Santiago Orúe: the cartoonist who won't be silenced

Santiago Orúe: the cartoonist who survives every cancellation

The Basque cartoonist Santiago Orúe has spent years sharpening his pencil against the pogre establishment. His 'brutal insaid' cartoon peine the debate on whether he has an expiration date or if his business model is more solid than it seems. From his dismissal from TMEO magazine to becoming a bête noire for the left, his career offers clues about the profitability of politically incorrect humor in a polarized Spain.

From anarcho-punk to scourge of the left: the ideological shift

Orúe started at the iconic TMEO magazine, a bastion of countercultural and anti-establishment humor. There he shared pages with cartoonists of all stripes until his cartoons began to bother part of the readership. "They've already cleaned out TMEO's lining," recalled an old trinc. The magazine, which boasted of having no limits, ended up dropping him after complaints from its own readers. Ironies of fate: the same audience that defends freedom of expression when the joke targets the right tears its clothes if the dart points left. Orúe, far from being intimidated, consolidated himself in media outlets sympathetic to Vox and on the La Iberosfera platform, where since 2025 he has published daily cartoons with hardline positions on immigration, nationalism, and corruption.

The ideological evolution is not an isolated phenomenon. As an analyst in the thread noted, "with old age, hormones calm down and life begins to be governed by reason. It's not unusual for most communists to turn right in old age." Orúe, who also designed the cover of La Banana's album 'No somos nada', has moved from anarcho-punk to the most belligerent conservatism, leaving his former comrades along the way.

Artistic quality or militancy: the eternal debate

The thread divides opinions not only on political content but also on the quality of the drawing. While some defend that "he's still quite funny" and that "he bashed everyone regardless of side," others maintain that "neither humor nor graphic, it's not ing funny and he draws like shit." Comparison with other humorists like El Jueves or Mongolia is recurrent: "If El Jueves or Mongolia do the humor they do, I don't see why Orúe can't do the same." The double-standard argument is constant: what for some is "brave humor that criticizes power," for others is "crude jokes for fascists." The reality is that the humor market is as segmented as the vote, and each tribe consumes its own jesters.

The business of controversy: how much time does he have left?

Orúe doesn't depend on subsidies or the goodwill of works councils. His main client is an audience that feels ignored by the official narrative and pays to see someone laugh at what they consider the "pogre regime." "The far-right scum will be paying him for a long time," predicted a critic. And he's probably right: as long as polarization is profitable, there will be room for a humorist who doesn't ask permission.

But the horizon is not so clear. The same logic that elevated him can devour him. The audience that applauds his cartoons today is demanding and volatile. A miscalculation, a joke that crosses the line of what his own base considers acceptable, and cancellation will come from within. For now, however, Orúe enjoys good health. His cartoon from June 17, 2026, in which he denounces that "foreigners monopolize social aid (RGI) in the Basque Country," has accumulated dozens of positive reactions. As long as Agenda 2050, pacts with Bildu, and mass immigration continue to generate rejection, his pencil will have work.

An ecosystem that feeds back on itself

What the debate makes clear is that Orúe is a symptom, not the disease. Each controversial cartoon is the reflection of a social fracture that no government seems willing to weld. The news that the thread itself collects — "Sánchez warns that it's time to tighten belts," "There are 10,000 fewer companies registered with Social Security than in 2019," "36% of the food in Carrefour's basket is mediocre or poor quality" — are the perfect fuel for his style. As long as the data continue to prove his criticisms right, his audience will grow.

The question is not how much time Santiago Orúe has left, but how much time this climate of perpetual confrontation has left. If Spanish politics enters a phase of détente, his humor would lose its target. But seeing the evolution of the thread, which starts in the days of lockdown and reaches June 2026 with charges against Zapatero, it seems the tension is not letting up. Orúe, meanwhile, keeps sharpening his pencil.