In the inscrutable and often grotesque fiscal framework of these fortunate islands, the Tax on Imports and Deliveries of Goods in the Canary Islands (AIEM) stands as a monument to uniqueness. Formally, it's a piece of bureaucratic craftsmanship designed to protect local producers and, incidentally, line the pockets of the autonomous region. The report that the Canary Islands must submit before September 30, 2025, is being prepared by the Canary Islands government without the input of the tourist municipalities, which is where the patriotic tax revenue is collected from Asinca, the island's industrial association that defends it against importers and large commercial land owners such as Lidl, Carrefour, El Corte Inglés, Aldi, and Ikea.
Much of the future of the AIEM, which taxes everything from swimming pool chemicals to municipal wastewater and cleaning services for hotels, bars, and restaurants, rests in the hands of DG GROW, which was previously under the responsibility of the Directorate-General for the Internal Market (DG MARKT) and the Directorate-General for Enterprise and Industry (DG ENTR). DG GROW develops and implements the Commission's policies on enterprise and industry, as well as on the single market.
In practice, it's an almost biblical toll that, in its peculiar application, punishes those who contribute the most. The most recent flaw in this legislative gem is that the European Commission, in its infinite wisdom and remoteness, will receive a proposal from the Canary Islands on the AIEM. And, to no one's surprise, it will do so without a single dissenting report from those same tourist municipalities that are the inexhaustible goose that lays the golden eggs of this peculiar collection. A silence that is eloquent, not to say deafening.
Think of Maspalomas. Or Mogán. Kilometers of hotel beds, streams of tourists with their wallets wide open, a constant bustle of restaurants, shops, and guides that turn the dune into hard cash. Every hotel, every plate of potatoes with mojo sauce, every sunscreen purchased, every charter flight that lands on the Gando runway—all of this is the machinery that, directly or indirectly, greases the AIEM's revenue collection. These municipalities are, ultimately, the mule that pulls the Canary Islands' tax cart. But if you stop to listen, you'll discover that the mule's voice is tied. The paradox is daunting: they generate the wealth that fuels this tax, they are the foundation on which its existence is based, but their participation in shaping or revising the rules of the game is, at best, token. Frustration? Rather, it was a contained indignation, the classic silence of someone who knows their protests won't alter the roadmap outlined in the capital's offices.
But the drain on the AIEM goes far beyond municipal accounts and seeps into the pipes of the industry that feeds us. A particularly painful chapter concerns chemicals, that invisible army that maintains civilization in hotels, restaurants, and resorts. We're talking about chlorine to prevent swimming pools from becoming breeding grounds, disinfectants to ensure restaurants don't end up in the emergency room, flocculants to prevent tap water from tasting like puddles, and acids that keep the pipes of a thirsty sector at bay.
These elements, the vast majority of which are imported, come up against the AIEM (Tax on the Import Tax). This means that every liter of industrial bleach, every bag of water softening salt, comes with an "extra cost" label attached. An invisible tariff that inflates the operating expenses of every establishment. It's the hospitality industry, the backbone of our economy, that bears this extra burden. And one wonders: Is it logical that the tax system subtly strangles those who guarantee the hygiene and quality we so proudly proclaim about our destination? Perhaps the answer lies with those who compile the list of taxed products, far removed from the white sheets and poolside cocktails.
This tax on such essential inputs is no small matter; it's a stab in the back of the Canary Islands' competitiveness. In the global tourism arena, where every cent counts and competition is fierce, an additional tax on basic goods could be the nail in the coffin of investment. It forces companies to dance an uncomfortable tango: either they accept it at the expense of their profit margins (which are already tight), or they pass it on to the final price of the service, making paradise more expensive, or they skimp, compromising quality and, consequently, the much-vaunted "sustainability." The need to review this AIEM, to adjust it to the reality of the industry, has been a constant cry from the sector. A cry that, curiously, seems to evaporate before crossing the threshold of certain offices on the path to Brussels.
The AIEM (Spanish Tax Administration) is the Canary Islands' fiscal framework. But its current implementation, with the silent contribution of tourist municipalities and the additional costs added to the very foundation of hygiene and operations, paints a picture where logic is conspicuous by its absence. The demand for greater representation for those municipalities that are the lifeblood of the tax and the search for solutions to ease the burden on the industry are debates that are on the table. Debates that, let's hope, won't remain in the echo chamber of a conference room where the proposal has already been made, without the uncomfortable report against it.
