Spain's Transport Ministry spent €70,000 cataloguing Óscar Puente's nicknames

€70,000 to find out what people call a minister

Nearly €70,000 from Spain's Transport Ministry spent on finding out the nicknames people give minister Óscar Puente on X. The figure, reported by La Gaceta in a story by Unai Cano, is enough to split public opinion in two: some see pure waste, others a security job that is more than justified. The round, easy-to-remember number has the virtue of turning a cabinet matter into a national joke.

Óscar Puente, Spain's transport minister, is one of the most active politicians on the social network formerly known as Twitter. His tone, more bar-room than boardroom, has earned him a collection of nicknames ranging from wordplay to outright insults. The fact that the Ministry paid to compile them is what has lit the fuse.

What exactly was bought with €70,000

According to the report, the job consisted of tracking and classifying the nicknames users give him on the platform. Critics argue that any intern with a search engine and a free afternoon could do it for far less. The comparison with free tools — from a simple scraper to a language model — comes up again and again: if the goal was to know what is being said about you, the public cost is hard to defend.

The defence from the other side is different and has its own logic: some argue that a minister receives threats every day and that the line between a nickname and intimidation is thin. Cataloguing the noise of the network can be a first step towards identifying who crosses it. The problem is that, when it comes to security, the framing of "finding out nicknames" is the worst possible shop window.

The nickname catalogue that writes itself

The conversation quickly turned to humour. The nicknames multiply without any contract needed: from wordplay on his surname to variants mixing his rail management with classic Spanish sarcasm. Some point out that the most popular nickname does not even appear in the report, fuelling suspicion that the study was flawed from the start. Others note that Spanish, for this kind of thing, is an inexhaustible language.

The joke writes itself, but the joke comes at a cost. The most repeated quip: if the list was paid for with public money, it should be public too. That is where the matter stops being funny and enters transparency territory.

The context nobody disputes: public money and priorities

Beyond the banter, the debate taps into an entrenched feeling: the perception that political spending has drifted away from citizens' priorities. This expenditure is compared with other needs of the department and with the state of the rail network, where complaints about incidents and commuter rail management are commonplace. The association is inevitable: a ministry that pays to know how it is insulted while trains run late.

The exact figure, nearly €70,000, is what gives the story its force. It is not invisible spending in a budget of millions; it is a concrete, awarded, traceable amount. And that makes it political ammunition.

Who oversees the one who laughs at everyone

The minister's tone on social media, which he himself cultivates, makes the institutional defence harder. Someone who joins in the banter cannot then demand solemnity when the banter turns against him. The question left hanging is not whether the report was necessary, but who decides what is security and what is vanity when the taxpayer foots the bill.

The report does not clarify whether the list will be published. Nor whether the contract went through competitive tender or was handed out directly. These are the two questions any serious oversight should answer, and neither has an answer yet.