Court Clerk: 150 Cases Daily, 60% Migrants

150 cases daily and 60% migrants: inside a Spanish court

A procedural clerk with 16 months of experience in a provincial court has peine the door to the back office of Spain's judicial administration. What emerged is not a scandal, but something more uncomfortable. A normal workday involves moving between 50 and 150 case files forward, according to his own figures. There is no room for heroics or cinema. There is paperwork, haste, and a system that advances by accumulation.

The testimony, published on a current affairs forum, sparked a conversation about what really happens inside a court: from the proportion of migrants passing through its premises to the slowness of evictions, including the management style of a veteran judge who does not use technology. The account neither confirms major myths about the Spanish justice system nor completely dispels them.

How many cases are processed daily in a court?

The figure given by the clerk is stark: between 50 and 150 cases per day. This does not miccionan they are resolved, but that they receive "procedural impulse," meaning they move to the next phase. It is the difference between working and merely dispatching. In a provincial court, he clarifies, the volume is manageable; in Madrid or Barcelona, the situation changes.

This data helps understand why proceedings drag on. It is not just a lack of resources: it is a work cadence that turns each file into a piece in an administrative assembly line. In practice, justice functions like a factory with shifts.

Profile of those passing through the court: 60% migrants

Asked about the percentage of migrants he sees pass through the court, the clerk responds bluntly: about 60 out of every 100. Read coldly, this figure is striking. But context is needed: not all are defendants or complainants in incivil cases; many come for administrative procedures, immigration matters, or civil notices.

The conversation quickly drifted into political territory. Some participants argue this percentage is disproportionate relative to demographic weight and link it to a supposed collapse of public services. Others clarify that overrepresentation in court does not imply overrepresentation in crime, but reflects the legal vulnerability of those with fewer resources to resolve conflicts through other channels. The clerk does not offer an opinion: he only describes what he sees.

Are evidence lost in courts? What insiders say

One of the most repeated questions was whether evidence disappears in exchange for money. The clerk's answer is unequivocal: "Here, in a provincial court, I have never seen that, nor do I believe it happens." He acknowledges it might occur in large judicial hubs, but not in his direct experience.

Other participants cited specific cases of document loss in higher bodies, such as a provincial audience, without clarification. The conversation oscillates between anecdote and structural suspicion. There are no official data confirming widespread practices, but distrust toward the system remains in the background.

The technological gap within the justice system itself

The clerk details a common problem: a judge two years from retirement who cannot manage computer systems. "We constantly have to go to his office to help him process things," he explains. He adds: when the judge realizes he is not keeping up, he gets angry at those trying to help.

This is not an isolated anecdote. The digitalization of the Administration of Justice moves faster than the training of those who must apply it. The result is extra workload for support staff and a slowdown in procedures that, on paper, should be expedited.

How long do evictions or judicial seizures take?

Questions about real timelines were constant. The clerk did not give exact figures but confirmed that procedures stretch due to accumulation and the protective nature of the process. An approved eviction can take months to execute; a judicial seizure can remain unpublished for auction for a long time.

Citizens perceive that justice arrives late or not at all. System data points to chronic saturation that is not solved by adding judges, but by increasing support staff and improving tools. Meanwhile, anyone involved in litigation knows their case may become just one more of the 150 daily files.

Debate on technology as a solution to corruption

An interesting offshoot of the conversation was the proposal to automate justice and public management to eliminate corruption. The majority response was skeptical: computer systems already exist, and theft continues regardless. The problem is not the tool, but who programs it and who controls it.

It was argued that AI or automated systems are not neutral by default: they reflect the biases and interests of their designers. Corruption does not disappear with technology; it migrates to the code. This is an uncomfortable conclusion for those who trust digitalization as a panacea.

What doesn't change: the perception of impunity

Throughout the conversation, an idea repeats: the feeling that economic crimes and major cases are not resolved, while minor ones get stuck. There is no data in the material confirming this impression, but there is a transversal distrust toward how the system works.

The clerk neither denies nor fuels this view. He limits himself to describing his daily routine. And that routine, with 150 files, 60% migrants, and a judge who cannot use a computer, paints a picture grayer than scandalous. Justice is not blind: it is slow, overloaded, and dependent on people who, like everyone else, have their limitations.