest directly in their neighborhoods, enhancing affordability, promoting urban regeneration, and reinforcing social cohesion. These are not utopian ideals. They respond to a widespread and frustrated desire to improve the places we live in. They turn negative externalities into shared responsibility and collective benefit.
Definancialising the city
To reclaim our cities, we must reverse urban financialisation. Housing should be a place to live, not a vehicle for profit. We need legislation that protects primary residences and family housing, while taxing short-term rentals and speculative holdings in proportion to their real impact on local ecosystems.
But housing is just one piece. We must also defund other urban assets that have become cash cows: land, infrastructure, even public amenities. Cities must not become futures markets. They are, or should be, collective projects built for shared well-being and long-term sustainability.
The tourist is not the enemy
The tourist is not the problem. They’re a symptom of a broader urban and economic model that turns cities into financial commodities. And not just for a privileged few. Many locals take part in this logic, hoping for returns, only to eventually suffer the consequences.
If we want to defend the right to live in the city, we must stop symbolically shooting at those just passing through. Instead, we should transform the structures that stay: access, governance, and the very way we understand and share urban life.
→ A version of this article was originally published in Catalan in eldiario.es
