L’Espresso Pays Tribute to Pedro Sánchez’s Corruption

The magazine L’Espresso has chosen Pedro Sánchez as its Person of the Year, and in Spain, the news has been received almost as a joke. As soon as the cover was published on social media, countless users began sharing alternative versions: the president dressed in a striped prison uniform, behind bars, or surrounded by shackles. A meme also started circulating featuring the altered cover with the masthead changed to “NextPresso,” a play on the English word “next” and the Spanish pronunciation of preso, meaning prisoner.

The reason for such an uproar lies in the timing chosen by the magazine for its announcement: right in the middle of the Spanish government’s annus horribilis—a week marked by dozens of police raids on companies and public institutions; the arrest of individuals implicated in several corruption cases surrounding Sánchez; the publication by police of new reports detailing the modus operandi of the criminal networks involved; the imprisonment of a PSOE adviser very close to the prime minister; and the eruption of an unexpected #MeToo movement within the party itself, following accusations of sexual harassment inside the Moncloa Palace by one of Sánchez’s top advisers. This was soon followed by a cascade of sexual harassment allegations against Socialist officials across Spain—cases the PSOE allegedly attempted to cover up by silencing the victims or even trying to buy their silence.

Amid this climate, while Spaniards count down the hours until the definitive collapse of Sánchez’s unpopular and corrupt government, L’Espresso has come up with the bright idea of naming the Socialist leader its Person of the Year 2025.

The sheer number of judicial investigations involving Sánchez’s closest circle, and the scale of those implicated and the interwoven corruption schemes, is so vast that journalists are struggling to summarize them in a way that is both intuitive and comprehensive. Even for Spaniards themselves—especially those familiar with the course of the investigations—it is extremely difficult to follow events closely without losing track of the many subplots, implications, and individuals involved.

By way of context, Pedro Sánchez came to power in 2018 through a controversial vote of no confidence against Mariano Rajoy, justifying it as an urgent necessity to put an end to the PP’s corruption. In other words, he reached office unexpectedly, without an election, having previously and secretly secured the support of all the parties considered enemies of Spain: from the heirs of the ETA terrorist group, to Catalan separatists, to communists with Chavista leanings. To achieve this, Sánchez first had to win the PSOE primaries after having been expelled from the party’s general secretaryship for incompetence. In those same controversial primaries—amid accusations of rigging—he managed to regain control of the party and, shortly thereafter, became prime minister of Spain under the same murky circumstances we now understand more clearly.

Before the primaries, following his expulsion from the PSOE leadership, Sánchez got into a Peugeot and toured Socialist federations across Spain in search of support. Riding with him were three people he trusted implicitly: the now former minister José Luis Ábalos, who was imprisoned a few weeks ago; the former PSOE Secretary of Organization Santos Cerdán, who was jailed months earlier; and the adviser, bodyguard, driver, and former brothel doorman Koldo García, who was imprisoned on the same day as Ábalos.

All three have now reported serious irregularities to the press and before the courts—irregularities that allegedly enabled Sánchez to win those primaries and seize control of the party. These allegations include the purported illegal financing of the campaign using funds originating from brothels owned by Pedro Sánchez’s son-in-law, as well as the use of vulnerable immigrants whose identities were exploited to break the money into small donations in order to avoid suspicion. During those primaries, Koldo García was responsible for safeguarding the endorsements; Santos Cerdán secretly negotiated agreements and secured the backing of key federations (we now know he already had a corrupt patronage network at the time), and José Luis Ábalos led the political strategy.

After the primaries, the same figures reprised their roles in preparing the motion of no confidence against Rajoy that ultimately brought Sánchez to La Moncloa. In fact, José Luis Ábalos—now imprisoned for alleged corruption—was personally chosen by Sánchez to defend the motion from the parliamentary rostrum, denouncing the supposed corruption of Rajoy’s government. Ábalos has since become notorious thanks to wiretapped conversations revealing the lavish lifestyle he enjoyed after Sánchez appointed him Minister of Public Works, as well as his unhealthy obsession with escorts and prostitutes, whom Koldo García allegedly supplied through an explicit “catalogue.”

Sánchez—who is increasingly cornered by the justice system due to further corruption and influence-peddling cases, including those involving his brother David (for whom a tailor-made position was created in the public administration) and his wife Begoña, charged with five alleged corruption offenses—now shamelessly claims that he barely knew Koldo García, that Santos Cerdán’s vast corruption network came as a complete surprise, and that Ábalos—his closest collaborator and most intimate accomplice—turned out to be little more than a stranger to him “on a personal level.” No one believes him, starting with judges and investigators, who are steadily tightening the net as the inquiries progress.

At present, five major corruption cases linked to Sánchez’s government are under investigation, not including minor schemes or subsidiary plots. These cases involve nearly a hundred individuals, including government officials, advisers, senior PSOE figures, and businesspeople, and track an estimated total of between €240 and €265 million.

Sánchez could only be named Person of the Year by a magazine willing to glorify corruption—as long as it is left-wing—and one that shows no respect whatsoever for its readers. Even so, this story may yet hold a last-minute surprise, as several Spanish newspapers are investigating suspicions that the L’Espresso cover itself may have been financed by the Spanish government. It seems unlikely, but when it comes to Sánchez, it is unwise to assume he would never cross certain red lines. In Spain, he has already crossed them all.