The post-pandemic trend of fleeing the big city shows no signs of slowing down in the UK. In fact, a recent study showed that renters are leaving London at the highest rate in a decade.
Due to a perpetually-restless soul, and the astronomical cost of living in London, I like many others, left the UK for sunnier climes back in 2020. I was drawn to Portugal’s colourful capital, Lisbon, because of its fresh and high-quality food, lower cost of living and excellent weather.
I secured my residency before the UK left the EU and started Portuguese lessons shortly afterwards. I celebrated my 30th birthday in November, on the beach. Swapping the frenetic pace of London, for an altogether more chilled pace of life in Lisbon helped me get into the right head-space to launch my first book, Raceless during the pandemic. It’s also helping as I write my next one.
Brits are currently the second largest foreign community in Portugal after Brazilians, with most moving to Lisbon or the Algarve region. I’ve made lots of friends all over the world but admittedly most of them hail from the UK, with all of them choosing to escape life at home for similar reasons. We’ve noticed that Portugal has welcomed us with open-arms: there are tax incentives aplenty for foreigners buying homes, starting a business or investing in crypto. Though friendly, however, the Portuguese are cautious people, with simmering resentment among some, directed at remote workers and digital nomads. I’ve had to contend with the idea that my presence might displace some locals and it’s got me thinking: will each of us contribute to gentrification at some point in our lifetimes – or is there a way to mitigate our impact?
Gentrification is the process whereby the ecosystem of a poor urban area is changed by wealthier people moving in, buying homes and changing the face of the area by increasing a demand for different goods and services. As the average wage in Lisbon is also less than 1000 Euros a month, this means that the average Londoner, freelancing from their flat or one of Lisbon’s many attractive cafes, will undoubtedly be contributing to the changing face of the city, just by existing here. Like London, there’s also much evidence of a housing crisis in Lisbon. Part of the city’s magic is its faded glamour; dilapidated apartment blocks sit beside homes gleaming with colourful tiles on sun-dappled cobbled streets. But these empty homes are a problem. Studies show that there are more than enough homes available for Portuguese families and foreigners in Lisbon, but the ones on sale or for rent are few in number. In other words: supply outstrips demand – but that isn’t reflected in the reality of the market. The “Golden visa” scheme also gave foreigners in Portugal full residence if they invested at least €350,000 into real estate. This served as a draw for investors, but many argue that it contributed to the “Airbnbification” of the city – with around 30 per 1,000 residents, Lisbon has the highest ratio of Airbnb houses for a European city.
All of these issues will sound familiar to most Londoners. I was born in West London and before moving to Lisbon, I lived in Brixton – two areas that have been embroiled in a gentrification row for decades. In London, there’s a defeatist attitude around gentrification – it’s an inevitable reality that can’t be fought. Lisbon, a city in flux, is enjoying a surge in popularity, and so the backlash is palpable, evidenced in the graffiti on the city walls that reads “tourists go home”, and the housing protests outside the city’s annual Web Summit tech conference. I understand the frustration, but unlike other digital nomad hotspots such as Mexico City, Bali and Medellin, in which locals are unfairly displaced from their cities, the Portuguese have been leaving long before the digital nomads arrived. Portugal has one of the highest emigration rates in the European Union as wages have been stagnant for decades since the dictatorship. The Portuguese also enjoy strong passport power as they are part of the EU and are able to travel and work with few immigration restrictions, as Lauren Razavi, author of the book, Global Natives, asserts.
But I’ve noticed that gentrification conversations in the UK and US always explore issues related to race (because brown black and working-class people are most likely to be affected). In Portugal that’s not the case. I was interviewed for a piece about digital nomads in Lisbon by a Portuguese magazine and spoke about how black and brown remote workers in the city may experience a duality of experience in Lisbon: they may transcend their class background when living here by virtue of the fact they have a higher spending power than the (mainly white) locals – a novelty that didn’t occur back home – but they may also experience systemic racism in a country that birthed the slave trade and which has made little to no attempt of coming to terms with its colonial history. My comments were omitted in favour of others, and the headline spoke of foreigners being a “problem” in Lisbon.
It’s a similar sentiment sometimes echoed in the comment section of my TikTok videos. “Go home,” I often read when I create content about the city. “This is the new form of colonization”, someone once wrote below a video I made about knowing my neighbours.
It seems nationality and class trump race for some. Of course black and brown Brits can, and do gentrify. But they will also experience discrimination and sometimes, add to the diversification of an area. In Portugal, the circularity of those with heritage from areas of Africa impacted by Portugal’s role in the trans-Atlantic slave-trade, renting in white-majority neighborhoods and overtaking the locals in terms of economic power, is also notable. But make no mistake, this is not comparable to “colonization”. My race, much like my class, undoubtedly colours all the interactions I have with people here.
I’ve looked into the ways one can combat gentrification abroad. Initially, I thought learning the language and buying local (which I do) would mitigate my impact, but upon reflection I’ve realised this makes little difference. Getting involved with local housing groups to stop evictions (which I didn’t do in London) and agreeing not to buy and sell property for profit (which many of us would never commit to) seems to be the only way. I know I could do more. Portugal has welcomed me and thousands of others and I’m grateful for the life I’ve built here. Unfettered capitalism, a rising cost of living worldwide and Brexit, are forcing Brits to reconsider the UK as home, and countries like Portugal are only become more attractive. Open borders and freedom of movement (at least in Europe) are here to stay, so the very least we can do is continue to reflect on our impact, consider how to travel ethically and make an effort to integrate into local communities… At least, that’s what I’m trying to do.
Georgina Lawton is a travel writer and the author of the memoir Raceless, and travel guide Black Girls Take World, as well as the host of Audible’s award-winning The Secrets In Us podcast