Gabriela was born and raised in Condesa, a leafy central district of Mexico City. “It was a very nice, communal life,” the 36-year-old historian recalls, explaining how her family shared a car, walked to each other’s homes and knew all the shopkeepers. But, after the pandemic, the area changed fast. First, the empty next-door building was bought and renovated by an American. Then her local bakery was driven out, the locksmith moved away, and a café where workers had lunch was replaced by a fancy pizzeria and coffee shop. “It’s like Condesa has become just another neighbourhood of Manhattan,” Gabriela says.
Eventually, this surging tide of gentrification engulfed Gabriela. Two months ago, she had to move from Condesa to another flat, about five kilometres away across the capital’s massive urban sprawl. “They told me they would not renew my lease because the owner wanted to tear down the building. I imagine they are going to build a new building — and if they follow the other buildings on the street, they will build luxury apartments or Airbnbs to be used by foreigners.”
Gabriela, who has studied in the United States, understands why many Americans might want to flee their car-oriented and often-costly cities. But she admits to anger at seeing so many gringos — often working remotely from their new homes — take over her native district. “Mexico prides itself on being very welcoming but it’s impossible to compete with American salaries,” she says. “Of course it is fantastic when you can live a much more affordable life. But when I was a kid, the only foreigners who came to Mexico City were people interested in our culture since it was deemed the most dangerous and polluted city in the world. Now so many of them come here, but they are not interested in our country.”
Such complaints are far from unusual — and laced with cruel irony at a time when Mexicans north of the border are being hunted down, detained and deported. Visiting Mexico City early last year, I was amazed to hear so many American accents in its most prosperous enclaves. Friends told me there was growing fury over an “invasion” that exploded after the pandemic, when the nation had comparatively loose restrictions. Anti-gringo graffiti and stickers began appearing. Then came three demonstrations over the summer in Condesa, culminating with protesters attacking boutiques, cars, coffee shops and taco restaurants aimed at tourists. Some chanted “Fuera Gringo!” (Gringos Out!); others held signs saying things like “Gentrification is colonisation!” and “Learn Spanish, dog”.
Mexico’s president, Claudia Sheinbaum — who is facing fresh demonstrations over corruption following the murder of a popular mayor — quickly condemned the display of xenophobia. And Mexico City is far from the only place to face protests over rapid gentrification that pitches rich against poor, local against newcomer, localism against a globalisation. There have been similar complaints in other tourist hotspots where short-term lets inflame such issues. Last month, for instance, I was investigating this issue in Lisbon, where the typical price for a home has surged to 21 times median household income — making it the least affordable European capital for local people.
The shift in Mexico City’s image can be traced to 2016, when The New York Times unexpectedly labelled it the world’s best place to visit. The first substantial wave of gringos — a word which in Mexico refers specifically to Americans — arrived in central areas like Condesa, Polanco and Roma the following year. A pair of natural disasters inflamed the influx. First, in 2017, the city was struck by an earthquake, leaving homes damaged. Many local families moved out and house prices fell. Then numbers soared during the pandemic — and gentrification started to ripple into adjacent districts.
In Condesa, perhaps one in five homes are now an Airbnb or other tourist house. And while there is limited data on numbers of foreign residents — many use tourist visas — last year 56% more temporary-residency permits were issued to Americans in Mexico City than five years earlier (though foreigners make up a tiny minority of Mexico City’s 9.2 million people). All this in a city that saw the lowest rate of new house-building of any Mexican state over the last decade, notwithstanding its Left-wing leadership.
These are familiar concerns in many cities: an influx of foreigners seeking fun, freedom and fewer financial shackles, before becoming a focal point for generational fury over housing inadequacies and political ineptitude. Yet while the new arrivals have put pressure on costs — property prices have risen eightfold in under two decades in prosperous Polanco — the tensions are also cultural. It was no coincidence that the initial protest took place on 4 July: US Independence Day. Behind the volley of demands for rent controls, or effective regulation of short-term lets, locals are angry over the arrogance of many Americans in their city. “When I was in Condesa, the people who lived there spoke Spanish,” says Vanessa Gonzales, 49, a hairdresser driven out last year after her salon’s landlord demanded a near-tripling of rent. “Now it’s all English, English, English. We’re Mexican but you go to the restaurants and menus are in English.”
When Gonzales first opened a salon near her home in Condesa 15 years ago, almost all her clients lived in the district; now barely one in 10 remain. And, as she explains, many Mexicans “do not love American people” for economic, religious or historical reasons — a feeling intensified when strutting newcomers refuse to respect their culture. Fernando, a taco seller working with his two nieces, tells me that gringos complained about the smell of his food, the umbrellas over his stall and even how he clogs up the street. “They’re not even from here,” he says, “and they complain that this commerce should not be here.”
There are even more brazen examples too. A young American model sparked outrage last year after posting on Instagram that people should stop giving money to traditional street musicians playing automated organs since they were “polluting with their noise.” Another American in Condesa — a long-term resident married to a Mexican man and running an Airbnb in their home — tells me she was horrified to hear a group of “vile” young Americans discuss their cocaine use recently while standing in the queue at her local bakery. “This was so incredibly offensive in a country that has been ravaged by drug violence,” she says. “Although most guests at our Airbnb have been very pleasant, it sums up the arrogance of some of the people coming here.”
Fernando the taco seller and his nieces. Credit: Ian Birrell.
This seems to be the key issue — along with corrosive suspicions that rich foreigners get favourable treatment in their city. One podcast featured someone who spoke about trying to make a booking at a popular restaurant in Spanish and being told there was no room: only to get an English-speaking friend to call back and be told there was an available table. There are even scandalous claims that some restaurants have toned down the heat in their salsas.
True or false, there is a unique edge to this Mexican outrage at gentrification, since it comes at a time when the White House has dispatched controversial federal enforcement units to find and deport undocumented migrants. “Whenever I open YouTube I get this fucking Pam Bondi ad where she says don’t come to the United States illegally because we will catch you,” says Sebastian Rojas, a musician who was born in Condesa, but who moved after being “strangled” by high rents. “At the same time you see all these gringos living like kings and enjoying the beauty of the best parts of our city.”
“You see all these gringos living like kings and enjoying the beauty of the best parts of our city.”
Emilio Guerrero Alexander, a filmmaker, makes a similar point in response to claims that Americans are entitled to gentrify his city when millions of Mexicans go to the US. “This is not a two-way street,” he says. “Some people are unlucky to have been born in areas where there is lots of criminal activity and murders so they go north to escape this misery. They just want safety and a better life for their families. But the Americans coming to Mexico City are people who realised — mostly during the pandemic — they will be richer here and buy more with their dollars… They are coming to have fun and don’t even try to get into our culture. Some do — but sadly it is just a minority.”
Even some Americans tell me they supported the protests against them. “It makes sense that people are upset,” says Shaynn, a charity worker who has lived in the city for four years. “I do my best to be conscious about where I spend my money, the kind of housing I live in, how I pay or hire people — but my being here definitely has a negative impact, which is something I grapple with. Anyone earning in a foreign currency, especially dollars, and spending in pesos negatively impacts on people living here by increasing prices.”
Such ambiguities are also apparent among Mexicans. In one luxury spa, for instance, a therapist tells me she supported the protests despite feeling hypocritical. “We have to treat them like special guests because they come with money, so it feels like I am betraying my own culture,” she says. “And I hate seeing gringos coming to the city and paying huge amounts of rent when we can’t afford to live in these most beautiful parts because they have raised the costs so much.”
This woman also has relatives living north of the border. “It feels a bit icky,” she admits. “My family has friends who aren’t citizens in the US and they are being profiled the whole time. But our government sees all these Americans as bringing money into our country, but I do feel some resentment when I hear these people saying how much they love Mexico City, how they love having such fun here and how it’s so cheap. It feels like we are being colonised.”
This word is heavily loaded in a nation colonised by Spain for centuries, and then invaded by the US in 1846 and 1916 — and the fact that it kept cropping up in my conversations underlines the depth of disquiet about gentrification in the Mexican metropolis. “I support the protests since it feels like we have been colonised again, predominantly by Americans,” says Armando, 25, working in a Roma boutique selling $130 hoodies.
Not that everyone agrees. Eduardo Garcia, 64, a writer and podcaster, argues that though the demonstrations reflect genuine grievances over high rents and the conversion of buildings into short-term lets, they got out of hand and damaged the nation’s image. “The protests left a bad impression,” he tells me. “A lot of small businesses, a lot of the waiters such as those here, benefit from the high number of foreigners coming to the city. If foreigners think twice about coming to Mexico and feel unwanted, they could hurt these people.”
Protests against over-tourism in places such as Spain suggest they do not deter arrivals and have little long-term impact, but can lead to small behavioural changes, such as switching to hotels. Yet studies indicate the capital has seen hefty price rises in its swankier parts, with a single room in Condesa or Roma Norte now costing $1,000 or more — higher than average monthly wages. One report, published last year by the National Academy of Sciences, revealed average house prices quadrupled over two decades before 2022, while the country’s per capita income declined relative to inflation. “Gentrification in Mexico City,” the authors concluded, “is impacting housing accessibility and displacing its residents.”
Given international trends, some suspect these shifts are an inevitable consequence of our globalised economy. Garcia, who is married to an American, says his country was cut off from the rest of the planet when he was growing up, what with its low trade, poor-quality domestic consumer products and tourism limited to beach resorts. “Now Mexico is competing with the world, producing better products, and is attractive to foreigners,” he continues. “I saw these changes and like these changes. I believe in the strength of Mexican culture — and there is nothing to be afraid of foreigners coming into your country and changing it a little bit.”
His stance is supported by the economist José Alberto Lara-Pulido, head of the centre for sustainability at Ibero American University. “Gentrification is tough,” he says. “It has a relationship with xenophobia because a lot of people from the US came to the richest areas of Mexico City, prices of houses have risen and local people are being pushed away. There is fear of real-estate speculation. But for me, it is just the market working and a big city should welcome people from all over the world.” Foreign business owners defend themselves too, claiming they create jobs, pay decent wages and assist local suppliers. “The frustration is valid but misdirected,” says Fahra Bellak, a 40 year old from Edinburgh who runs a thriving bagel shop in Roma Norte. “Farmers tell me they come into the city and make four times as much as in rural areas, which helps sustain their farms. We buy our eggs from an organic farmer — when we started it was seven trays a week, now it’s more than 60, so he says I’ve helped him grow his farm. Our coffee guy says the same.”
Whatever side you come down on, the authorities are responding. Following the protests, Mayor Clara Brugada proposed a 14-point plan to regulate rent prices, protect residents, and build affordable social housing. Critics, however, point out that existing rules to limit occupancy of short-term lets to a maximum of six months a year are rarely enforced, while Sheinbaum, during her own tenure as mayor, has faced accusations of fuelling the boom — after signing a 2022 deal with Airbnb to lure digital nomads and tourists.
Fahra Bellak and her team at the bagel shop. Credit: Ian Birrell.
Lara-Pulido argues that Mexico’s real problem is not gentrification but rampant inequality in a land where about half the population work in the informal sector; where inflation has long been high; where the economy is dominated by a handful of huge corporations; and where it is hard to start or close a business. “There are much bigger issues with our economy,” he stresses. “A lot of young people cannot afford houses with these rising prices but the solution is not regulating prices or controlling Airbnbs but the creation of a more prosperous economy.”
In Mexico, as in so many places, these issues are divisive. A self-proclaimed “social warrior” since his student days 50 years ago, veteran housing activist Enrique Gonzales labels the anti-gentrification protests as a publicity stunt, used to divert attention from other important issues such as inadequate security, healthcare and infrastructure. “Mexico has a long history of hospitality and welcoming people from other societies,” he says. But, like many others, Gonzales is ambivalent about the tide of American arrivals given events north of the border. “The gringos here are happy, they feel safe, but the Mexicans in the US are all scared, hiding in the shadows.”
Earlier this year, his daughter Emma, 39, had to leave her home in Texas after two decades amid the immigration crackdown, leaving behind her 12-year-old daughter. She hopes to return soon after obtaining US citizenship. Yet to her father’s shock, Emma tells me she likes Trump for his straight-talking style — even as she supported the anti-American protests in Mexico. “These people, the gringos, are taking something that does not belong to them,” she says. “This is why there is war in the world. It’s not because they are American but because they are pushing up prices and changing the economy. It is already very hard for people like me and they are making life harder.”
Both the Gonzales and their beguiling city ultimately show how the arguments over globalisation, housing, migration, populism and tourism that strain our own societies are being echoed across so much of the planet. “Our culture is changing, our way of life is changing,” adds Enrique. He is right, of course — but the big challenge of our era, one that even divides this family, is over the best solution.
Ian Birrell is an award-winning foreign reporter and columnist. He is also the founder, with Damon Albarn, of Africa Express.
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