​Murueta: Urban Planning “Á la carte!”​

“When​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​museum,​ ​the​ ​shipyard​ ​was​​ superfluous;​ ​when​ ​the​ ​museum​ disappeared,​ ​the​ ​shipyard​ ​became​ ​indispensable​ ​again.​ ​That’s​ ​not​ ​planning.​ ​That’s opportunis​​m.”​

​In​​ Murueta,​ ​neither ​​the​ ​value ​​of ​​the ​​land, ​​nor​ ​the ​​legislation​ ​that ​​protects​​it, ​​nor​ the​ ​environmental​ ​reality​ ​that​ ​defines​ ​it​ ​has​ ​changed.​ ​What​ ​has​ ​changed,​ ​strikingly,​ ​is​ ​the​ ​political​ ​discourse.​ ​And,​ ​more​ ​recently,​ ​something​ ​even​ ​more​ ​worrying:​ ​the​ ​attempt​ ​to​ ​rewrite​ ​it.​ ​Because​ ​with​ ​this​ ​new​ ​General​ ​Urban​ ​Development​ ​Plan​ ​(Deia,​ ​April​ ​21,​ ​2026),​ ​the​ ​Murueta​ ​Town​ ​Council​ ​maintains​ ​that​ ​the​ ​plan​ ​“does​ ​not ​​respond​ ​to ​​external ​​projects. ”​​A​ ​statement​ ​that, ​​viewed​ ​in​ ​isolation,​ ​might​ ​seem​ ​reasonable.​ ​The​ ​problem​ ​is​​ that​​ it​ ​comes ​​after​ ​several​ ​years​ ​in​ ​which​ ​the​ ​urban​ ​planning​ ​was​ ​clearly​ ​conditioned​ ​by​ ​one​​ very​ ​specific​ ​project: the Guggenheim Urdaibai. And that is where memory matters.​

Murueta​ ​is​ ​not​ ​just​ ​any​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​land.​ ​It​ ​lies​ ​within​ ​the​ ​Urdaibai​ ​Biosphere​ ​Reserve,​ ​subject​ ​to​ ​regulations​ ​that​ ​clearly​ ​establish​ ​that​ ​environmental​ ​protection​ ​must​ ​take​ ​precedence​ ​over​ ​any​ ​urban​ ​development.​ ​This​ ​is​ ​not​ ​a​ ​matter​ ​of​ ​opinion;​ ​it​ ​is​ ​a​ ​legal​ ​obligation.​ ​And​ ​yet,​ ​in​ ​recent​ ​years,​ ​the​ ​municipality’s​ ​planning​ ​has​ ​been​ ​adapted​ ​with​ ​a​ ​flexibility​ ​that​ ​is​ ​difficult​ ​to​ justify from the perspective of the public interest.​

When​ ​the​ ​revision​ ​of​ ​the​ ​General​ ​Urban​ ​Development​ ​Plan​ ​(PGOU)​ ​began​ ​in​ ​2021,​ ​the​ ​official​ ​argument​ ​was​ ​adaptation​ ​to​ ​current​ ​regulations.​ ​Nothing​ ​to​ ​object​ ​to​ ​there.​ ​But​ ​one​ ​only​ ​needs​ ​to​ ​read​ ​the​ ​preliminary​ ​document​ ​itself​ ​to​ ​understand​ ​that​ ​there​ ​is​ ​more​ ​to​ ​it​​than​​that:​​the​​modification​​of​​the​​territorial​ ​planning​ ​is​ ​directly​ ​linked​ ​to​ ​the​ ​expansion​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Guggenheim​ ​Museum​ ​in​ ​Gernika​ ​and​ ​Murueta.​ ​In​ ​other​ ​words,​ ​urban​ ​planning​ ​is​ ​not​ ​based​ ​on​ ​an​ ​independent​ ​reflection​ ​on​ ​the​ ​future​ ​of​ ​the​ ​municipality,​ ​but​ ​rather ​​conditioned​ ​by a specific project.​

In​ ​this​ ​context,​ ​a​ ​key​ ​decision​ ​emerges:​ ​to​ ​change​ ​the​ ​zoning​ ​of​ ​the​ ​land​ ​occupied​ ​by​ ​Astilleros​ ​de​ ​Murueta​ ​SA,​ ​from​ ​industrial​ ​land​ ​to​ ​land​ ​for​ ​the​​services​ ​sector​ ​.​ ​This​ ​was​ ​not​ ​a​ ​minor​ ​technical​ ​adjustment.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​the​ ​necessary​ ​condition​ ​for​ ​the​ ​museum​ ​to​ ​exist.​ ​Without​ ​this​ ​change,​ ​the​ ​project​ ​was​​not​​viable.​​And​​so,​​ planning ​​ceased​ ​to ​​be​ ​a ​​tool ​​for ​​organization​ ​and​ ​became​ ​an​ ​instrument​ ​at​ ​the​ ​service​ ​of​ ​a​ ​specific​ ​operation.​ ​Along​ ​with​ ​this​ ​decision​ ​came​ ​a​ ​narrative:​ ​the​ ​shipyard​ ​was​ ​seen​ ​as​ ​something​ ​to​ ​be​ ​displaced,​ ​an​ ​inconvenient​ ​activity​ ​within​ ​the​ ​new​ ​model​ ​they​ ​intended​ ​to​ ​implement.​ ​The​ ​museum,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other​ ​hand,​ ​was​ ​presented​ ​as​ ​an​ ​unquestionable​ ​strategic​ ​opportunity and a guarantor of restoration and decontamination.​

Everything ​​seemed​ ​aligned​ ​to ​​justify ​​a​​ profound​​ transformation ​​of ​​land​ ​use. ​​The​ ​public ​​response ​​was ​​resounding.​​Thousands ​​of​​objections ​​submitted​ ​in ​​December​ ​2023​ ​(still​ ​pending)​ ​to ​​this​ ​draft ​​of​ ​the​​ General ​​Urban​ ​Development​ ​Plan​​(PGOU)​ ​called​ ​into​ ​question​ ​not​ ​only​ ​the​ ​project’s​ ​feasibility​ ​but​ ​also​ ​its​ ​legal​ ​compatibility​ ​within​ ​a​ ​highly​ ​protected​ ​area.​ ​This​ ​was​ ​not​ ​an​ ​emotional​ ​opposition. It was a legal, environmental, and social warning.​

Then​ ​came​ ​December​ ​16,​ ​2025,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​Guggenheim​ ​project​ ​was​ ​withdrawn.​ ​And​ ​along​ ​with​ ​that,​ ​the​ ​ongoing​ ​modifications​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Gernika-Markina​ ​Partial​ ​Territorial​ ​Plan​ ​and​ ​the​ ​Special​ ​Compatibility​ ​Plan​ ​signed​ ​by​ ​the​ ​mayors​ ​of​ ​Murueta,​ ​Gernika,​ ​and​ ​Forua​ ​with​ ​the​ ​Provincial​ ​Council​ ​lost​ ​their​ ​relevance.​ ​Thus,​ ​the​ ​element​ ​that​ ​had​ ​conditioned​ ​the​ ​planning​ ​disappeared.​ ​It​ ​is​ ​at​ ​this​ point​ ​that​ ​the​ ​narrative​ ​takes​ ​a​ ​turn​ ​that​ ​is​ ​difficult​ ​not​ ​to​ ​describe​ ​as​ ​opportunistic.​​The​​ very​ ​space​ ​that ​​was ​​being ​​reconfigured​​ to​​make ​​the ​​museum​ ​viable​ ​is​ ​reconsidered​ ​once​ ​again.​ ​The​ ​shipyard,​ ​which​ ​previously​ ​seemed​ ​incompatible​ ​with​ ​the​ ​future​ ​of​ ​the​ ​municipality, ​​is ​​now​ ​defended ​​as​ ​an​ ​activity​ ​to​ ​be​ ​preserved.​ ​Talk​ ​of​ ​relocation​ ​is​ ​avoided.​ ​The​ ​discourse ​​has​ ​changed​ ​once​ ​again.

Changing ​​one’s ​​mind​ ​isn’t​ ​the ​​problem.​​What ​​is ​​worrying​ ​is​​ the ​​ease​ ​with​ ​which​ ​it​ ​changes​ ​and,​ ​above​ ​all,​ ​what​ ​that​ ​reveals.​ ​Because ​​the ​​conclusion ​​is ​​hard​​ to ​avoid:​ ​the​ ​criteria​ ​has​ ​not​ ​been​ ​the​ ​territory,​ ​nor​ ​the​ ​regulations,​ ​nor​ ​the​ ​interests​ ​of​ ​the​ ​residents.​​The​ ​criteria​ ​has ​​been​ ​the​ ​existence,​​ or​ ​lack​ ​there of,​​of​ ​a​ ​specific​ ​project.​ ​Because​ ​if​ ​the​ ​planning​ ​was​ ​modified​ ​to​ ​make​ ​a​ ​specific​ ​project​ ​viable,​ ​it’s​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​argue​ ​that​ ​the​ ​same​ ​plan​ ​is​ ​now​ ​free​ ​from​ ​any​ ​external​ ​influence.​ ​Rather,​ ​it​ ​seems​ ​the​ ​urban​ ​planning​ ​document​ ​has​ ​been​ ​adapted​ ​in​​line ​​with​​ the​ ​political ​​priorities​ ​of ​​the​​ moment:​​ first​​ to​ ​accommodate​ ​a museum, now to justify its absence.​

It’s​ ​not​ ​that​ ​changing​ ​criteria​ ​is​ ​illegitimate.​ ​What’s​ ​worrying​ ​is​ ​the​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​coherence​ ​in​ ​the​ ​criteria​ ​themselves.​ ​Everything​ ​points​ ​to​ ​a​ ​simple​ ​and​ ​unedifying​ ​logic:​ ​when​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​museum,​ ​the​ ​shipyard​ ​was​ ​superfluous;​ ​when ​​the ​​museum​​ disappears, ​​the​​ shipyard​​ becomes ​​necessary​ ​again.​​ That’s ​​not​ ​planning. That’s opportunism!!​

The​ ​General​ ​Urban​ ​Development​ ​Plan​ ​(PGOU)​ ​should​ ​be​ ​the​ ​document​ ​that​ ​establishes​ ​the​ ​medium-​ ​and​ ​long-term​ ​model​ ​for​ ​the​ ​municipality,​ ​a​ ​stable​ ​framework​ ​that​ ​gives​ ​coherence​ ​to ​​decisions.​ ​But​ ​in​ ​this​​ case,​​ it ​​has ​​functioned​ ​more​ ​as ​​ a ​​flexible​ ​instrument,​​ capable ​​of ​​adjusting​ ​to​ ​changing​ ​priorities​ ​without​ ​any​​ convincing​ ​explanation.​​ And​ ​that ​​has ​​consequences,​​ because ​​it ​​erodes​​ trust​ ​in the institutions and in the very idea of ​planning.​

In​ ​the​ ​end,​ ​what​​ remains​​ is​ ​not​ ​just​ ​the​ ​debate​​ about​ ​a​ ​museum​ ​or ​​a ​​shipyard,​ ​rather​ ​the​ ​following​ ​uncomfortable​ ​question:​ ​who​ ​is​ ​Murueta’s​ ​future​ ​being​ ​designed​​for?​ ​When​​ urban​​ planning​ ​decisions ​​seem ​​to ​​respond​​ more​ ​to ​​external​ ​or​ ​circumstantial​ ​interests​ ​than​ ​to​ ​a​ ​solid​ ​municipal​ ​project,​ ​the​ ​feeling​ ​is​ ​that ​the​ ​territory ​​becomes​​ just ​​another ​​piece​ ​on​ ​a ​​chessboard​ ​being​ ​moved​​ from​ ​the​ ​outside.​ ​Perhaps​ ​the​ ​most​ ​striking​ ​thing​ ​of​ ​all​ ​is​ ​not​ ​the​ ​change​​ of​ ​stance,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​apparent​​ confidence​​ that​ ​no ​one​ ​will ​​remember ​​it.​​But​​ memory,​ ​in​​ this ​​case,​ ​is​ ​not​ ​at​ ​stake.​ ​The​ ​documents​ ​exist,​ ​the​ ​statements​ ​are​ ​published,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​decisions​ ​have​ ​been​ ​too​ ​clear​ ​to​ ​go​ ​unnoticed.​ ​Murueta​ ​doesn’t​ ​need​ ​urban​ ​planning​ ​that​ ​adapts​ ​to​ ​whatever​ ​project​ ​is​ ​currently​ ​in​ ​fashion.​ ​It​ ​needs​ ​coherence,​ ​rigor,​ ​and​ ​respect​ ​for​ ​a​ ​unique​ ​environment.​ ​Everything​ ​else,​ ​however​ ​much​ ​it’s​ ​disguised​ ​as​ ​planning,​ ​sounds​ ​more​ ​like​ ​improvisation​ ​and​ ​strategy.​