People matter, the airport says. Then it chose robots instead.
En Bilbao, un aeropuerto en plena expansión ha decidido que seis chaquetas verdes —símbolo humano de bienvenida durante veintiocho años— ya no son necesarias, y ha confiado su labor a pantallas y algoritmos. La decisión, adoptada por Aena en nombre del progreso y la eficiencia, ha despertado una pregunta más antigua que la propia tecnología: ¿qué le debemos a quienes han dedicado décadas de experiencia al servicio público cuando las máquinas pueden hacer su trabajo más barato? El conflicto ha trascendido el mostrador de información y ha llegado al Parlamento, arrastrando consigo preguntas sobre el empleo, la identidad lingüística y el verdadero significado de que 'las personas importen'.
- Seis trabajadores con hasta veinte años de experiencia perdieron su empleo de un día para otro cuando Aena decidió sustituir el servicio de información presencial por quioscos de inteligencia artificial y una línea telefónica de atención continua.
- Los sindicatos denuncian una contradicción flagrante: la misma empresa pública que proclama que 'las personas importan' elige los robots sobre sus propios trabajadores en un momento de crecimiento récord de pasajeros.
- El Comité de Centro exigió formalmente la marcha atrás de la decisión, argumentando que ninguna pantalla puede replicar la calidad del trato humano cara a cara, mientras otras áreas absorben trabajo extra sin refuerzo de plantilla.
- La supresión del requisito de euskera para los nuevos puestos ha encendido una alarma adicional: la automatización no solo elimina empleos, sino que podría erosionar silenciosamente las protecciones lingüísticas históricas del aeropuerto.
- El diputado Jon Iñarritu, exagente de asistencia al pasajero, ha trasladado el conflicto al Congreso mediante preguntas parlamentarias, convirtiendo un despido laboral en un debate político de alcance nacional.
Durante veintiocho años, las chaquetas verdes fueron el rostro humano del Aeropuerto de Bilbao. Sus portadores —seis trabajadores, algunos con más de dos décadas en el puesto— recorrían la terminal respondiendo preguntas, orientando a los pasajeros y resolviendo imprevistos en tiempo real. Un día, esa presencia desapareció. En su lugar, Aena instaló una red de quioscos interactivos con inteligencia artificial y habilitó una línea telefónica disponible las veinticuatro horas.
La dirección del aeropuerto presentó el cambio como una modernización inevitable: la información ya no espera a que el viajero busque a alguien con chaqueta verde, sino que se distribuye por múltiples canales, accesible en cualquier momento. Pero el sindicato leyó la misma decisión de otra manera: la liquidación de empleos estables y consolidados a favor de máquinas, y el traslado de las tareas restantes a otros departamentos sin aumentar su plantilla, justo cuando el aeropuerto registra cifras récord de pasajeros.
El Comité de Centro reaccionó con rapidez. Envió cartas formales a la dirección exigiendo la reversión de la medida y señaló una ironía difícil de ignorar: Aena se publicita con el lema 'las personas importan', pero había elegido los robots sobre sus propios trabajadores. La disputa adquirió además una dimensión lingüística: los puestos suprimidos exigían el conocimiento del euskera, un requisito que no se trasladó a los departamentos que ahora asumen parte de esas funciones. La promesa de que los canales digitales ofrecerán atención en euskera sonó abstracta frente a la garantía concreta que suponía una persona bilingüe en el mostrador.
La controversia llegó al Parlamento de la mano de Jon Iñarritu, diputado de EH Bildu que en su día trabajó en asistencia al pasajero, quien presentó preguntas al Congreso sobre los despidos y sus implicaciones. Lo que comenzó como un conflicto laboral en una terminal de aeropuerto se había convertido en un debate sobre qué significa la eficiencia cuando se ejerce a costa del empleo, la experiencia acumulada y la identidad de una comunidad.
The green jackets are gone. For twenty-eight years, they had been the face of Bilbao Airport—staff in their distinctive uniforms stationed throughout the terminal, answering passenger questions, offering directions, solving problems in real time. On a single decision, that entire operation ended. Six workers, some carrying more than two decades of experience in those roles, found themselves without employment. In their place, the airport's management installed a network of interactive kiosks powered by artificial intelligence, supplemented by a telephone line available around the clock.
The airport authority framed the change as progress. Passengers no longer need to hunt for a person in a green jacket; information is now distributed across multiple channels, accessible at any hour, personalized to individual needs. The 24-hour phone line, management insisted, preserves the human touch. But the union saw something different: the elimination of stable, long-term jobs in favor of machines, and the shifting of remaining work to other departments without any corresponding increase in staff.
The Center Committee, representing airport workers, moved quickly to challenge the decision. They sent formal letters to the airport director demanding a reversal, arguing that nothing—no chatbot, no interactive screen—could replicate the quality of face-to-face service from an actual person. The committee also pointed out the contradiction embedded in the move: Aena, the publicly owned company that operates the airport, markets itself with the slogan "people matter." Yet here it was, choosing robots over workers, consolidating jobs that had been stable for decades.
The union raised another concern that cut deeper. The green jacket positions had carried a requirement: fluency in Euskera, the Basque language. It was non-negotiable. But the other Aena department that would now absorb some of these duties had no such requirement. Workers and union representatives saw this as a troubling shift—automation paired with a subtle erosion of language protections that had long been part of the airport's commitment to its regional identity. Management countered that the new digital channels would offer Euskera support, though the guarantee felt abstract compared to the concrete presence of a bilingual person at an information desk.
The decision rippled beyond labor disputes. Jon Iñarritu, a member of parliament for EH Bildu who had himself worked in passenger assistance decades earlier, submitted a series of questions to Congress about the layoffs and their implications. The controversy had moved from the terminal floor to the halls of government.
Management's rationale rested on a claim about changing times. Passengers, they argued, no longer seek information the way they once did. The reactive model—waiting at a desk for someone to approach—had given way to a proactive one, where travelers pull information from multiple sources as they move through the airport. The technology, in this telling, simply matched the way people actually behave now. But the union's objection was not really about whether the technology worked. It was about what happened to the people who had been doing the work, and what it meant for a public institution to choose efficiency over employment, especially when that choice came during a period of record passenger growth at the airport itself.
Notable Quotes
Eliminating the green jackets damages the quality of public service—nothing compares to face-to-face attention from a person versus a chatbot— Center Committee (union)
Information delivery has shifted from reactive service at physical points to proactive, accessible, continuous, personalized service across multiple channels— Airport management
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did the airport decide to make this change now, when passenger numbers are at historic highs?
That's the paradox the union keeps pointing out. You'd think a busier airport would need more staff, not fewer. But management sees it differently—they think the way passengers get information has fundamentally shifted. They're not waiting at desks anymore; they're checking their phones, looking at screens. So from their perspective, the old model was already becoming obsolete.
But couldn't both exist? Couldn't they keep the green jackets and add the kiosks?
In theory, yes. But that's not how cost-cutting works. The decision wasn't really about improving service—it was about reducing payroll. Six permanent positions, some held by people who'd been there twenty years, represent real money. The kiosks and the phone line are cheaper over time.
What troubles you most about this?
The language piece, honestly. Euskera was a requirement for those jobs. It wasn't incidental—it was core to the role. Now that work is being absorbed by departments where Basque isn't required. That's not just about jobs. It's about what the airport values, what it commits to in terms of its community.
The airport says the new system offers Euskera support through digital channels.
It does, probably. But a chatbot in Euskera isn't the same as a person who speaks Euskera standing in front of you. One is a service feature. The other is a statement about who belongs in the institution.
Do you think the technology actually works as well as management claims?
For straightforward questions—gate numbers, baggage claim, basic directions—sure, it probably works fine. But airports are messy. People are confused, stressed, traveling with children or elderly relatives. They need someone who can read a situation, adapt, show patience. That's harder to automate than management wants to admit.