MADRID (AP) — While Europe’s military heavyweights have already said that meeting President Donald Trump’s potential challenge to spend up to 5% of their economic output on security won't be easy, it would be an especially tall order for Spain.
The eurozone’s fourth-largest economy, Spain ranked last in the 32-nation military alliance last year for the share of its GDP that it contributed to the military, estimated to be 1.28%. That’s after NATO members pledged in 2014 to spend at least 2% of GDP on defense — a target that 23 countries were belatedly expected to meet last year amid concerns about the war in Ukraine.
When pressed, Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez and others in his government have emphasized Spain’s commitment to European security and to NATO. Since 2018, Spain has increased its defense spending by about 50% from 8.5 billion euros ($8.9 billion) to 12.8 billion euros ($13.3 billion) in 2023. Following years of underinvestment, the Sánchez government says the spending increase is proof of the commitment Spain made to hit NATO’s 2% target by 2029.
But for Spain to spend even more — and faster — would be tough, defense analysts and former officials say, largely because of the unpopular politics of militarism in the Southern European nation. The country’s history of dictatorship and its distance from Europe’s eastern flank also play a role.
“The truth is defense spending is not popular in European countries, whether it’s Spain or another European country,” said Nicolás Pascual de la Parte, a former Spanish ambassador to NATO who is currently a member of European Parliament from Spain’s conservative Popular Party. “We grew accustomed after the Second World War to delegate our ultimate defense to the United States of America through its military umbrella, and specifically its nuclear umbrella."
“It's true that we need to spend more,” Pascual de la Parte said of Spain.
Spain joined NATO in 1982, a year after the young, isolated democracy survived a coup attempt by its armed forces and seven years after the end of the 40-year military dictatorship led by Gen. Francisco Franco. Under a 1986 referendum, a narrow majority of Spaniards voted to stay in the alliance, but it wasn’t until 1999 that the country that is now Europe’s fourth-largest by population joined NATO’s military structure.
In that sense, “we are a very young member of NATO,” said Carlota Encina, a defense and security analyst at the Elcano Royal Institute think tank in Madrid.
Opinion polls generally show military engagement as unpopular among Spanish voters. An overwhelming majority of Spaniards were opposed to their country’s involvement in the 2003 Iraq war, polls showed at the time, but support for NATO in recent years has grown.
About 70% of Spaniards were in favor of NATO sending military equipment, weapons and ammunition to Ukraine soon after Russia began its full-scale invasion of the country, according to a March 2022 poll conducted by the state-owned Centre for Sociological Studies, or CIS. But only about half were in favor of Spain increasing its own defense budget, according to another survey CIS conducted that month.
Across the spectrum, political analysts and former Spanish politicians say militarism just isn’t great politics. Madrid is nearly 3,000 kilometers (roughly 1,800 miles) west of Kiev, unlike the capitals of Poland, Estonia or Latvia, which are closer and have exceeded the alliance's 2% target based on last year’s estimates.
Ignasi Guardans, a Spanish former member of the European Union’s parliament, said many Spaniards value their army for humanitarian efforts and aid work, like the help thousands of soldiers provided after the destructive Valencia flash floods last year.
“Now the army has returned to have some respect,” Guardans said, “but that’s not NATO.”
Encina said Spanish politicians generally feel much more pressure to spend publicly on other issues. “This is something that politicians here always feel and fear,” she said. The thinking goes, “why do we need to invest in defense and not in social issues?”
Spain’s leaders point out that while they have yet to meet NATO’s budget floor, it’s unfair to only consider the country’s NATO contributions as a percentage of GDP to measure of its commitments to Europe and its own security.
Officials often point to the country’s various EU and U.N. missions and deployments, arguing that through them, the country contributes in good form.
“Spain, as a member of NATO, is a serious, trustworthy, responsible and committed ally,” Defense Minister Margarita Robles told reporters this week following comments made by Trump to a journalist who asked the U.S. president about NATO’s low spenders. “And at this moment, we have more than 3,800 men and women in peace missions, many of them with NATO,” Robles said.
Spain’s armed forces are deployed in 16 overseas missions, according to the defense ministry, with ground forces taking part in NATO missions in Latvia, Slovakia and Romania and close to 700 soldiers in Lebanon as part of the country’s largest U.N. mission.
Spain also shares the Morón and Rota naval bases in the south of the country with the U.S. Navy, which stations six AEGIS destroyers at the Rota base in Cádiz.
Analysts also point to the fact that Spain’s government routinely spends more on defense than what is budgeted, through extraordinary contributions that can exceed the official budget during some years by 20% to 30%.
“The reality is, the whole thing is not very transparent,” Guardans said.
Pascual de la Parte, who was Spain’s NATO ambassador from 2017 to 2018, said the 2% metric shouldn’t be the only measure since not every NATO member accounts for their defense budgets in the same way.
“There is no agreement between allies in choosing which criteria decide the real spending effort,” he said, adding that, for example, while some countries include things like soldiers’ pensions in their accounting, others don’t. “Ultimately, they can involve very disparate realities.”
FILE - A general view of the Meeting of the North Atlantic Council Session with fellow heads of state at the NATO summit at the IFEMA arena in Madrid, on June 30, 2022. (Jonathan Ernst/Pool Photo via AP, File)
FILE - Bulgarian and Spanish Air Forces'personnel pose in front of Eurofighter EF-2000 Typhoon II aircraft and MiG-29, in Graf Ignatievo, Feb. 17, 2022. (AP Photo/Valentina Petrova, file)
FILE - Armed Spanish military police are seen on duty at the square in front of the Spanish Cortes (Parliament) seen in the background, in Madrid, Feb. 24, 1981 while inside the lower house about 150 armed Civil Guards still hold the deputies hostage. (AP Photo)
TAPACHULA, Mexico (AP) — Ana Esquivel no longer feels like her heart stops every time she sees a police officer.
“We’ve been told that they won’t harass or mistreat us here, but back home, if a male name is spotted on your ID, you could spend the night detained,” said the 50-year-old transgender woman. She fled Cuba fearing for her safety and arrived in Mexico earlier this year.
Esquivel settled in the southern city of Tapachula, hoping to dodge the Trump’s administration crackdown on migration and reach the United States. But unlike many who turned back after their Border Patrol appointments got canceled, returning home is not an option for LGBTQ+ migrants.
“The LGBT population doesn’t necessarily leave their countries for the same reasons as others,” said Mariana de la Cruz, operations director at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants and lost 60% of its funds after President Donald Trump ordered the suspension of foreign assistance programs in January.
“They leave due to discrimination and violence based on their gender identity,” de la Cruz said. “Beyond economic reasons or the American Dream, they leave because they need to survive.”
The flux of migrants at the Southern Mexican border with Guatemala dipped after Trump announced plans to restrict refugees and asylum seekers, contending he wants to stop illegal entry and border crime. The Mexican Commission for Refugee Aid in Tapachula has not updated its public data since December 2024, but the transformation is clear.
Hundreds of migrants no longer flood a public square, waiting for a response to their refugee applications. And though lines still form around the commission’s headquarters, locals say the crowds are smaller.
At a nearby Catholic shelter, administrator Herber Bermúdez said they have hosted up to 1,700 migrants at a time, but it's closer to 300 with the shutdown of CBP One, the U.S. border app that facilitated legal entry into the country.
“The change was substantial,” Bermúdez said. “By Jan. 20, we had around 1,200 people, but as the app stopped working, people started heading back to their countries.”
In contrast, help requests addressed to Casa Frida have not dropped.
"All of the people we support were victims of violence," said Sebastián Rodríguez, who works at the shelter. "They can’t go back."
In Tapachula since 2022, Casa Frida staff review on average 80 applications per month, assessing the most at-risk. According to Rodríguez, nonbinary and transgender migrants are frequently vulnerable to attacks.
The shelter doesn't have enough resources to help everyone, but they bring on about 70 new people monthly and can support up to 200 LGBTQ+ at any given time.
Several migrants recently told The Associated Press they were kidnapped by cartel members as they set foot in Mexico and had to give up their possessions to be released.
LGBTQ+ people face more violence, Rodríguez said. Transgender women often dress as men to avoid mockery and being spotted by criminals. If they are spared and reach a shelter, staff assign them to male dorms. If they leave and try to rent a room elsewhere, landlords seem unhospitable or demand unthinkable fees.
“That’s why programs like ours are needed,” Rodríguez said.
According to the shelter, about 40% of its population was affected by the end of CBP One app and the mass cancellation of appointments.
“Some people feel discouraged and hopeless,” Rodríguez said. “But many have applied for asylum in Mexico.”
Among its services, Casa Frida can provide a roof and meals for up to 12 people for three months. The organization's other programs can help several more migrants by providing legal guidance on remaining in Mexico, advice on finding temporary jobs with inclusive environments, psychological counseling and tips for renting apartments under fair conditions.
“Most people just think of us as a shelter, but providing refuge is only the core of what we do,” Rodríguez said. “Our goal is to reintegrate violence victims into society.”
The shelter operates in three locations: Mexico City, where it was founded in 2020 and mostly supports locals; Tapachula, which mainly receives migrants from Cuba, Honduras, Venezuela, El Salvador, Perú and Haiti; and Monterrey, where those at grave risk are transferred to be safe at an undisclosed address.
Manuel Jiménez, 21, was welcomed at the Mexico City station in February. He arrived from a state near the capital when harassment by family members became unbearable.
Jiménez initially hoped to reach the U.S. and he traveled north in November 2024. All went well until border patrol officers detained him in Arizona and he was deported. But it was dangerous for him to stay in his hometown.
“Someone told me about this shelter because I wanted to find a place where I could feel at peace,” said Jiménez, who identifies as bisexual. “Back home, there were people who wanted to hurt me, verbally and physically.”
Now living at Casa Frida, he started working at a nearby restaurant and hopes to save money that will enable him to find a home of his own.
Back in Tapachula, Esquivel applied for Mexican refugee status. Around 85% of Casa Frida’s migrants get a positive response, so she's optimistic. Maybe one day, she hopes, she could go back to school, land a job and relocate.
“I want to stay here and become part of this country,” Esquivel said. “I want to do it the right way and I’m grateful to Casa Frida for helping me get there.”
She learned about the shelter from another trans woman who also fled Cuba after feeling threatened by police.
“I was nearly arrested,” said Rachel Pérez, 51. “In Cuba, we are discriminated and persecuted. We leave in search for a better life.”
Human rights organizations have denounced continuing intolerance in the Caribbean nation, which does have sexual orientation protections.
According to Esquivel, she was accused of prostitution — which is not illegal under Cuban law — for repeatedly walking alone at night. Police warned her a few times, but she kept going out until she was detained and transferred to a male prison.
“I was raped there,” said Esquivel, who remained imprisoned for a year. “I was only 21 and the inmates abused me. Within time, I learned how to defend myself, but those were very difficult times I won’t forget.”
Staff at Casa Frida constantly updates their protocols to help migrants like Esquivel. But keeping operations running has proved challenging due to the U.S. aid cuts. According to De la Cruz, worrisome notifications popped by Jan. 24, and a few weeks later, 60% of their budget was gone.
“We’ve been looking everywhere to find new sustainability alternatives,” she said. “We are part of a network focused on LGBT mobility in Latin America and the Caribbean — 13 organizations in 10 countries — and at least 50% of them took a hit.”
Funding campaigns and ongoing meetings with European and local leaders might bring a solution, but concerns haven’t ceased and the team could significantly diminish its operations.
“Nothing is written in stone and we don’t know what could happen next,” De la Cruz said.
Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Pride flags and a map of Mexico adorn a wall in a room at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Mexico City, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2025. (AP Photo/Eduardo Verdugo)
Transgender woman Rachel Perez, who applied for asylum in Mexico, sits at her home in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Wednesday, March 12, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
Migrants receive English lessons at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Wednesday, March 12, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
A religious image hangs in a room at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Mexico City, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2025. (AP Photo/Eduardo Verdugo)
Transgender woman Rachel Perez, who applied for asylum in Mexico, gives an interview at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Tuesday, March 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
The sun shines into a room at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Mexico City, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2025. (AP Photo/Eduardo Verdugo)
Transgender women Rachel Perez, left, and Ana Esquivel, who applied for asylum in Mexico, pose for a photo at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Tuesday, March 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
Bunk beds lie in a room at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Mexico City, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2025. (AP Photo/Eduardo Verdugo)
Transgender woman Ana Esquivel, right, who applied for asylum in Mexico, boards a bus in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Tuesday, March 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
A person gives testimony at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Mexico City, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2025. (AP Photo/Eduardo Verdugo)
Itzel Aguilar teaches English to LGBTQ+ migrants at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Wednesday, March 12, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
A person walks past a pride flag at Casa Frida, a shelter that supports LGBTQ+ migrants, in Tapachula, Chiapas state, Mexico, Wednesday, March 12, 2025. (AP Photo/Moises Castillo)
