Some societies fear disappearing under bombs; others are beginning to wonder whether they might disappear slowly, amidst empty cradles and an ever-growing number of birthdays. Europe belongs, fortunately, to the second group. Its problem carries neither the thunder of war nor the urgency of an epidemic. It advances quietly.
According to Eurostat, the European Union’s statistical office, 3.55 million children were born in the EU in 2024, while the fertility rate fell to 1.34 children per woman, its lowest rate since 2001, the first year for which an EU-wide figure was available. At the same time, people are living longer and having children later in life. These are distinct demographic trends and not necessarily bad developments: behind the figures lie social achievements, personal choices and longer lives. Taken together, however, they raise an uncomfortable question: what happens when a society begins to feel that it is becoming both older and smaller?
When Demography Becomes Identity
Bulgarian political scientist Ivan Krastev has described this phenomenon as “demographic anxiety” in his 2020 essay The Fear of Shrinking Numbers. 66-74. It is not merely the fear of disappearing, but also the fear of no longer recognising ourselves in the society taking shape around us. Since populations do not simply shrink, they change as well. When both processes occur at the same time, statistics can leave the spreadsheet and enter the realm of identity.
Spain offers a good example of this paradox. According to the Spanish National Statistics Institute (INE), the country’s population reached 49.57 million on 1 January 2026, its highest level on record. For the first time, more than 10 million residents had been born abroad. This figure refers to the residents born outside Spain, regardless of their nationality. Many of them have since acquired Spanish citizenship, which is why the number of foreign nationals is considerably lower (7.24 million). This growth occurred while the natural population balance, the difference between births and deaths, remained negative. As the INE points out, Spain’s population is growing, not because more children are being born than people are dying, but largely because people are arriving from other countries. 
A particularly striking illustration came from Ceuta, a Spanish city on the North African coast, bordering Morocco. On 30 and 31 July 2026, around 72,000 migrants crossed from Morocco into Ceuta in less than 48 hours, in what became the largest migration crisis in the city´s history. This recent mass arrival of migrants in the city, although exceptional and not representative of the scale or pace of immigration into Spain as a whole, brought into sharp focus a process that usually unfolds more gradually, which is the perception that a population can change before our eyes.
This is where a conversation begins that Europe does not always know how to conduct calmly. For some, immigration is a necessary response to an ageing population, labour shortages and the need to sustain the welfare state. For others, relying on immigration to address demographic decline means accepting a cultural transformation that, they argue, has never been openly discussed. Between these two positions lies a broad space for debate that political noise tends to erase.
Krastev reminds us of something fundamental: in a democracy, numbers matter. They matter when it comes to paying pensions and keeping hospitals running, but also when it comes to building majorities, passing on customs and forming communities. Immigration is not merely an economic phenomenon. People who arrive bring languages, memories, beliefs, and different ways of understanding the world. Over time, they may adopt some of the customs of the country that receives them, while that country, in turn, may absorb elements of the cultures they bring. That does not necessarily mean loss. It means change, which can enrich a society, but it can also unsettle it.
The Politics of Demographic Anxiety
Politics has learnt to speak the language of that unease.
In Hungary, former Prime Minister Viktor Orbán spent years presenting two responses to demographic decline as alternatives: immigration or higher birth rates. Orbán framed the choice explicitly: “In the West, the answer to this is immigration. You bring in as many as you’re missing. Hungarians think differently. We don’t need numbers, we need Hungarian children”. After returning to power in 2010, his government introduced extensive pronatalist policies, including tax breaks, interest-free loans and housing subsidies. In Spain, the far-right party VOX speaks of a “demographic emergency” and links policies aimed at increasing birth rates with its opposition to mass immigration. Moreover, in Germany, the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) similarly calls for “more children instead of mass immigration” in its political programme as a response to its demographic problem.
The German case is particularly relevant today. In September, the AfD achieved historic results in several German regional elections, including victories in Saxony-Anhalt and, days later, in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania. It would be far too simplistic to explain those results through demography alone. Economic concerns, disillusionment with established parties, differences between eastern and western Germany, the war in Ukraine, and many other factors all play a part. But it would also be naïve to ignore the fact that fear of a changing society has become part of Europe’s political landscape.
When Complex Fears Meet Simple Answers
The problem arises when a complex concern is met with an overly simple answer.
Low birth rates are a real concern. So are the difficulties of finding housing, job insecurity, and the uncertainty that can delay decisions about starting a family. It is reasonable to ask how ageing societies will be sustained and who will finance their systems of social protection. Likewise, discussing how to support the integration of large numbers of newcomers, including how to prevent social exclusion and the formation of isolated communities, is a legitimate part of public debate. Refusing to raise these questions does not make them disappear; it may simply leave them to those offering the most strident answers.
But acknowledging a concern does not mean accepting the explanation built around it. An immigrant is not an interchangeable unit standing in for someone who was never born, just as having children should not become a patriotic obligation. When motherhood is treated as a service to the nation, or immigration as an existential threat, people stop being seen as individuals and become figures in two imaginary armies.
Perhaps this is where the danger of demographic anxiety lies: not in feeling it, but in allowing fear to interpret the numbers for us.
Two Fears, One European Debate
Europe needs to talk about demography without whispering and about immigration without shouting. It needs family policies that enable those who wish to have children to do so, alongside affordable housing, greater stability and better work-life balance that make this possible. France offers one example of this approach, with a family-policy model that combines paid parental leave, childcare support and a broad system of financial benefits for families, helping parents reconcile work and family life. Although such policies do not by themselves determine fertility outcomes, France still recorded one of the highest fertility rates in the EU in 2024.
Europe also needs immigration governed by predictable rules, lawful entry and effective administration, alongside rigorous, effective integration policies. These should include language learning, participation in society, respect for the law and access to opportunities that prevent newcomers from being permanently marginalised.
Perhaps that is why the prospect of becoming fewer contains two distinct fears. We may worry about low birth rates, an ageing population and towns that are gradually emptying. Or we may fear that society is changing as people from other countries arrive. The first concern is primarily demographic; the second belongs to the more delicate territory of identity. Confusing the two makes it easier to turn fear into a political tool. Separating them may be the first step towards grounding political debate in reality.
Numbers count people, but they do not decide what we should think about them. That task remains ours.
