We All Know This is a Country of Bribes

“We all know this is a country of bribes.” So started a news story I heard a couple of weeks ago. The anchorwoman was interviewing officials from Paraguayan bus companies, asking about their on-going (and not terribly effective) anti-corruption campaign. Bus drivers here have a simple and efficient method of supplementing their hourly wage. They offer discounts to passengers who return their tickets as they get off the bus so that they can be re-sold. At the end of the day, the driver’s pre-made strip of tickets has more left on it than it should, based on the actual number of passengers, and he takes the difference home.

Paraguayans are used to this. A friend laughingly told me that Paraguay was once ranked the 2nd most corrupt country in the world, but it had recently fallen a few places and “isn’t winning anymore.” The other day, a police officer walked into the lobby of my hotel, said hi to me and a few other guests, and sat by the front desk, obviously waiting for something. Cristian, working reception, rummaged through its safe drawer for a few seconds and then said something to the officer in Guaraní. Next he approached me and asked if I could lend him 50,000 Guaraníes (about $12). I only had 10,000 on me so Cristian jogged across the street to the hotel owner’s to get the other 40,000. He returned and handed it to the cop, who took it, smiled, and walked out.

I figured the exchange had been some sort of payoff but was surprised that it had been so open and public. I asked Cristian why he had paid the officer. “Every couple of weeks we give him a tip,” he answered, “because they don’t pay them enough.” “And if you don’t give him anything?” I asked. “We tip him to avoid trouble,” Cristian responded. “What kind of trouble?” “Well, the police themselves can send thieves. If you don’t pay, they know people who can make trouble. It’s better to just give them their tip.” And, of course, Paraguayan police also accept “special” tips in exchange for especially-arduous work like “forgetting” traffic violations and paying extra attention to “vulnerable” businesses.

Amidst such run-of-the-mill dishonesty and bending-of-rules, soccer could be a haven of honesty, meritocracy, and pure athletic entertainment. But it’s not. At all amateur levels, clubs fake their players’ identity cards so they can play in younger divisions. And even at better-regulated professional level, every season seems to be marred by accusations of referee-buying. Most-recently, Cerro Porteño, following two straight draws characterized by questionable calls and disallowed goals, issued a statement accusing “dark economic and sporting interests” of “obtaining the services of certain referees.” A poll on a popular Paraguay soccer site asks not whether readers think the allegations are true, but only who they think the culprit is.

A majority choose Horacio Cartes, president of Libertad, a large Asunción club widely believed to have purchased its historic season last year. This wasn’t the first time I heard controversial allegations against Libertad. In an interview earlier this week, Arnaldo, a member of Club Guaraní’s “barra” (official group of fan-leaders and hooligans) told me that Libertad exists purely to launder money. I asked around and a few friends told me, in hushed tones as if conveying state secrets, that Cartes is a known Mafioso and drug trafficker. Internet searches didn’t reveal much in the way of evidence for these claims, focusing more on Cartes’ escapades with various South American supermodels. My friends assured me that only a few well-informed people (apparently including everyone I know) is aware of Libertad’s dark secret.

Whether the Cartes rumors are true or not, the fact is that corruption is a regular and largely accepted part of Paraguayan life. And soccer is as important to this society as anything (perhaps excepting beef). So it is really no surprise that the grease-money culture has found its way onto the pitch. But it’s still sad. I really was hoping for the haven of honesty thing.