The Dirty Laundry Piles Up

Mexico, which has gone through a great deal in the last couple of years, is now experiencing a new sensation: revelations--not just suspicion-- of questionable doings in high public office.

Over the past few months, an avalanche of news, leaks and accusations has shaken public opinion and the country’s elites, confirming at the same time the nation’s deep-rooted cynicism. In just the past three weeks, reports and findings have touched the current and former presidents, the industrialist owner of one of Mexico’s largest banks, the head of the No. 2 television network and the founder of the largest tortilla company in the world. And probes have not even begun in the one of the murkier areas of the last administration: the thousands of miles of privatized or privately built highways.

There is much to uncover, but some initial conclusions can already be drawn from the fast-breaking scandals. The first point is that knowledge of the magnitude of corruption under former President Carlos Salinas de Gortari must have been broader and more involved than anyone thought or had acknowledged so far. In brief, this is some of what has been alleged:

* In one single improper and possibly illegal payment at the very beginning of the Salinas administration, Conasupo, the government food distribution agency, transferred $6 million to Masesca, the corn flour giant, on the instructions of former trade Minister Jaime Serra Puche, against the advice of internal auditors.

* Raul Salinas, the president’s brother, received $50 million from the owner of a cellular phone company and lent $15 million to Adrian Sada, the head of Serfin, Mexico’s third-largest bank, and of Vitro, the glass conglomerate.

* The same presidential brother lent $30 million to Ricardo Salinas (no relation), who, a few days later, made the winning bid for the purchase of the state-owned television network.

* One of the country’s leading news anchors was a partner of Raul Salinas in a bus manufacturing company that obtained several lucrative government contracts.

If all of this is true, it is difficult to imagine that no one was privy to it. Yet Mexicans are asked to believe that officials such as President Salinas himself, his Chief of Staff Jose Cordoba, his Finance Minister Pedro Aspe (formally responsible for the privatization drive), Trade Minister Serra Puche, three interior ministers (in charge of intelligence gathering), five attorneys general (in charge of investigations and law enforcement) and myriad deputy secretaries and managers of state-owned companies and regulatory agencies were totally in the dark. They may not have been active accomplices; in many cases, they certainly did not obtain any direct, immediate personal benefit from the antics of the first family and others. But they certainly knew that something was amiss in Mexico.

It doesn’t take a Ph.D. in government to understand that the only way to sell off so many state-owned firms so quickly and for generally strong prices is if no one asks too many questions. No one really wished to ascertain where the purchase money came from, what would become of the companies later, who the new owners were, what they were really after.

On the plus side, Mexico was widely and lavishly praised for one of the fastest and most successful divestitures of public assets anywhere. On the down side, corruption, influence peddling, insider information and money laundering all were more or less inevitable.

Mexican society will have to come to terms with the consequences of such widespread involvement in the dirt and grime of the Salinas years; blaming it all on a black sheep brother will no longer be sufficient. Nor will simply applying the law guarantee an end to similar bursts of corruption in the future. The tragedy behind the Salinas outrage lies partly in the fact that a good deal of the abuse was legal. Mexican legislation does not really address many of the more refined and sophisticated forms of corruption that surfaced during the last administration. Much of what Raul Salinas, Conasupo, the banks and the owners of the TV networks did may well have been within the bounds of the law.

Unfortunately, President Ernesto Zedillo’s good intentions regarding a major overhaul of Mexico’s watchdog and accountability mechanisms have gone nowhere. There still is no congressional oversight entity with teeth and resources; the courts remain impotent and largely subservient to the executive on these matters, and legislative reform is dead in the water. The congressional committee investigating Conasupo produced a whitewash, clearly on Zedillo’s orders. Zedillo also must be behind the smear campaign against Adolfo Aguilar Zinser, the independent opposition congressman who unveiled the scandal.

Mexico needs to move beyond the corruption scandals. But before it does, the country has to know exactly what happened, regardless of the precise legality of each case. The situation is not dissimilar to the one that prevailed in Argentina and Chile once the bloody dictatorships of the 1970s and early ‘80s came to an end. In both countries, independent commissions were empowered to investigate governmental abuses, publicize their findings and recommend judicial action.

In Mexico, such a panel could help the country overcome its current travail. It could investigate everything under suspicion, recommend prosecution when necessary and provide societal sanction when misdeeds occurred within the law.

Most important, it might give Mexicans back a modicum of pride and confidence in their institutions and the hope that the ignominy of the Salinas years will fade into history’s footnotes.