Ángel Víctor Torres and the Political Storm in Telde: How Far Does the Collateral Damage Reach?

What promised to be just another summer in Telde's municipal politics has blown up. In thirty years covering news in the Canary Islands, I've rarely seen a storm so perfectly orchestrated to wear down an opponent. The name hovering over every conversation, the epicentre of the quake, is, unsurprisingly, Ángel Víctor Torres. Make no mistake: although the dust is kicking up in Telde now, the shrapnel is heading straight for the Canarian government headquarters.

The target was Torres, the shot came from Telde

It all started, as it often does in these cases, with a flank attack to wear them down. The machinery of the so-called "far-right press" or "ultra media," as some political analysts call it, zeroed in on Telde. The immediate target? Councillor Héctor Suárez. But any poker fan knows you don't put pressure on a minor pawn without trying to check the king. And the king here, the one who'd take the real hit if this operation succeeds, is the Secretary-General of the PSOE in the Canaries and President of the Canary Islands Government, Ángel Víctor Torres.

The strategy was as old as it was effective: link a former mayor of Telde to the alleged "shady dealings" of a well-known national corruption network. The accusation, levelled without conclusive proof by some digital media outlets with a questionable track record, aimed to splash back directly onto Torres. After all, if you can plant the idea in the public's mind that "Torres's people" are tainted by corruption in their historical strongholds, the damage come a general election is incalculable. It's the splatter tactic: it doesn't matter if you're actually clean, as long as the mud sticks.

Héctor Suárez: the councillor who said enough

But here came the first miscalculation from the opposition's strategists. They underestimated the councillor. Héctor Suárez, instead of keeping his head down and waiting for the storm to pass, stepped into the ring with a demand: a public retraction. He didn't just defend himself; he laid bare the true nature of the operation. He directly accused certain media outlets of manipulation and of using his image to smear others. And most importantly, he did it with the conviction of someone who knows the ultimate target wasn't him, but his leader. By demanding that retraction, Suárez exposed the conspiracy's wiring. Suddenly, the spotlight meant to shine on a supposed corrupt scheme revealed a campaign of harassment and takedown aimed at Ángel Víctor Torres.

Digital press: Fourth estate or attack dog?

The most fascinating—and worrying—part of this case is the role of the megaphones. Certain digital platforms on the island, who love to talk about journalism, have acted like a pack of hounds this time. The phrase that best sums up their behaviour, overheard in the council corridors, is: "they'll jump in head first with no evidence just to slander." They've published, they've insinuated, they've made connections. They've tried to construct a parallel reality where Councillor Suárez and, by extension, Ángel Víctor Torres, are cogs in a corrupt machine.

For an analyst, there's a double motive here:

• The clickbait motive: Controversy sells. The heavier the accusation, the more clicks. It's the daily bread of the trench-warfare digital press.
• The political motive: Wearing down an opponent by sowing doubt. You don't need to win in court; you just need people to see the headline. The reputational damage is done long before any acquittal comes through.

And in the middle of this mudslinging, Torres's figure emerges, once again, as the lightning rod. Because in Canarian politics, everything that happens on Gran Canaria, and especially in symbolic places like Telde, ends up echoing in the President's office.

The silent reaction and the high commercial cost

Which brings me to a deeper thought, the one that really matters for those of us watching the economic levers and investment in these islands. This kind of attrition warfare carries a massive hidden cost. When the political arena turns into a media swamp, the whole of the Canaries loses. Outside investors—those of us who scrutinise institutional stability before putting a dollar on the table—see these stories and wonder: "What the hell is going on there? Is there a structural corruption problem, or is it just a political dogfight?"

And that uncertainty, that vague stain, is lethal. It doesn't matter if it all turns out to be smoke and mirrors. It doesn't matter if Ángel Víctor Torres emerges completely unscathed from this, as seems likely. The very fact that the noise exists, that headlines for a week talk about "shady deals" and "former mayors" linked to his name, has already done its damage.

I've seen hotel expansion projects shelved for less. I've seen investment funds withdraw offers over much smaller political instability. So, when I analyse the Torres case and the Telde brawl, I don't just see a political anecdote. I see a symptom of a chronic problem that we all end up paying for: the cost of a polarisation that turns politics into a boxing ring and leaders into punchbags. And while they fight, the real prize—the economic development we all crave—is left waiting at the door, watching the clock and deciding whether it's worth taking a seat at the table.