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

What was shaping up to be just another summer in the municipal politics of Telde has blown up. In my 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 earthquake, is, unsurprisingly, Ángel Víctor Torres. Let the reader be under no illusion: although the dust is now settling in Telde, the shrapnel is aimed directly at the regional presidency.

The target was Torres, the shot came from Telde

It all began, as is often the case, with a flank attack to weaken the periphery. The machinery of the so-called "far-right press" or "ultra press," as some political analyses define it, zeroed in on Telde. The immediate target? Councillor Héctor Suárez. But anyone with a feel for political chess knows you don't pressure a minor pawn without intending to check the king. And the king here, the one who stands to lose the most 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 dealings of a well-known national corruption network. The accusation, levelled without conclusive proof by digital media outlets of questionable repute, aimed to directly tarnish Torres. After all, if you can plant the idea in the public mind that "Torres's people" are tainted by corruption in their historical strongholds, the damage for a general election is incalculable. It's the mud-slinging tactic: it doesn't matter if you're clean; the aim is simply to get some dirt on your clothes.

Héctor Suárez: The councillor who drew a line

But this is where the opposition's strategists made their first miscalculation. They underestimated the councillor. Héctor Suárez, instead of keeping his head down and waiting for the storm to pass, stepped into the arena 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 defame. Crucially, he did so with the force of someone who knows the ultimate target wasn't him, but his party leader. By demanding that retraction, Suárez effectively exposed the wires of the conspiracy. Suddenly, the spotlight meant to illuminate an alleged corrupt scheme instead revealed an operation of harassment aimed at bringing down the figure of Ángel Víctor Torres.

Digital press: Fourth estate or attack dog?

The most fascinating — and worrying — aspect of this case is the role of the megaphones. Certain digital portals on the island, who are quick to talk about journalism, have acted like a pack of hounds on this occasion. The phrase that best defines their behaviour, overheard in the corridors of the town hall, is: "they'll jump in headfirst just to defame." They've published, insinuated, and made connections. They've tried to construct a parallel reality where Councillor Suárez and, by extension, Ángel Víctor Torres, are pieces of a corrupt network.

For an analyst, the motive here is twofold:

• The click business: Controversy sells. The wilder the accusation, the more visits. It's the daily bread of trench-warfare digital journalism.
• The political business: Wearing down the adversary by sowing doubt. You don't need to win in court; you just need people to see the headline. The reputational damage is done before the first acquittal arrives.

And amidst this muck, Torres's figure emerges, once again, as the lightning rod. Because in Canarian politics, everything that happens in Gran Canaria, and especially in symbolic places like Telde, eventually reverberates within the halls of the Presidency.

The silent reaction and the high commercial cost

Which brings me to a deeper reflection, the one that truly matters for those of us who watch the levers of economy and investment in these islands. This kind of attrition warfare carries a tremendously high hidden cost. When the political arena turns into a media quagmire, the entire Canary Islands loses. Foreign investors, who scrutinise institutional stability before putting a single euro on the table, see these news stories and ask themselves: "What the hell is going on there? Is it a structural corruption problem, or just a dogfight between politicians?".

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 mere existence of the noise, the fact that headlines for a week talk about "shady dealings" and "former mayors" linked to his name, has already taken its toll.

I've seen hotel expansion projects cancelled for less. I've seen investment funds withdraw offers over political instability far milder than this. So, when I analyse the case of Torres and the Telde skirmish, 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 punching bags. And while they fight, the real prize — the economic development we all long for — is left waiting at the door, watching the clock and deciding whether it's worth taking a seat at the table.