The Real Madrid presidential election has concluded with Florentino Pérez securing another term, and the verdict has been almost unanimous: democracy has once again prevailed at the club. It is a comforting narrative. The problem is that very few people stop to ask what it actually means. Because electing those who govern is one thing. Governing is another entirely.
And perhaps we have spent far too long confusing the two. Real Madrid and FC Barcelona are often presented as the virtuous exception in modern football. While most of Europe’s elite clubs belong to shareholders, private investors, sovereign wealth funds, or billionaires, these clubs belong to their members. The idea carries enormous emotional appeal. It suggests independence, participation, and collective control. It suggests that the club remains in the hands of its people.
Yet when one looks at how these institutions actually operate, an uncomfortable question emerges: what does it really mean for a club to belong to its members?
On paper, the answer seems straightforward. Members elect the president and vote on certain matters at the General Assembly. In practice, however, their influence often ends where it begins. Once the ballots are counted, power becomes concentrated in the hands of the club’s leadership for years, with relatively few effective mechanisms through which the supposed owners can exercise ongoing oversight.
This is the central paradox of the model.
Members are essential when it comes to granting legitimacy to power, but they have limited ability to shape or constrain it afterward.
A democratically elected president can make multi-billion-euro strategic decisions, negotiate transformative agreements, sign contracts whose details remain hidden behind confidentiality clauses, or present complex financial operations that few ordinary members are equipped to fully evaluate. All of this is shielded by an unquestionable source of legitimacy: the members elected him.
But electing a leader is not the same thing as controlling one.
In many ways, the model creates an unusual situation. Members formally own the club, yet lack many of the rights normally associated with ownership. They do not have access to all relevant information. They do not participate in management. They do not vote on most strategic decisions. They cannot dispose of their ownership stake. They have limited tools to hold leadership accountable between elections.
They are owners in theory.
They are spectators in practice.
The contradiction becomes even more visible during election campaigns. Debate rarely revolves around transparency, governance, oversight mechanisms, or institutional accountability. Instead, campaigns are built around transfers, grand projects, sporting ambition, and emotionally charged narratives.
This is hardly surprising.
Emotion has always been more powerful than scrutiny.
Year after year, football supporters are presented with promises that never materialize, projects that evolve beyond recognition, and narratives designed to inspire rather than inform. This is not unique to Real Madrid. Nor is it unique to Barcelona. It is a natural consequence of a system in which electoral competition takes place primarily in the marketplace of hope.
And when hope dominates the conversation, accountability tends to fade into the background.
Perhaps the most striking aspect is how rarely this generates serious debate. Club members who would demand transparency from governments, corporations, and public institutions often accept a remarkable degree of opacity from those running their football clubs. Maybe because football is experienced emotionally rather than rationally. Maybe because winning matches makes difficult questions easier to ignore.
Yet the larger these institutions become, the harder those questions are to dismiss.
Real Madrid and Barcelona are no longer merely football clubs. They are global organizations managing billions of euros, negotiating international partnerships, developing major infrastructure projects, and operating sophisticated business strategies. The more power their executives wield, the more reasonable it becomes to ask whether existing accountability mechanisms are sufficient.
This is why the real issue is not whether Florentino Pérez or Joan Laporta are good presidents. Nor is it whether their electoral victories are legitimate. They are.
The deeper question lies elsewhere.
When we say that these clubs belong to their members, are we describing a reality of power or merely a reality of symbolism?
Because increasingly, it appears that members perform one essential function within the system: they provide democratic legitimacy to those who govern.
What remains far less clear is whether they truly participate in that governance.
And perhaps it is time to acknowledge that those are not the same thing.
