Cristina, the First Convicted

Across the Atlantic, something extraordinary has happened — at least extraordinary by the grueling standards of Latin American politics: Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, former president of Argentina, has finally been convicted. Not ceremonially, not symbolically, but in a court of law confirmed by the highest tribunal. That alone is a seismic moment in a political culture long haunted by impunity.

Back home in Spain, the parallels are eerie. Pedro Sánchez — whose career has lately been defined by legal storms, unanswered questions, and a judicial horizon that is steadily closing in — watches another political titan fall where justice was long a mere suggestion. It’s almost poetic: on one end of the Americas, justice lands a blow; on the other, it continues its slow crawl forward.

Cristina’s conviction isn’t just another headline about corruption in Argentina. It represents a historic rupture in a system that for decades saw political elites evade accountability. Impunity was woven into the fabric of public life — until now. Argentine courts have spoken affirmatively: power does not grant immunity.

Still, the punishment itself betrays the limits of justice in that country. Because of her age, Fernández de Kirchner will not serve her term behind bars; she will serve it under house arrest, with an electronic ankle monitor. That fact has prompted both incredulity and bitter laughter — because in Argentina, privilege bends the letter of the law with astonishing ingenuity.

But the symbolism is heavy. For Spaniards, this moment offers a rare chance for introspection. La justicia — the idea that no one is above the law — is not just a Latin phrase in a textbook. It can be an actual outcome. And if justice can reach a former head of state in Argentina, then the blindfolded goddess should — logically — be capable of doing the same in Spain.

Pedro Sánchez and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner share more than two continents: both have constructed networks of loyalty, both have skirted legal lines, and both have been adept at navigating institutional weaknesses to prolong their grip on power. The difference is that Cristina’s moment of reckoning has finally arrived — a moment Sánchez has so far eluded.

Yet it shouldn’t be this way. In a democracy, judicial accountability is not an optional accessory to political life — it is central to it. When justice functions, it protects the framework within which leaders vie for power. When it falters, it becomes part of the problem. The Argentine example — imperfect, contentious, still riddled with political friction — nonetheless demonstrates that the judiciary can act.

In Madrid and throughout Spain, the opposition has seized on Fernández de Kirchner’s conviction to remind citizens of the unfulfilled questions surrounding Sánchez. But this is the moment to go beyond mere political point-scoring. It is time to ask: If justice can reach a former president in Buenos Aires, why should it be impossible in Madrid?

The answer may lie not in the intricacies of legal procedure but in political will — the willingness of society to insist that no leader, however charismatic or formidable, stands above the law. For too long, both Argentina and Spain have treated politics as a realm where accountability is negotiable. Now, thanks to an Argentine court’s decision, that bargain is unraveling.

May the moment inspire Spaniards to insist, unequivocally, that justice should function here too — not selectively, not belatedly, but forcefully, with the clarity and finality that citizens deserve. And may the era when the powerful believed their tenure eternal finally be relegated to the past.