By: Miro Petek
If Alenka Bratušek were, by some mistake, a minister in Italy, the local media would summarise her political practices, as she demonstrates them in Slovenia, under a single headline: “Le tracce dei milioni” (“Tracing the millions”). Italians know how to deal with corrupt politicians, and on the other hand, the political elite still has enough moral integrity that, in cases of serious accusations, politicians resign on their own. Here I am, of course, referring to a roughly decade‑old case that shook neighbouring Italy – the Grandi Opere affair (“Major Public Works”), one of the largest investigations into irregularities in public infrastructure investments. The prosecution investigated the rigging of tenders, influencing public procurement, and corruption networks in billion‑euro projects, including the construction of highways and high‑speed railway lines, the EXPO Milan 2015 project, and other major state investments. The investigation uncovered connections between influential businessmen, high‑ranking state officials, and holders of political power.
In the middle of the political storm, the Italian Minister for Infrastructure and Transport, Maurizio Lupi, also found himself under pressure. He was not even suspected of accepting bribes, but he judged that, as a minister, he was responsible not only for his own actions but also for the reputation of the institution he led. Therefore, he resigned before the court could even decide on his possible criminal liability.
In Slovenia, during the period of major infrastructure investments, Alenka Bratušek was responsible for this portfolio. Her ministerial term was marked by the second track Divača–Koper, the renovation of the Karavanke tunnel, the refurbishment of the Jesenice railway station, and other large infrastructure projects that triggered debates about cost increases, contract annexes, public procurement procedures, delays, and the effectiveness of oversight. Media revelations, audit findings, and public questions were not enough for political responsibility to even knock on the door of Bratušek or Golob’s government. In Italy, political heads would already be rolling over such a story, while here the left‑wing elite calmly sat atop a pile of unanswered questions, waiting for them to be covered by forgetfulness and the next scandal.
This is where the essential difference becomes clear. In Italy, when irregularities were suspected in major public projects, investigators stepped in, opened the documentation, and followed the money, and sooner or later the political leadership had to pay the price. In Slovenia, the story typically ends after a few days of political shouting, mutual accusations, and media noise. Then the dust settles, the millions disappear from the front pages, and responsibility is left without a name, surname, or address.
The public announcement of alleged corruption by Alenka Bratušek in the amount of 2.5 million euros did not bring the resignation of the former minister or any upheaval, only her denial. Understandably, who would admit that millions had been transferred to some tax haven on their behalf? Until confronted with evidence in court, anyone will deny guilt. But here the question of morality and political culture arises, and these are not qualities one should look for in Bratušek, the former prime minister and minister. Bratušek feels as safe in this media and police‑prosecutorial‑judicial bubble as Zoran Janković.
Bratušek has all along sat at a lavishly set corruption table, laden with public millions, around which ties were woven between influential businessmen, state officials, and political power brokers.
The fight against corruption in Slovenia stands on shaky legs, as if we have learned to live with corruption. Alenka Bratušek is the political face of such a country – a country in which millions disappear, scandals fade, and political responsibility never comes due.
