In the Rhythm of the Night: Who Really Benefits from Mallorca's Tourism?

In the Rhythm of the Night: Who Really Benefits from Mallorca's Tourism?

Evenings on Cuando la fiesta está en marcha — y la isla lucha detrás: lasers slice the air, loud hit music spills from the beach bars, and the clatter of suitcases fills the paseo. Sellers in sun hats hawk bargains, air conditioners hum, and the same playlist plays in the corner café. The tourist joy has its rhythm. But three streets over a different melody can be heard: narrow balconies hung with bedding, mothers staring at the bus timetable, and people juggling two or three jobs just to make the rent.

The key question: Who really benefits from tourism?

INE official statistics on household income reveal the gap: in El Arenal the average income is just under €25,600 annually, in Sant Jaume around €69,500. These figures are not marginal; they show why some families living right next to the party strip have to tighten their belts even though the beachfront promenade shines.

Behind the façade: Precarious work and expensive housing

Tourism brings revenue — but its distribution is skewed. In neighborhoods like Ballermann en transformación: más tranquilidad, pero el comercio callejero sigue siendo el problema principal, short-term contracts and seasonal work dominate, often paired with night and weekend shifts. Many employees live on constant alert: taking extra hours, changing jobs, doing overtime — just so the electricity bill can be paid at the end of the month. The bars hum and the guests are satisfied, yet those who provide the service frequently remain in precarious conditions.

At the same time rents are rising in newer districts like Nou Llevant, where wide balconies and sea views are used as selling points. In El Arenal every square meter becomes a battleground. Young families move away, familiar neighborhoods lose their social cohesion, and commuting distances grow. This is not a growing pain but a structural problem.

What we rarely hear

The public debate often revolves around noise limits and night-time order. Less heard are the insecure employment contracts, the lack of collective bargaining standards in the hospitality sector, or the fact that many workers live across multiple households to share costs. Eurostat tourism seasonality data destabilize income: in August the bars are full, in November the waitress’s hours shrink.

Another blind spot is the situation of small business owners. Many bar and restaurant owners are squeezed between rising ancillary costs, staff shortages and the pressure to remain attractive to tourists. This leads to cost-cutting strategies on personnel or irregular working hours — at the expense of predictability for employees.

Concrete steps instead of big words

Solutions must be local, concrete and immediately effective. Higher wages in the sector are not a charity but a prerequisite for a stable working environment. Reliable employment contracts instead of endless temporary arrangements create predictability. Affordable housing near the beach is equally important: municipal housing projects, the conversion of vacant buildings and targeted investments from tourism levies can help.

Other levers are practical: training for employees, opening seasonal positions into year-round jobs through diversification of offerings (conferences, health tourism, cultural programs) and binding minimum standards in the industry. Small measures like transparent shift schedules, childcare subsidies or night-shift allowances would provide immediate relief.

What politics, businesses and neighborhoods can do

Political leaders can set rules for fair employment conditions and earmark tourism levies for housing and further training. Businesses can invest in better work organization: reliable rosters, fair part-time models, supplements for uncertain hours. And neighborhoods? They can create spaces where voices from hospitality and retail are heard — on equal footing, not just as scenery.

The island stands at a turning point: do we protect only the nightly glow on the promenade or the people who produce that light? This is not sentimentality, this is everyday life: vendors, waitresses, cleaners — they hear the buses honk, smell frying oil and watch the clock when shifts change.

If Mallorca truly wants to live sustainably, these voices must not be silenced behind the palm trees. Short-term spending on better working conditions and affordable housing are investments in long-term stability. Otherwise only a shiny facade will remain — and an island whose heart grows quiet.

I will keep at it: not only with the lights of the night, but early in the morning when shifts begin and the town still smells of seawater.