Can a government legalize looting? Can a system disguise theft as public policy? Corruption no longer operates in the shadows: now it sits at the head of power. In many countries, it has been sustained by left-wing governments that, under promises of social justice, free healthcare, and subsidies for all, have expanded the State and, with it, the pockets of corruption. The most revealing part is that these are no longer just suspicions or media scandals: several of these governments have ended up directly in court or in prison. Cristina Fernández de Kirchner has been convicted in a corruption trial. In Spain, the Koldo case has splashed onto the circle surrounding Pedro Sánchez, and his party has become trapped in a chain of scandals that has already sent senior officials of the Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party to prison. The politics of privilege has become institutionalized. Impunity has become part of the plan.
The deterioration is not exclusive to Latin America. In Europe, Brussels’ warnings about the high risk of corruption in Spain coincide with the judicial advance against Andalusian socialism for the diversion of public funds. In the United States, the DOGE files revealed by Elon Musk have exposed billions of dollars misused through duplicated subsidies, phantom NGOs, and social programs without real oversight. Most alarming is that all this has been made possible by the massive expansion of public spending promoted by the Democratic government under the argument of equity and social reconstruction. But in practice, that growth of the state apparatus has created an ecosystem of structural corruption protected by immovable bureaucracies and networks of internal loyalties. And across Latin America, Nicaragua, Venezuela, Mexico, and Colombia have turned egalitarian rhetoric into the perfect excuse to concentrate power, persecute opponents, and shield clientelist networks. The narrative of social justice has been hijacked to hide a structure of looting. When theft becomes legalized, corruption no longer looks like a crime. And even worse, it no longer seems strange.
In Guatemala, the tragedy has come from another angle. It has not been populist leftism that has taken over the State, but rather a clientelist mercantilism, wrongly labeled as right-wing, that instead of opening markets and deregulating the economy, has captured institutions to place them at the service of political networks, rigged contracts, and personal favors. Corruption is not concentrated among the large business groups, many of which have chosen to invest outside the country due to institutional deterioration. It has favored companies with no track record, close to the ruling power, which grow thanks to contracts awarded without competition or proven capacity. From municipalities to courts and ministries, the state apparatus has been infiltrated by clientelist relationships that reward political loyalty above merit or technical competence. The result is a State that no longer acts as a neutral referee, but as an agency of political benefits, where privilege replaces principle and proximity matters more than competition. In Guatemala, crime does not need violence or loudness: it has spent decades perfecting its institutional disguise. What exists is a stable network of inflated contracts, abandoned public works, captured justice, and corruption normalized as a rule of public administration.
Over the last decade, Guatemala has lost nine points in the Corruption Perceptions Index, placing it among the 35 most corrupt countries in the world. At the same time, during that period, income per person has grown by only 0.6% annually, while authorities celebrate 3.5% economic growth. But the data do not lie: wealth is not reaching the people. While countries such as Poland, Ireland, and Georgia have reformed their institutions and modernized their economies, Guatemala has preferred to preserve its system and, with it, stagnation as a national destiny. Corruption slows investment. The lack of investment prevents the creation of formal employment. And without formal employment, 77% of the economy remains trapped in informality, without protection, without stability, and without a future. The result is not only economic: it is existential. Today, one out of every six Guatemalans lives outside the country. The most desperate have left, but also the bravest. Guatemalan talent succeeds in the United States not only as chefs or academics, but as truck drivers, entrepreneurs, nurses, and programmers. And the most tragic part is that many of them did not leave because they wanted to, but because they were not allowed to build a dignified life here. This is the invisible cost of corruption: it does not only steal money, it steals the country itself.
To understand why Guatemala does not move forward, it is not enough to denounce the symptoms: we must look at the structure that produces them. That is the central thesis of the book La corrupción bajo una nueva lupa. Its starting point is forceful: corruption is not an ethical accident or an individual deviation, but the predictable result of a poorly designed system. According to public choice theory, political actors, like any human being, respond to incentives. If the rules reward cronyism, clientelism, and bribery, that is exactly what we will get. To this, the authors add the principal-agent dilemma, rent-seeking, and regulatory capture, which describe how public mechanisms become distorted to serve private interests. But they warn that without a culture of civic virtue, where integrity is valued even when wrongdoing is legal, no system can endure. Corruption does not appear when poverty arrives; rather, it is corruption that produces poverty. Where crime becomes institutionalized, first the law dies, then the economy. That is the natural order of decline. The problem is not one rotten apple: it is the entire barrel. And if we do not change the barrel, the apples will continue rotting.
Why does a moral rebellion not erupt every time a highway, a public tender, or a ministry is stolen? Part of the answer lies in our culture. According to Hofstede’s model, Guatemala is the third country in the world in power distance, the first in collectivism, and one of the most uncertainty-averse. Blind obedience, group loyalty, and fear of change: a lethal combination that makes clientelism not only tolerated, but perceived as inevitable. In this fertile ground, corruption does not need to impose itself: it reproduces on its own. The most capable are not rewarded, but those closest to power. And in this country, influence rarely comes from merit or competition: it usually resides in political operators, relatives, or close associates of those who govern.
But it is not only about changing faces. The system itself must be redesigned. The solution is not more control over the State, but less discretionary power in the hands of bureaucrats. Fewer permits, more freedom. Fewer contacts, more competition. Fewer exceptions, more clear rules. Digitalize processes, eliminate intermediaries, and rigorously punish abuse. But that will not be enough without cultural change. If voters continue rewarding those who hand out bags of goods, if universities continue training obedient bureaucrats instead of free citizens, and if the system continues excluding those who want to compete transparently, the republic will never rise. Crime no longer hides: it signs agreements, infiltrates institutions, and distorts priorities. Guatemala is not condemned, but it is trapped.
What we have demonstrated in these lines is not suspicion: it is a diagnosis. The question now is where do we begin? And who promotes it? The answer lies in every action and every decision made by each one of us. When someone asks whether you want an invoice, remember: it is your duty and your responsibility. And if this government truly wants to fight corruption, it should begin by transforming the State procurement system: that is where the heart of the crime lies. Tolerating that one out of every five public officials does not show up to work, or that thousands are hired as temporary advisors without oversight, is also corruption. The “029” contract category must not become an excuse to evade transparency.
