Have you noticed that, lately, scandals seem to come one after another? Each new case sparks outrage, makes headlines, and sparks a debate, but the next one quickly follows. And almost without realizing it, this succession begins to dull our sense of wonder, giving way to habit and, ultimately, oblivion.
Fifteen years ago in Chile, we proudly claimed that corruption didn’t exist or that it was a problem in other countries. We boasted of being the “jaguars of Latin America” and of ranking among the least corrupt countries. And although we remain among the highest-rated countries in the region, that shouldn’t lull us into a false sense of security. We may be better off than our neighbors, but at the same time, we may be falling behind our own past standards.
For a long time, perhaps, the problem was that we simply didn’t see it, because cases didn’t come to light, and therefore we weren’t aware of the scale these crimes could reach. Today, however, we know of more cases, more investigations, and more evidence. But the paradox is that the more we see, the less it seems to surprise us.
The examples have been piling up: cases of municipal corruption, the “Audio” case, the “Belarusian Doll” scandal, fraud involving the misuse of medical leave, Operations Tokyo and Amsterdam, irregularities at Junaeb, and, most recently, the arrest of former prosecutor Vinko Fodich and PDI officials, who went from prosecuting crimes to being investigated for allegedly committing them.
And it is precisely this latest case that once again shows us just how far these kinds of practices can go when they even extend to those responsible for combating them.
According to the investigation’s findings, a victim of kidnapping for ransom was allegedly transported to and held at a fake PDI headquarters, where the perpetrators demanded money in exchange for the victim’s release. The case involves PDI officials and civilians who allegedly posed as police officers, in addition to former prosecutor Fodich and other defendants. The fact that people whose job was to prosecute crimes are now being investigated for allegedly participating in them is particularly serious because of what it signifies.
It’s hard not to wonder how many more incidents might be occurring without our knowledge. And yet, in a few weeks, this case will likely be replaced by the next headline. We are caught in a vicious cycle where we are shocked, then normalize the situation, and finally forget.
Perhaps one of the reasons we’ve stopped being surprised is that we continue to view these events as something that happens to others but will never knock on our door—the door of our companies, our businesses, or our own decisions. The reality is that they may be much closer than we think: in a small business, a supplier, a contract, or a relationship we take for granted simply because we believe we know who’s on the other end. Crimes do not discriminate based on last names, job titles, or economic status.
This is especially relevant in a small country like ours, where asking for more oversight from someone close to you or an acquaintance can be interpreted as a lack of trust—as if you were doubting their word—or as if knowing them beforehand were a guarantee of honesty. However, controls and due diligence do not exist because we should distrust everyone, but because trust, on its own, is not enough.
Prevention also means being willing to ask questions, provide answers, and verify facts—even if it’s sometimes uncomfortable. Because while these incidents will likely never disappear entirely, we can prevent ourselves from becoming desensitized to them. We must never allow them to become part of the landscape.
If we think it’s not going to rain, we won’t bring an umbrella, but if it does rain, we’ll get wet. The same thing happens when we stop being surprised. If we stop being vigilant in the face of these incidents, we also stop preventing them. And by the time we want to react, it may be too late.
By Susana Sierra
Published in El Mostrador
