The Broken Hopes of a Spanish Generation

Lorena Dominguez, 23, is a former automobile worker who lost her job when the local Peugeot-Citroen car plant shut down in her home town of Vigo, Spain

Pep Bonet / Noor Images for TIME

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Blue-Collar Blues
The crisis has hurt 20-somethings without college degrees even more. In Vigo's unemployment office, people of all ages and backgrounds come by to get the stamp that allows them to receive unemployment payments, but it's hard not to miss the heavy predominance of blue-collar workers under 30. Manuel Bao, 24, has worked as an electrician since he was 18 — his contracts were never permanent but there was enough work to keep him busy. Now that the construction industry has gone bust, he's out of work — and about to run out of unemployment benefits as well. "Right now, I'm dependent on my mother," he says ruefully. In the hopes of finding a stable job, Bao is preparing to take the exam that would allow him to become a security guard. " If that doesn't work," he says, "I guess I'll just go from job to job and try to survive."

But it's not only unemployment that disillusions Spain's young. Ivan, who does not want his last name used, actually has a job: he starts his days at 4 a.m. on Vigo's docks, hauling fish for his parents' wholesale business. But these days, he and his family have a hard time getting to the end of the month. Which is why, he says, he now trafficks drugs. That's not so unusual in a port known as a major point of entry for cocaine, but there is something about the nonchalance with which Ivan confesses it that underscores his despair. Asked if he expects to surpass his parents' standard of living, he laughs bitterly. "I don't have expectations of surpassing them. I don't have expectations of anything." (See pictures of Spanish truckers on strike.)

Like 53% of all Spaniards between the ages of 18 and 35, Ivan still lives with his parents. "We all have the expectation that our children will become independent and leave home," says sociologist Saco. "When they don't it's frustrating for the parents, too." Having a 30-year-old around the house — especially if that 30-year-old needs help with her phone bills — generates its own forms of conflict and has fueled domestic violence.

In Vigo, the local government has attempted to make it easier for young people to start lives of their own by building subsidized housing. Located at the side of the freeway, the Navía development consists of brightly colored high-rises, many of them still under construction. There are a few shops and cafés, and lots of families with young children to fill the new playground. One restaurant, sensitive to financial constrictions, offers meals — three courses, plus wine and coffee — for €5 ($6.50).

Belén Ortíz, a hairstylist, lives with her husband Jesús in one of the new apartments. Jesús has a steady job as a civil servant, and the couple's mortgage, thanks to the government's help, is just €400 ($520) a month. But her sense of dread is palpable. "We used to have 10 clients a day," she says of the salon where she works. "Now I can go from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. without a single customer. Do you know what it's like to sit around all day, just hoping that someone will walk through the door?"

Young, Educated, Frustrated
Some young Europeans are growing tired of waiting. Last year, a police shooting of a 15-year-old boy in Athens triggered weeks of riots by Greek youth. Some commentators attributed the eruption to anarchist groups, but, as elsewhere in Europe, structural flaws are just as much to blame. "In Greece, all flexibility in the labor market comes from young workers and the evolution of their wages is completely flat, while it continues to rise for people in their 40s or 50s," explains Philippe Askenazy, researcher at the Paris School of Economics. "The Greek problem stemmed from the fact that prospects for young people are more negative than for their parents." (See pictures of the riots in Greece.")

While youth unemployment across the E.U. is significantly higher (17% for those 25 and under) than in the general population (7.6%), some countries are more vulnerable than others. German companies tend to hire workers at an early age; French and Spanish firms prefer temporary contracts to get around sometimes draconian labor laws. "The social crisis is more pronounced [in France and Spain] because their citizens believe policy should create more employment. But in a downturn, it leads to a rapid increase in just the opposite," says Askenazy.

That, in turn, fuels the profound sense of frustration and hopelessness shared by millions of young Europeans as the recession tightens. In some ways, the good years have made things worse. Lorena Domínguez, the unemployed automobile worker in Vigo, never had a permanent contract at Citroën, but there were years when she was earning good money, and she expected that the firm would offer her a permanent contract one day. The future seemed full of promise and rising living standards. Now she spends her time looking for work waiting tables, selling insurance, cleaning offices. "My generation was born into an era of abundance," she says. "I guess our expectations were just too high."

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