Public defenders say enough is enough: "15 minutes in the Plaza de Castilla cells teach more than a year of a master's degree."

After 37 years of service, Begoña Gutiérrez has retired from legal aid. She turns 65 in November and hangs up her robes: "I'm staying with the people I've helped thanks to this work." Legal aid, the system that guarantees defense to those who cannot afford it, is suffering a constant loss: in five years, it has lost 12% of its lawyers, from 45,868 in 2019 to 39,941 in 2024. There are fewer and fewer hands for more work . Last year, demand grew by 5.3%, exceeding one million requests (1,135,291), according to the 19th Report of the Legal Aid Observatory, prepared by the General Council of the Spanish Bar Association (CGAE) and Aranzadi LA LEY.

Generational change is at risk. According to Manuel Mayllo, head of the public defender roster at the Madrid Bar Association (ICAM), younger lawyers are not covering the retirement leave of baby boomers (those born between 1946 and 1964). This constant decline, which, by 2024, reduced the number of lawyers by 3%. “More than half of the lawyers who provide this service at the association are over 50 years old, and young lawyers are not enrolling due to the conditions and lack of knowledge,” he says. He adds: “15 minutes in the Plaza de Castilla cells teach more than a year of a master's degree.”

Precarious conditions—low, often late, unpaid work, and an irregular workload—along with a lack of recognition, weigh heavily on those who support legal aid . While in 2019 they represented 31% of all practicing lawyers, today they barely reach 26.8%. In cities, the service is guaranteed, but "there are small judicial districts where we have had to resort to colleagues from other areas," notes África Calleja, president of Altodo (Association of Lawyers for a Decent Duty).

Although they provide a public service, what they receive is not a salary, but rather an "indemnity" set by the responsible administration. The Bar Association denounces "ridiculous scales" that have not been updated for years. In addition to being poorly paid, the shift is riddled with injustice: remuneration varies depending on the territory in which the service is provided. "It is an incomprehensible and unacceptable comparative grievance," denounces the president of the CGAE, Salvador González. The contrast is eloquent. In 2024, the average bill for a criminal case in the Basque Country amounted to 324 euros, while in Andalusia it did not reach 139 euros.

“In Madrid, we charge €428 gross per civil case, including lawsuits and trials,” says María Carqués. The lawyer joined the roster in November 2024, opening her own firm after 12 years in a single practice. “No one joins for the money; this is pure vocation,” she asserts. She believes in the rule of law: “This way, I can help those who can't pay my fees.” A few months ago, she and Social Services managed to stop the eviction of a woman with psychiatric problems who ignored the court's letters and was already facing a deadline to be released.

For most, the shift is a professional complement. “A colleague who only lives off duty is struggling,” says Teresa Alemán, a lawyer from Tenerife assigned to the so-called pateras shift, officially known as “immigration and boat shift.” The focus, she laments, blurs after each tragedy. Lawyers assisting migrants demand interpreters so they can defend them with complete confidence. “I myself have already taken three Wolof [the majority language in Senegal] courses so I can say hello to them,” she says.

Defense of immigrants

“Our job is very thankless,” Alemán confesses. “The Red Cross identifies vulnerable people with a gold bracelet; you see them pass by and you can't ask them if they're fleeing a forced marriage in order to process their asylum application,” she says. The lawyer complains that no public prosecutors are being assigned to appeal expulsions: “The immigration law requires it, and it's impossible for migrants to issue us a power of attorney.” Even so, the satisfactions outweigh the burden. “I recently met a woman I assisted who now speaks Spanish and has found work,” she says.

The arrival of small boats marks the uniqueness of the shift in Tenerife, which supplies lawyers to El Hierro and La Gomera. On the island, the shift has grown, notes the dean of the Bar Association, José Manuel Niederleytner. Of the 2,700 practicing professionals, 900—33%—are registered. Of these, 250 are on the small boat shift. To be eligible, he explains, "you must meet all the usual requirements and, in addition, have specific training." The lawyers earn a total of 414 euros for every six people—about 69 euros per immigrant—although, "sometimes, to avoid travel, they serve up to 12."

Lawyers denounce the sheer amount of costs that are simply not being paid: travel, appeals, copies, etc. Nor are pre-suit amicable procedures paid in all jurisdictions, despite being mandatory in civil matters. África Calleja emphasizes that in 20 years, some scales have lost "more than 50% of their purchasing power" and points to the problem of non-payments when free legal aid is denied. "The public defender's pocketbook is not enough to cover the obligations of the Administrations. This is not charity," cries Salvador González, who denounces "institutional abuse." The Bar Association issues an SOS and demands that the new Free Legal Aid Law, which will replace the 1996 law—still to be finalized, although the ministry expects to approve it before the end of the year—enshrine basic guarantees: decent, regularly reviewed, and timely remuneration. "We have committed young talent; that vision never fades," emphasizes González.