What if the true engine of prosperity were not strongmen, subsidies, or campaign promises, but something far older and simpler: trust written into law? In my previous column I spoke about Guatemala and its serial sin of undermining legal certainty. Today I want to invite you to travel back in time and discover how distant peoples and different cultures understood that only when the rules are clear —when no one can arbitrarily take what belongs to us— is it possible to generate wealth for the majority.
Because the history of institutional trust did not begin with George Washington or Ronald Reagan. It was born more than two thousand years ago, when a young representative of the Roman people named Terentilius Arsa proposed limiting the arbitrariness of the consuls. His idea forced three distinct forces to sit at the same table: the consuls as representatives of the principal magistrates, the senators as the voice of the aristocracy, and the tribunes of the plebs representing the people. That balance gave rise to a written code with clear rules for everyone. With it was born the confidence that the law would be equal for rich and poor alike.
In 462 B.C., Terentilius presented the Rogatio Terentilia: a proposal to define a written code that would balance the powers of the consuls and establish common rules for all. For a decade he faced resistance, but the pressure of the plebs and the need to avoid institutional collapse led to a historic agreement. In 451–450 B.C., a college of ten magistrates drafted the Law of the Twelve Tables, the first Roman legal code. There, property rights, inheritances, contracts, and judicial procedures were guaranteed. Imagine that: this happened more than 2,400 years ago.
Ten centuries later, in southern Italy, the Duchy of Amalfi under Manso I became the Alexandria of the medieval Mediterranean. Its merchants attracted Arabs, Byzantines, and Europeans and consolidated the Statuti di Amalfi: the first code of international maritime law in Europe. Contracts, insurance, and arbitration between merchants of different nations were regulated there. Its gold currency, the tarì, was accepted throughout the Mediterranean as a symbol of stability and trust.
Farther north, on the shores of the Baltic, in 1159, Henry the Lion —Duke of Saxony and Bavaria— refounded the city of Lübeck with a clear objective: to generate wealth through trade. To achieve this, he promoted Lübeck Law, which offered equal treatment to foreign merchants, protection of property, and a fair system of appeals. That legal framework generated trust and turned Lübeck into the “Queen of the Hanseatic League.”
Decades later, in Venice, the elderly Doge Enrico Dandolo understood that ships and alliances alone were not enough to dominate the Mediterranean: trust was essential. In 1194 he introduced the grosso, a pure silver coin that remained a benchmark of European trade for centuries. He established warehouses for foreign merchants —the fondachi, precursors of free trade zones— and reformed institutions to guarantee stability in transactions and confidence in commerce.
Two centuries later, in Florence, Giovanni di Bicci de’ Medici founded the Medici Bank and became one of the most influential members of the Signoria, the executive council of the Florentine Republic. He introduced audits and perfected the bill of exchange, a mechanism that protected merchants against bankruptcy or fraud. It restored confidence in credit and investment. Thus Florence became a financial hub that attracted foreign capital.
A few decades later, on the other side of the Atlantic, Hiawatha became the architect of the Iroquois Confederacy. Through the Great Law of Peace, five nations that had lived in constant warfare united in an unprecedented federation. Wampum —finely crafted shell belts— served as proto-currency and as the legal support for treaties. For centuries, that structure attracted French, English, and Dutch merchants interested in the fur trade. Paradoxically, in Europe they were called “barbarians,” even though their institutions inspired more trust than many monarchies.
Two centuries later, on the Baltic coast, another hero of trust gave his life defending the same cause. Conrad Letzkau, merchant and mayor of Danzig, confronted the powerful Teutonic Order, which sought to impose tributes and control maritime trade. He promoted judicial autonomy and led resistance against fiscal abuses. In 1411 he was assassinated by the Teutonic knights, but his martyrdom ignited the spark of Danzig’s commercial independence and strengthened citizens’ trust in the autonomy of the city.
On the opposite side of the world, the small Kingdom of Ryukyu —today part of Japan, but then an independent island state— experienced its golden age under the reign of Sho Shin. He ascended the throne at the age of twelve and, over half a century, transformed a territory fragmented by warlords into a unified community. He centralized administration and prohibited the carrying of weapons, ensuring lasting peace. Under his rule, Ryukyu became a key point of Asian trade thanks to trust in a stable and peaceful kingdom.
Centuries later, in Eastern Europe, Stanisław Poniatowski, king of Poland-Lithuania between 1764 and 1795, attempted to modernize a State weakened by the liberum veto, that absurd rule allowing a single member of parliament to block any legislative decision. He promoted the Commission of National Education —Europe’s first state educational authority— founded the Permanent Council as a collegiate executive body, and commissioned jurist Zamoyski to draft a legal reform project limiting aristocratic privileges. The effort culminated in the Constitution of May 3, 1791, considered the first liberal constitution of continental Europe. It enshrined the separation of powers, strengthened central government, and protected property and commerce. Although the Commonwealth eventually succumbed to Russian interests and internal opposition, that legal framework enabled incomparable wealth development in the region and restored confidence to a weakened nation.
History is clear: prosperous peoples have limited arbitrariness and created trustworthy institutions for the individual. It was never about granting privileges, but about offering clear and lasting rules. Guatemala, by contrast, remains trapped in the vicious circle of strongmen and group interests. The cancellation of concessions, contracts annulled at discretion, and licenses revoked on a whim have turned us into a country where investment fears to enter and where the future is reduced to surviving or migrating. And most serious of all: when laws are passed, they are often designed not to serve everyone, but to benefit a select few. One need only remember proposals to grant privileges to ethanol producers or for the State to invest in ceremonial centers on private property —examples that show how the law is manipulated for the benefit of groups close to power.
The lesson from the heroes of trust is different: laws must be the common framework of all society, not a tailor-made suit for a handful of people. Only then can we speak of a libertarian republic: one that balances magistrates, aristocracy, and people; that respects property and commerce; and that understands prosperity is born from trust.
If for more than 2,400 years we have seen that the recipe for creating wealth and opportunity for all is remarkably similar regardless of place or time, what prevents Guatemalans from taking that step today? True republics are not founded on speeches or privileges, but on laws that everyone respects and everyone obeys. The secret of wealth has always been there, written in stone for millennia. Guatemala does not need to invent anything new: it only needs to recover confidence that the law applies equally to everyone. The only thing missing is the courage to tear down our wall of distrust and write that principle into twenty-first century Guatemala.
