That the AIEM is affected is not an exaggeration: it's literal. The European Commission has taken to its heels. And not because it's unaware of this old Canary Islands tax eccentricity, but because Spain, without hesitation, forgot to submit the report when revenue soared above 150 million annually, which is what the financial statement that authorized it says. Brussels is no fool: it smells of toxic state aid, and on top of that in a context where we blather on about "tourism competitiveness," while in Maspalomas it costs more to ship a yogurt from Cadiz than from Korea to Oslo. The tariff that was in place in Corsica was already deactivated because the EC found it inconsistent.
The Tax on Imports and Deliveries of Goods in the Canary Islands, better known as AIEM, is one of those fiscal inventions that only the Canary Islands retain the privilege of. A tariff with the name of a tax that punishes those coming from outside, whether from Alicante or Bremen, in defense of local industry. An industry that, beware, is increasingly in the hands of foreign funds that, paradoxically, take advantage of the barrier to sell more expensively here what they manufacture there. This tax was blessed by Brussels back in 2001, based on Protocol No. 2 of the Act of Accession, and was renewed with institutional care, like someone caring for a legal bonsai. Its final push came with Decision (EU) 2020/1791, which keeps it alive until 2027... unless its existence is not justified by studies, prayers, and miracles before 2025. And here we are: with the extension period running out and Europe asking if this invention still makes sense.
In the Canary Islands, the AIEM (Spanish Tax on Exports) continues to weigh heavily on essential products not manufactured here, directly affecting key sectors, especially tourism. We're not just talking about industrial components or household appliances, but also products as sensitive as Serrano ham, a staple of the gastronomy offered in bars and restaurants, which, although part of the Spanish identity, is inflated by this tax. Serrano ham, imported from the Peninsula because it isn't aged on the islands, bears an AIEM rate that can reach up to 15%, which not only increases its final price but also penalizes the competitiveness of Canarian restaurants, a fundamental pillar of tourism in emblematic areas such as Maspalomas and Playa del Inglés. For visitors, this is a blow that translates into higher prices or more limited offerings in one of its most vital markets, tourism, where value for money is key. And all this at a time when the European Union, with its rhetoric about the single market and fiscal neutrality, is pushing to eliminate these barriers that, in Brussels' eyes, distort competition and free trade between territories.
Rates range from 5% to 15%, with exceptions reaching 25%. It sounds reasonable if you imagine a small gofio factory competing with German mills. The problem is that some of these taxed products aren't exactly structurally viable. Juices, powdered milk, plastic items... even products that aren't manufactured here yet still pay a toll to enter. In 2022, revenue was around €170 million. A fortune, yes. But there's a catch: a good portion is paid by tourist consumption and is suffered by businesses such as the restaurant industry in southern Gran Canaria, where logistics costs are already crippling and the tax differential barely compensates.
And in Europe? Something similar existed in Corsica: the droit de mer (sea tax), which taxed products arriving from the French mainland. It disappeared in the 90s when Paris decided that harmonization and compensation were more sensible than hindering the internal market. They replaced it with structural aid. Cleaner, more transparent. In the French Overseas Departments—Guadeloupe, Martinique, Réunion, and others—the Octroi de mer (sea tax) still exists, but every five years it is reviewed, product by product, with a magnifying glass. Its total revenue is around 400 million euros per year, but the Commission requires technical justifications and objective criteria to maintain it. In the Azores and Madeira, there is no AIEM (Mexican Customs Tax): they have reduced VAT, period. The same is true in Åland (Finland), which isn't even considering introducing internal customs. The Canary Islands, meanwhile, cling to the AIEM (Mexican Customs Tax) as if it were a hallmark.
Brussels, especially the Directorate-General for Competition, does not view the AIEM favorably, but pressure from Spain, subject to regional political pacts, has been stronger than logic. Back in 2014, the European Parliament issued a warning: a lack of transparency, hidden monopolies, and political decisions disguised as technical criteria. And it said so in no uncertain terms. The concern is that the AIEM could become a form of selective state aid, contrary to Article 110 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union. Because this is not just about legality—which it is, as long as it has been authorized by the Council—but about legitimacy and viability in a market moving toward neutral taxation and the true freedom of movement of goods. Does it make sense for a hotel in Meloneras to pay more to bring in fruit, yogurt, or wine from the Peninsula than one in Nice that brings it in from Poland? The AIEM, in short, is a figure in decline, or at least under profound review. The question is no longer whether it protects local industry—that's clear—but whether the price we pay for it, in the form of additional costs, loss of tourism competitiveness, and suspicion in Brussels, is still worth it. At this rate, the AIEM could become the last medieval wall of a modern market. And Maspalomas, its most visible victim.
