The culture of corruption

Bringing a welcome change from endless, repetitive Covid headlines, the Luis Bárcenas trial kicked off in Spain's High Court on Monday. As yet, there's no proof to support the former Popular Party (PP) treasurer's claim that its then-leader and prime minister, Mariano Rajoy, knew about parallel bookkeeping and cash donations; but, in a way, that's beside the point. Rajoy is damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

What if the dour Galician, prime minister of Spain from 2011 to 2018, did know about the party-wide slush fund and kept it quiet? If so, he's arguably just as culpable, if not more so, as the other PP figures serving time for corruption during his stint at the helm. And if he really didn't know what was going on - if, as he said when testifying in 2017 in the linked Gurtel case, he "ran the politics, not the accounting" - then he'll be criticised for not having a handle on his own party while in charge. It's his word against Bárcenas', and one of them is lying.

Bárcenas' sudden desire to confess everything is apparently an act of revenge on the PP, which failed to keep the former treasurer's wife out of prison in return for his silence (Rosalía Iglesias began a twelve-year sentence last November in connection with the Gurtel case). In a sense, he has nothing to lose: he's already serving a lengthy jail term for this role in the Gurtel scandal and, as such, is a dangerous entity for the PP. Bárcenas claims that Rajoy was "perfectly aware" of the dodgy finances and that he shredded papers to destroy evidence, unfortunately not realising that his diligent accountant kept copies.

If what Bárcenas alleges is true, then Rajoy's lying to protect his reputation. The former Conservative premier always played on the image of being the bumbling Grandad-figure, the kind of guy you'd have over for tea and a natter, and it's actually quite difficult to imagine him taking kickbacks and cash bonuses. But it's not impossible: he was, after all, a Spanish politician. It's a pity that former spymaster Jose Villarejo - also now in prison for fraud - wasn't lurking in Rajoy's office with his trusty tape recorder. Then we'd know who's telling the truth.

All these scandals ultimately reduce to two things: getting richer and doing favours for your mates, who in turn do you favours. It seems to be a method of operating that's deeply ingrained in Spanish politics, regardless of party affiliation (the Socialists are by no means squeaky clean in this respect, either). Pablo Casado, who took over as PP leader in 2018, said in a radio interview this week that the party of Bárcenas and Rajoy "no longer exists"; but changing the figurehead doesn't necessarily cleanse the party, and it certainly doesn't transform a culture.