Finally, Colombian ex-president Álvaro Uribe Vélez, a hardline ruler from the first decade of the 21st century, was sentenced yesterday to twelve years of house arrest after being found guilty earlier this week of the crimes of procedural fraud and bribery in criminal proceedings. This is an interesting story whose sequence is very similar to combat sports like judo or wrestling, where a judoka or wrestler initiates an attack and their opponents somehow turn the situation in their favor.
In 2012, Uribe filed a complaint with the Supreme Court of Justice for witness tampering against leftist congressman Iván Cepeda, who was investigating him for alleged ties to paramilitary groups and had already published his thesis on the matter a year earlier. The magistrate who ended up processing the right-wing leader’s accusation six years later decided not to investigate Cepeda and instead redirected the case to demonstrate that Uribe himself was the perpetrator of the crime.
As always, the battle of arguments is a minefield where you can end up blown to pieces, especially since the defense has presented some weighty elements—there is no smoking-gun evidence, it says—, making the truth difficult to discern clearly. A key element, as I just suggested, is the sluggishness of the evidence-gathering stage in the original case—Uribe’s complaint against Cepeda. It seems utterly senseless that it took six years just to issue an interlocutory order. Then another seven years passed until yesterday, when a first-instance sentence was handed down. Something is dysfunctional there.
Then there’s the issue of "coercing" a witness’s testimony. What the law punishes is not compelling someone to testify—not even offering financial incentives—but rather causing authorities to commit errors through intentionally tainted testimony. How often have we seen in movies the authorities themselves offering incentives, both above and below the table, to secure someone’s court appearance in the name of sound justice?
Let’s examine the crime of procedural fraud in the Colombian penal code: "Whoever, by fraudulent means, induces a public official into error to obtain a judgment, resolution, or administrative act contrary to law shall incur a prison sentence of six (6) to twelve (12) years, a fine of two hundred (200) to one thousand (1,000) current legal monthly minimum wages, and disqualification from exercising public rights and functions for five (5) to eight (8) years." Note that the issue to discern isn’t even the use of a "fraudulent" method, but whether such action led authorities to produce a judgment contrary to law—meaning contrary to truth.
Regarding bribery, the law penalizes anyone who "gives or promises money or other benefits to a witness to make them lie or withhold testimony partially or entirely," while bribery in criminal proceedings specifically targets those who "for their benefit or that of a third party, give or promise money or other benefits to a witness of a criminal act to abstain from testifying, lie, or withhold testimony partially or entirely." Again, note that giving money per se isn’t punishable. The sentence by Judge Sandra Heredia cites two legal scholars stating that it’s atypical for someone to be paid to appear in court to tell the truth.
Uribe received house arrest because the two crimes for which he was convicted carry minimum sentences of five and six years, respectively, below the eight-year threshold required by law for this privilege. Look, I am still reading the extremely lengthy sentence, and I don´t have a final say on this process. Uribe, also initially required to pay a fine of approximately $822,000 and barred from holding public office for eight years, will appeal to a second-instance court.
Bukele and indefinite reelection
When I mentioned the constitutional reform approved this week at lightning speed by a massively Bukelist parliament, I may not have clarified my position beyond reporting the prevailing discourse. In that regard, I’d like to state that I have no inherent objection to indefinite reelection. While limiting presidential terms to two—or even one—is considered "healthy", I find it superficial, or overly cynical about society, to assume indefinite consecutive terms inevitably strangle democracy. History shows this pattern, but we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility of a leader retaining power without corruption. Why deny continuity solely because someone has served "enough", potentially replacing them with someone less capable but "fresh"?
Society must intelligently assess variables like power hunger and authoritarianism, ensuring that perpetuation in power stems organically from public demand—not manipulation. I acknowledge this is difficult, but I refuse to believe it’s impossible. After all, doesn’t every presidential candidate harbor some thirst for power? Or how do we determine if their motives are purely selfless social vocation? My issue with Bukele’s situation is that everything seems tailor-made: enabling his third-term candidacy and easing his victory path—effectively creating de facto private constitutional reform. Yet, despite ethical concerns about leveraging his legislative dominance, the move itself is legal. Unlike his recent reelection (a legal farce), the third-term possibility now has constitutional backing.
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