“My political beliefs never influenced my professional decisions”

José María Mena

© Joan Mateu Parra

José María Mena admits that, if it were up to him, he would never have retired. He is, and always has, been a fighter who likes to be on the front lines. For years, he led the Prosecutor’s Office of the High Court of Justice of Catalonia. He speaks his mind openly and with clarity. And, though he wouldn’t admit it, he has an exceptional memory. He was a member of the Unified Socialist Party of Catalonia (PSUC) before the Constitution came into effect. Together with Carlos Jiménez Villarejo, he led one of the most important cases in Catalonia’s judicial history: the Banca Catalana case. He admits that he still reads rulings that come his way. He has no trouble taking a stance. And when asked if he’s made mistakes, he’s frank: “I keep my self-criticism to myself”.

José María Mena Álvarez (Villarcayo, Burgos, 1936) began his career as a public prosecutor in Santa Cruz de Tenerife, where he was subjected to his first forced transfer, relocating him to Barcelona. Later, in 1972, his involvement with the PSUC led to his reassignment to Lleida. In 1984, together with Carlos Jiménez Villarejo, he prepared the lawsuit for the Banca Catalana case, in which the then-president of the Generalitat Government of Catalonia, Jordi Pujol, was implicated. At the end of the proceedings, both prosecutors requested charges against 18 former directors of the banking institution. However, in November 1986, the full bench of the Barcelona Territorial Court declined to prosecute Pujol. Mena has also participated in other prominent cases, including the Grand Tibidabo affair, with financier Javier de la Rosa at its centre. In addition to working as a prosecutor, he has been a university professor. In 2010, he was awarded the Creu de Sant Jordi by the Generalitat Government of Catalonia. He is a founding member of the Progressive Union of Prosecutors (UPF) and served as Chief Prosecutor of the High Court of Justice of Catalonia until his retirement in 2006.

There are doctors, architects and engineers who say that, as children, they dreamed of becoming doctors, architects or engineers. Did you want to be a prosecutor when you were a child?

I didn’t have a specific calling as a child. Just the usual things kids are interested in, but nothing resembling a vocation passed down from above. I was an ordinary child who wanted to play the same games as other children. I didn’t start thinking about what I wanted to do until I was finishing secondary school and had to pick a career. Until then, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

Is there a [law] tradition in your family?

Yes, there’s a strong tradition on my father’s side – generations of jurists, judges and prosecutors, always in public service, never as lawyers. On my mother’s side, the family were military.

Did that influence you? You’re known to be disciplined.

It’s likely that the sense of discipline and austerity I learned from my mother influenced me. But in terms of my decision to become a prosecutor rather than a judge, I don’t think so. That was simply because my father was a prosecutor. A son often follows in his father’s footsteps, and it never occurred to me to do anything else.

You were born in a village in Burgos.

My father was a court secretary in Villarcayo, and I left the village almost immediately. I was born during the Spanish Civil War, so we were there at that time. However, my father’s job kept changing, as civil servants often do. This experience has given me a distant perspective on what localism feels like – some people call it ‘regionalism’, while others refer to it as ‘nationalism’. As a child, I was always an outsider. There were those who were local, and I was the child of a civil servant who came from elsewhere. I’ve always been an outsider. After that, we lived in Burgos, Figueres, Valencia, Palma, and then back to Valencia. Eventually, I struck out on my own.

© Joan Mateu Parra © Joan Mateu Parra

So, you could say you are plurinational.

Absolutely. I learned that, in general, civil servants weren’t locals, except for those in Old Castile [the historical region that includes parts of modern-day Castile and León] and Madrid. Most others were usually from outside the area. In family gatherings and among civil servants, which were very union-like and isolated, there was a lot of criticism aimed at the locals. From a young age, as someone who supported the local young people, I always found it disappointing that the adults would criticise my peers. That’s why I’ve always maintained a positive attitude towards the locals, even though I’ve never belonged to that community. The same has happened to me in Catalonia. I am very supportive of Catalonia, but I’ve never been from Catalonia; I’ve always been an outsider. If you add my difficulty with languages to that, it might seem like I’m reluctant to form attachments. I do want to connect, but I’m simply not from here.

Were you a good student?

No, I was never a good student. It’s a bit more serious than that. I was a good child –diligent and kind – but not particularly skilled. I’ve always had the misfortune of having a terrible memory. People often say that we forget what we don’t want to remember, but in my case, it was worse; I would forget things I actually wanted to keep in mind. At school, I would study the wrong lesson because I got confused. The need to memorise everything for my studies was quite a burden. For my exams, I had to memorise 500 topics for an hour each, and I just couldn’t manage it.

How did you make up for this lack of memory?

My father gave me the answer. He said that if you need an hour to do something, you should spend three hours on it to reach the same level. Less ability means more effort. I’ve never been particularly good at studying, nor have I excelled at anything throughout my life. I’ve always been quite average. I really enjoyed playing football with my friends and classmates, but I was clumsier than most. My life has always been like this, and I can’t brag about anything. If I’ve achieved what I have, it’s purely through climbing the ranks in my career as a prosecutor and a bit of luck with my health. I’ve gotten to where I am with very little personal merit.

As a child, you believed in Father Christmas.

When I was 20 and still studying, my father would ask me, “What do you want Father Christmas to bring you?”, I’d tell him I wanted Franco’s head. He would respond, “That’s not possible; ask for something else”. “Alright, then how about some socks?”, I’d reply.

You began your career as a prosecutor in Santa Cruz de Tenerife (1964-1967). That’s where you had your first run-in with the system.

Yes, it was a forced transfer.

You requested prison sentences for some businessmen due to a death, which led to your forced transfer to Barcelona.

There were those cases, along with some economic crimes committed by local power brokers. There was quite a lot going on. Besides that, I believed the head of the regional office had committed some irregularities, so I felt it was my duty to report it to the tax inspectors. Naturally, that was a bit too much for a young lad. That was the end of it. I felt like I didn’t quite fit in. But it worked out well for me because, since it was a forced transfer, they covered the cost of moving my furniture. What’s interesting is that it was decided that the punishment would be Barcelona. The fact that I ended up in Barcelona, which has since become my life, was a result of a rather hostile decision from the Ministry.

© Joan Mateu Parra © Joan Mateu Parra

Did you start to become politically active when you came to Barcelona, or did you do so before?

I arrived with strong, radical convictions and a fair amount of reading behind me. The dominant cultural influence in my circle was French literature. I had read [Jean-Paul] Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir… The films at the time were part of the nouvelle vague movement. Then there were the books that we could buy in back rooms, accessible only to a few trusted customers – mostly Marxist literature. After passing my civil service exam, I went to Paris and worked in a factory, partly inspired by that utopian vision of the proletariat. I took advantage of my time there to study Marxism. Since it was difficult to bring books back with me, I committed them to memory instead.

How did you become politically active in the PSUC in Barcelona?

I already had those convictions because I fervently wanted to put an end to Francoism. It was a personal matter. This strong desire was influenced by the fact that, while studying law, I would listen to Radio España Independiente, La Pirenaica, in my room. So, I moved from Catholic radicalism to a more general form of radicalism, without the Catholic element. My family was practising Catholics, and I was too for a considerable part of my university years.

Has that had a lasting impact on you?

I’m not really sure, but I found that I lost my faith quite peacefully, whereas others have gone through a major moral crisis when they lost theirs. For me, it was straightforward. One day, I was at mass, and the priest raised the host and said, “This is my body”. I thought, “That can’t be true”. So, I walked out. Since then, I’ve held no hostility towards believers; after all, I used to be one myself. I’ve often wondered how such intelligent people, even Nobel Prize winners, can believe that – just as I once did, along with my parents. It seems normal, but from a logical perspective, it’s absurd. I’ve had a similar view of radical nationalist Catalans, who believe, have believed, and will continue to believe that a distinct nation could come into existence. How can they hold onto that belief when it’s physically impossible? I treat them with the same affection and respect that I have for Catholics.

Your affiliation with the PSUC came at a high price, as you were exiled to Lleida.

I paid the price for it, but I brought it upon myself. When a committee went to voice their grievance to the Attorney General, Herrero Tejedor, he told them not to complain, as I could have ended up somewhere worse. We all knew where that would have been: Entença [the location of the Model prison]. So, it was the least serious outcome we could have faced. Both Carlos Jiménez Villarejo and I were exiled. The official reason given was “having friendships with elements opposed to the national movement”. I used to joke that it wasn’t true; it wasn’t that I had friendships with disaffected elements, but rather that I was one of those opposed elements myself. I remained a member of the party until the Constitution came into effect.

What was it like living in hiding?

It was incredibly easy, quite normal. The only difference was that if you heard the lift at night, you’d think, “Maybe they’re coming for me now”. But apart from that, the double life felt completely natural, with no sense of heroism at all. We lived in an environment where we were all alike, and we simply didn’t associate with people who weren’t.

You’ve always described yourself as left-wing. Has that influenced your decisions as a prosecutor or in teaching?

Never. My political beliefs have never influenced either one. In teaching, I liked encouraging student participation, sharing the spotlight. I gave them the chance to take the lead in discussions, whatever their views were. Though I did keep the topic of the death penalty for myself, as I didn’t think it was open for debate. I felt it was my ethical duty in the university to speak out against the death penalty. My strict Marxist party beliefs never influenced even the smallest professional decision.

In court…

In the duty court, there were things that could be done: you could expose cases of mistreatment and, occasionally, take part in searches carried out by the Political-Social Brigade, where I admit I did pull a few stunts. More than once, I sneaked into the duty court pretending to be the on-call prosecutor, taking advantage of the fact that the senior prosecutors never showed up. I remember one instance involving Alfonso Carlos Comín, where the Brigade was planning to go to his house to arrest him. Somehow, I managed to send a court clerk to notify him before the Brigade arrived. He got the hint, and when the Brigade showed up, he was gone. I still remember the police officer’s frustration when he returned. Over the phone, he reported, “The bird has flown”. I remember that with great satisfaction. Everything I did was within the law.

There were other times when detainees from the Brigade came in, and if what they had done didn’t warrant unconditional detention under the law, I’d ask the judge to release them. A request from the prosecutor held weight, as some judges didn’t dare to release detainees unless the prosecutor also requested it. When we told the detainees, their looks of amazement were incredible. I had one small indulgence: I would park my car on the pavement in front of the duty court – a perfect vantage point. I’d sit in it, hidden because it was late at night, and watch them come out and embrace their families. “That’s it,” I’d think. I still feel the emotion even now.

© Joan Mateu Parra © Joan Mateu Parra

How would you describe yourself?

A strong believer in democratic legality. Yes, I was rebellious against the Franco dictatorship, and I’m deeply opposed to injustice. I was there during the first intifada, part of the first peace commission in Palestine. The relationship with Israeli institutions was extremely difficult. They were hostile. The Palestinians were quite the opposite.

And what do you think of the current situation in Gaza?

Well, it’s genocide. The terrorist act on 7 October 2023 was certainly a terrorist act. Killing civilians is deplorable, even in wartime, especially when they’re not involved in the conflict itself. All wars are unjust, and all war deaths are unjust. But deliberately killing civilians who are unconnected to the war is murder, with malice and premeditation. That’s unacceptable. Including Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You can’t kill half a million people just to force others into signing for peace.

Was it easy to fight Francoism from within the system?

It was the only real option we had. Getting inside and acting as a sort of Trojan horse seemed like a perfectly legitimate approach. In meetings with members of the Democratic Military Union, we debated this. Many of them spoke harshly about their colleagues and the military, and were eager to leave. We’d tell them, “No, no, if you’re anti-Franco, you fight on – in robes or with boots and spurs.”

You and Carlos Jiménez Villarejo made a strong team, both personally and professionally. An example is the Banca Catalana case.

Banca Catalana was a fairly ordinary case, but it posed considerable procedural challenges and had significant extrajudicial implications. It landed in the prosecutor’s office from the Tax Department. It was a stack of documents. A case against the president of the Generalitat Government of Catalonia [Jordi Pujol] ideally should have gone to the chief prosecutor. But he gathered his team to decide who should take it on. The most senior was Alejandro del Toro, but he was already handling a complex case, so next in line was Carlos – and he’s not one to refuse. It was a huge workload and he needed help. So, I was chosen for that role, assigned by my boss.

Was it a difficult investigation?

Yes, it was challenging. I didn’t know a thing about finance back then, and it was like this knot in my stomach the whole year we spent studying the paperwork. I found it tough. Inspectors from the Bank of Spain helped us out, clearing up our questions. Over time, with a lot of study, effort and a deep sense of self-criticism over my own limitations, I ended up getting a grasp of it all.

Were there any obstacles in the investigation? Or pressure?

None whatsoever. The only problem was that we lacked material resources. There was no point in pushing anyway. We were working with documents, and between a blank page, yourself and a pen, there’s no one in between. Pressure simply wasn’t an option.

Did you have any unpleasant experiences, like phone calls?

Yes, but nothing that upset my peace or influenced my professional judgement. I remember my daughters, who were teenagers then, would pick up the phone. When it was someone calling to insult me, they’d argue back, saying, “You’re wrong about my father; he’s not at all how you say”.

Were there any further incidents?

Well, there was the shotgun pellet through the window at our second home, and the windows were broken too. But I wouldn’t blame Jordi Pujol for that – just a fanatic who, at most, might have voted for him. We never found out who it was, though. It didn’t affect me in the slightest.

© Joan Mateu Parra © Joan Mateu Parra

Are there things about the Banca Catalana case that remain unknown?

I have no idea. For me, the case is closed. When I retired, I instructed a file I had kept from the proceedings be destroyed, as using it outside that context would’ve been improper. I destroyed it, I put it behind me and have no grievances against anyone. I never did, and I still don’t. To me, they were just normal defendants.

Is the justice system politicised, or is politics judicialised?

There’s a division of powers, and each one tries to encroach on the others’ territory. The executive branch seeks to intervene in the judiciary, and the judiciary tries to influence the executive; both also encroach upon the legislative sphere. The legislature makes laws to push judges to take action, but judges often resist these demands. We can see this happening now. Each branch tends to step on the others’ toes, but that’s just part of the inherent clash between powers.

Is the Constitution in danger?

The danger lies in the erosion of the Constitution, not in its repeal. No intelligent person, however reactionary, needs to abolish it. It’s already working well for them… Everything fits within the Constitution. There’s no need to repeal anything. What’s more, there have been issues, such as same-sex marriage, that simply couldn’t be accommodated in the Constitution. Because when it states, “a man and a woman have the right to marry”, nobody thought it meant a man marrying a man or a woman marrying a woman. By stating that a man and a woman can marry, it can only be interpreted as between them. There has been no need to change that article of the Constitution, which has clearly been outstripped and overwhelmed by an unstoppable social reality.

But there’s still another provision regarding territorial unity.

The same applies here. They haven’t yet examined the issue of nationalities and regions. So they should examine it more closely. Everything fits within the Constitution.

Would you return to the public prosecutor’s office?

I would, absolutely. Those who know me understand that I am a fighter by nature. I enjoy going to war. If you’re part of an army, you don’t just stay in the office; you go to the front lines. I like being on the front lines. And I would have gone and kept going.

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