Everything Under Control (or Almost): An Exciting New Era

In Andorra, it seems we have decided to bet on a bold model: less theory, more emotion, and especially, a strong commitment to youth, freshness, and above all, that very modern concept of "learning as we go" and giving an innovative concept a try: learning on the job!

The recruitment process for judges and prosecutors is full of candidates, which is always comforting and reassuring; someone asks about experience and that silence falls... that very... legal... silence.

But it's fine. Silence is also part of the procedure. But hey, let's not get stuck there... until someone remembers that "little detail" called experience!

But let's not be too demanding. Experience is overrated.

If you think about it, no one is born knowing everything. Not even a judge.

Well, maybe they used to be... but that's very old-fashioned now.

At the end of the day, it's all about making a start. And if you start strong, all the better.

There are candidates who, according to the rumours, are closer to "first-day nerves and sweaty palms" than to "I've been reviewing complex cases over breakfast for years." And of course, that has its own charm.

Imagine the scene: a full courtroom, everyone in silence, and the new judge thinking:
"Right... did this come before or after 'the case is adjourned for sentencing'?"

Pure institutional adrenaline.

Perhaps we are simply facing a paradigm shift. A more dynamic, more flexible Justice... more "beta." The kind that updates over time.

Errors? Well, we won't call them errors... we'll call them "live learning." It sounds much better and is more modern.

Besides, this also encourages citizen participation: you never know if that day you'll be attending a trial or a live practical workshop.

Quick guide to surviving as a new judge:

· If in doubt, look at the papers with an intense expression

· If you're still in doubt, look at them again, but more slowly

· If someone speaks to you with confidence, nod (this always works)

And in an extreme case... say "the case is adjourned for sentencing" and you can look it up later!!

Professionalism? Fine. Creativity? That too.

Some sectors are worried. Others are confident. And then there's the rest, who simply watch with that expression of: "This looks promising... but I'm not sure if in a good way."

Whatever the case, what's clear is that Andorran justice has never been so... exciting. And that, at least, cannot be denied.

Maybe it's just a matter of time. Of breaking it in. Of fine-tuning.

And meanwhile, the rest of us watch with that discreet smile that says:
"Interesting... very interesting."

No rush. But without missing a single detail.

Reading some articles in an Andorran newspaper (not Diari d'Andorra), one comes to the conclusion that Justice wasn't collapsed: it was simply practicing a very advanced form of administrative survival.

Because of course, hearing that there was no retirement planning, that vacant positions generated new ones in a chain reaction, that structure was lacking, and that many competencies were unclear... gives a certain peace of mind.

Especially since we are talking about a country's judicial system and not a group of friends trying to organise a last-minute trip.

The system of internal transfers is particularly fascinating. One person leaves a post, leaves a gap, someone fills that gap and leaves another gap, and so on to infinity. It is practically administrative renewable energy. If Einstein had known about this system, he might have added a fourth law of thermodynamics: "every judicial vacancy creates another equal or greater vacancy."

And then there are the conflicts of interest, recusals, and authorisations, which in a small country move into the territory of existential humour. It reaches a point where it seems impossible to find someone who hasn't crossed paths with someone else in a trial, lunch, communion, or coffee. Any day now, the main requirement to be a magistrate will be having lived five years in a cave without human contact.

The best part is that all of this is explained with spectacular serenity. "Now we will finally have organisation." "Now we will plan." "Now there will be tools."

And one thinks: magnificent... but then what exactly was it until now? An institutional escape room?

And the final gem is the topic of the "Andorranization of Justice." Because there is a poetic beauty that is hard to beat in defending that the process is "well advanced" right after appointing a foreign magistrate because, basically, there aren't enough people left to sustain the system. It's like inaugurating "local produce week" while unloading trucks from abroad because the shelves are empty.

Sure, it's legal. Obviously. Everything perfectly legal, validated, and constitutional. But the image still has a delightful touch. "Justice is becoming increasingly Andorranized"... while an urgent pool of substitute magistrates is created because between retirements, recusals, and conflicts of interest, any day now they'll end up holding trials with the first volunteer passing by on the street who knows how to keep a straight face.

The concept of "reinforcement" is also spectacular. Reinforcement judges, reinforcement magistrates, reinforcement inspectors... at this rate, Justice looks less like an institution and more like a giant scaffold held up by temporary tubes so the facade doesn't collapse while eternal renovations are underway.

And despite everything, the most incredible thing is that the system keeps working. With delays, with tension, with patches, and probably with three people putting out fires every morning before coffee, but it works. Which, honestly, is no longer public administration: it is straight-up paranormal.

The truth is that this whole situation has moved past the "institutional debate" phase and entered directly into the genre of administrative black comedy.

Because it is spectacular to see how there is constant talk of merit, transparency, and requirements while, in parallel, there is this legal magic whereby some people have to prove even their blood type to apply for a position... and others, by the simple fact of being inside the system, seem to have unlocked "Premium mode."

There are people who spend years accumulating experience, waiting for deadlines, following protocols, earning merits, and trying to fit into every possible requirement.

But it turns out that administrative time is so efficient that when the opportunity finally arrives... surprise: it's too late, it's no longer your turn, or now the system needs something else. It's a bit like queuing for ten years at a door only to discover that those inside came in through the private car park.

And the best part is the delicacy with which all this is disguised. No, there are no favourites. There are "structural particularities." There are no contradictions. There are "temporary dysfunctions." There aren't people playing with an advantage. There are "profiles adapted to current needs." It's wonderful. Orwell would be proud.

It's also very touching, this business of defending strict requirements... except when they are inconvenient. Because here it seems some requirements are like traffic rules: very important until you know someone.

And then comes the solemn speech about meritocracy, which is straight out of British humour. Because if one thing is clear, it's that there are two speeds: those who must prove every step with spotlights, stenographers, and certified documents, and those who, once inside, acquire a kind of divine administrative immunity. A sort of "if you've been here long enough, the requirements start respecting you on their own."

The competition system also has its charm. Officially, it's an open and transparent race. Unofficially, it sometimes conveys the same excitement as watching a race where some participants start twenty metres ahead but everyone has to pretend the start was equal for all.

And meanwhile, they keep talking about reorganization, modernization, and the future. Which is all very well. But from the outside, there are moments when it feels like Justice doesn't function on laws but on ancient rituals: bureaucratic sacrifices, eternal waits, and the mysterious hope that one day Saturn will align with the HR department.

But stay calm. Now everything will definitely be better structured. Now there will be planning. Now the criteria will be clear. And this time for sure. Just like the other fifteen times it was also "now for sure."

The situation is now so surreal that it's hard to tell if we're talking about a process to enter the Judiciary or an extreme survival reality show.

Because the syllabus of over 200 topics deserves scientific study. Two hundred and four topics. They practically ask you to prepare as if you were joining NASA, leading a military operation, and solving global conflict all at once... only for the exam to end up summarized in two questions and an intense look from the panel. It's spectacular. More than a public exam, it looks like a mental ultramarathon sponsored by coffee and anti-anxiety meds.

And of course, the most poetic part of all is discovering that there are people sacrificing their health studying an entire encyclopedia while others, in other times, could reach certain responsibilities without even having strict legal training because the regulations allowed it. Is it legal? Yes. Does it have a touch of black comedy when viewed today? Also yes.

It's a bit like if they now forced all airline pilots to pass impossible simulators, master meteorology, aeronautical engineering, and international protocols... but then you discovered that some old captains started because "well, they seemed like calm people and had good handwriting."

Or like organizing an Ironman today where some participants have to swim 4 km, cycle 180 km, and finish a marathon... while others explain that in their day the event basically consisted of walking quickly to the nearest bar.

But of course: all with the same official medal.

And the institutional discourse makes it even better. There's constant talk of excellence, rigour, and professionalization while people look at the syllabus and go straight into the five stages of grief. Because it's one thing to select good professionals and another to turn the process into an experience akin to a medieval interrogation but with fluorescent highlighters.

The funniest thing is that if someone who joined decades ago under the old criteria were resurrected today, they probably wouldn't even pass the first phase of current processes.

But therein lies the administrative magic: the rules are always very strict... especially for those who arrive late to the party.

And then people are still surprised there's frustration. Well, obviously. When you feel that some have had to jump a three-metre wall with weights on their ankles while others walked in when the door was still open and there was a red carpet, it's hard not to laugh to keep from crying.

But anyway, calm down. Now everything will be modern, structured, and meritocratic. Or so they say.

Which in administrative terms usually means: "we've changed the PowerPoint, we'll see about the rest."

In short, seen from the outside, the whole thing is quite reminiscent of one of those absolutely surreal football matches: some played the first leg under the old rules, on a pitch in good condition and with Champions League bonuses... and now the new ones have to play the second leg in the rain, on a muddy pitch, running a marathon before the game and still having to prove they deserve a touch of the ball.

Because the contrast also has its poetic side. Before, with fewer requirements, fewer obstacles, and fewer demands, there were salaries that looked like European first-division contracts. Now, however, between impossible exams, 204 topics, eternal protocols, and almost nuclear demands, it seems the final reward is a "well done champ, at least you've got experience."

And of course, one can't help but imagine the situation like those football veterans who explain: "in our day we played for the love of the sport"... while collecting millionaire pensions and the new players are doing calculations to see if they can pay the rent after studying for years on end without seeing the light of day.

The best part is that everything continues to be sold under the discourse of merit and excellence. Which is fine. But it reaches a point where it seems new candidates have to pass physical, psychological, and spiritual tests and probably speak ancient Latin... only to end up entering a system where some, years ago, practically gained access with a "you seem to have good handwriting, take a seat here."

And then we are surprised that people have a bit of dark humour. Well, it's normal. When some have had to climb Everest barefoot and others went up by cable car, it's hard to maintain a solemn tone all the time.

But anyway, if anyone has felt offended, it wasn't the intention. It's simply that ironic look that comes out when, from the outside, you see a system so serious, so institutional, and so complex... operating sometimes with the same energy as a veterans' match where no one runs but everyone gets paid as if they were still playing the World Cup final.

Thanks also to all the candidates who keep studying, resisting, and keeping their mental health minimally stable after 204 topics, infinite deadlines, and processes that sometimes last longer than some sporting careers.

Because it reaches a point where either you take it with a sense of humour, or you end up hugging the syllabus at three in the morning while quietly asking it if any of this will ever make sense.

Best of luck to those still in the race: just surviving the system should earn you extra points in the competition.

But well, I won't make any more reform proposals... lest they end up making me study 204 more topics and having to replace half the staff myself.

And if anyone has felt offended, honestly it was not the intention; all this comes more from solidarity with those who are still out there breaking stones than from wanting to attack anyone.

“Si això fos una conversa, ara tocaria un cafè.”