Portugal tax appeals stuck for years

A tax case in Portugal’s administrative courts now takes an average of 861 days to finish. The courts are clearing only 48 per cent of the cases that come in each year, which means the pile keeps getting bigger (Executive Digest, Commission). The European Commission put the deterioration in writing in its 2026 Rule of Law Report, published on 17 July.

For Maltese readers, the point is familiar. A court delay is not an administrative inconvenience. It changes the balance of power between the citizen and the state. If a tax assessment, licensing decision or public contract dispute takes more than two years to be tested in court, the official decision stands in practice while the person challenging it waits.

The same Commission report raised another concern: whether Portugal’s state news agency Lusa still has enough independence from the government that now owns and governs it. Taken together, the two findings show the hard limit of EU rule-of-law oversight. Brussels can identify institutional weakening. It can force a correction only when another EU law gives it a legal route in.

Two-Year Waits and Who They Protect

Administrative and tax courts sit at the point where the state meets daily life: tax bills, permits, procurement decisions, regulatory orders. When those courts take more than two years per case and resolve fewer than half of what they receive, state power becomes much harder to challenge. The winners are governments, tax authorities and public bodies whose decisions remain in force while plaintiffs wait for a hearing.

Portugal is not alone. The Commission said proceedings in Italy remain "among the longest in the EU" (Euronews Italia). Spain was criticised over the excessive duration of high-level corruption cases (elDiario.es). Greece showed only limited progress on corruption prosecutions (gr.euronews).

The annual Rule of Law Report covers justice systems, anti-corruption, media freedom and institutional checks in all 27 member states. It creates a record, gives local reformers a Brussels-backed reference point, and raises the political cost of doing nothing. By itself, it does not impose sanctions, cut funds or send a country to court.

Lusa and the One Law That Might Bite

The Lusa issue is closer to something Brussels can enforce. After private shareholders pulled out of the Portuguese news agency, the state filled the gap and now controls 100 per cent of its capital. Statutes approved in January 2026 gave the government the power to appoint board directors and added political representatives to an expanded advisory council (CMPF).

Lusa journalists protested, warning that the new structure allowed government appointees to influence editorial decisions. The Portuguese Journalists’ Union then filed a formal complaint in Brussels. It argued that the statutes breach the European Media Freedom Act, the EU’s 2024 regulation requiring editorial independence for public-service media providers, including independent governance and protection from political interference (NUNS, Regulation 2024/1083).

A complaint is not a judgment. The Commission has not said Portugal is in breach. But the Media Freedom Act gives Brussels a legal hook that the annual report does not. If Lusa’s statutes breach binding EU media rules, the Commission can open infringement proceedings under Article 258 TFEU, the route used to take a member state to the Court of Justice for breaking EU law.

This is not an abstract issue in Malta. Media independence, public-service broadcasting and political control of information are part of the island’s lived political terrain, not seminar topics. The Caruana Galizia public inquiry found that the state bore responsibility for creating the climate that enabled a journalist’s assassination. That is why EU media-freedom rules matter here: they turn principles that governments often endorse in speeches into obligations that can be tested.

The Political Cover Game

Hungary’s government moved quickly to use the report’s breadth as political cover. Minister János Bóka presented the findings as proof that rule-of-law problems exist across the EU, not only in Budapest (Origo, a government-aligned outlet).

Independent Hungarian media pushed back. Hungary’s position is materially different because EU funds are already frozen under separate budget-protection rules, known as the conditionality regulation, which allow Brussels to withhold money when rule-of-law failures threaten EU spending. Recovery-fund milestones also carry real financial consequences (HVG, Regulation 2020/2092).

The distinction matters. Governments under harder EU pressure have an interest in blurring the line between a country receiving soft recommendations and a country losing access to money. As political messaging, it can work. Legally, it changes nothing. The annual report uses the same diagnostic framework across the bloc. The consequences differ because they depend on separate legal instruments, each with its own test.

Where Oversight Becomes Paperwork

Portugal’s case shows how the EU system actually works. The Commission can identify a court system resolving fewer than half its incoming cases. It can record that a state news agency’s governance alarms the journalists who work inside it. It can publish those findings across 27 member states and give domestic critics a common text to point to.

What it cannot do is force Portugal to act unless there is a treaty breach, a budget trigger, or a specific violation of EU media law. The Lusa complaint is now a question for the Commission’s legal services: does it justify an infringement case?

If it does, the annual report may become the first step towards a binding court judgment. If it does not, Portugal joins the list of member states where Brussels diagnoses institutional decay clearly, publishes the diagnosis every year, and watches the problem continue. That is the point where EU rule-of-law oversight stops being power and becomes paperwork.