On the surface, elections for the Chamber of Commerce. Underground, a maneuver of much deeper scope than Juan Acosta's attempt, who was never heard from again after obtaining a vice-presidency amid a crisis in his companies in Arinaga: the construction of a new economic power centered in Maspalomas and with well-oiled tentacles in the Island Council, in the large energy company, and, of course, in the island's airport terminals. Because this story isn't just about hotels or offices with sea views: it's about control of the airport, energy, the institutional narrative, and the real levers of power. In 2026, there will be shareholder changes in hotel chains for sale in southern Gran Canaria, and the fight for control of the land in Santa Águeda will begin. The expansion toward Mogán is unstoppable.
The candidacy being orchestrated from Maspalomas isn't just aiming to place one of its own—or those who appear to be its own—as president of the Chamber of Commerce. It wants much more. It wants this body, historically run from the capital and transformed for decades into a bureaucratic fiefdom serving economic "do-goodism," to become an operational platform serving a new economic elite from the south. An elite that, unlike traditional business leaders, isn't afraid to get its hands dirty in institutional politics, nor does it have any qualms about partnering with foreign investment funds to advance its agenda.
That agenda includes three clearly defined tactical objectives: executive leadership of the Chamber in the south, recovery of the airport for the island, and pressure on Endesa (and therefore Enel).
The Chamber's executive leadership in the south: A symbolic decision, yes, but also an operational one. Moving the administrative muscle away from the capital means diminishing influence from the historical figures in commerce, the port, and import-export. It means declaring that the future of the island's economy is no longer decided in Triana or the Port Authority, but between golf courses and hotel boards.
The recovery of the airport for the island: Under the legal framework of a "management order" promoted by the Island Council, the aim is to strip AENA of its decision-making power over Gran Canaria's airport model, and thus, over the type of tourism and air connectivity it needs. This is not an expropriation. It's an attempt to return the gateway for 90% of the island's tourism GDP to island control. If they succeed, it will be a victory with national repercussions: another symbol that the islands, at least some, no longer rely on Madrid to plan their destiny.
Pressure on Endesa (and therefore Enel): The island's energy system remains a bottleneck. Renewables aren't taking off, evacuation hubs are blocked, and energy bureaucracy, transformed into a weapon of power, is slowing down key investments. The south—which refuses to resign itself to relying on obsolete generators or slowing its growth—has focused on forcing Endesa to act, and is doing so from several fronts: the Island Council, the Chamber of Deputies, and private operators. The message is clear: if energy is power, it must be recovered.
What is brewing in Gran Canaria is not a banner revolution or a middle-class rebellion. It is a surgical, well-funded movement with cross-cutting alliances and a clear objective: to decentralize the island's economic power and relocate it to where the wealth is truly produced: Maspalomas. In the medium term, this will entail changes in the distribution of subsidies, critical infrastructure, urban planning bodies, and, of course, the map of political loyalties. Will Las Palmas withstand this onslaught with the old arsenal of institutional inertia? Or will we see a pragmatic agreement between north and south, between tradition and new capital, to avoid a rift? For now, the south is playing its cards stealthily and effectively. And what seemed like a simple corporate election is beginning to look dangerously like a chess game with a hint of reconquest.
