The “Helsinki Garden scam” is not a quaint local zoning quarrel, but a textbook illustration of how structural corruption can flourish in a country that still insists it has practically none. It shows a government quietly steering tens of millions euros in public money toward a politically connected mega‑arena, with a decision‑making trail so murky that Finland’s own corruption experts are now using the C‑word in public.
Garden Helsinki is a 400‑million‑euro project for a giant multi‑purpose arena in Töölö, intended as the future home of HIFK ice-hockey team and a flagship venue for major events, with a capacity of roughly 19,000–22,000 spectators. The project company is chaired by Jan Vapaavuori, former National Coalition Party (NCP) minister and ex‑mayor of Helsinki – a man whose political proximity to Prime Minister Petteri Orpo is not exactly a state secret.
In the government’s spring 2025 mid‑term budget negotiations, Orpo’s cabinet decided to grant Garden Helsinki 35 million euros in investment subsidies, as one of the NCP’s priorities in that budget bargaining round. The subsidy is formally conditional: not a euro is to be paid unless and until the project actually goes ahead. That fig leaf, however, does not address the central questions about how, why and for whom the decision was made.
The opaque subsidy decision
The arena subsidy surfaced in public debate largely thanks to local reporting, particularly local newspaper Vantaan Sanomat’s insistence on the awkward contrast between Garden Helsinki and a rival arena project in Vantaa’s Kivistö. Vantaa’s project received no state support, while Garden Helsinki walked away from the mid‑term negotiations with 35 million euros.
When asked, the ministers formally responsible for sports support, Sandra Bergqvist of the Swedish People’s Party and Wille Rydman from the xenophobic Finns Party, both said they had not handled the Garden support at all.
The explanation that emerged was disarmingly blunt: the support had been pushed forward by the NCP as part of its internal package in the budget talks, and approved in the cabinet as one of the party’s own priorities.
Several media outlets reported that the project had received state support without a formal application being made, prompting Garden Helsinki to issue a press release to insist that there had indeed been an application. The fact that this basic point was unclear to journalists, opposition politicians and even some ministers tells you everything about the transparency of the process.
This is where the “scam” part begins to enter the political vocabulary: a large, politically connected project, backed by a governing party, wins substantial public money through an internal bargaining process that bypasses the usual application and evaluation channels – and does so without a clear public rationale beyond “we wanted it”.
Structural corruption, Finnish‑style
Corruption researchers have not minced their words. Professor emeritus Pekka Viljanen, a criminal and procedural law expert, told Yle that, based on information in the public domain, the Garden Helsinki support decision may meet the criteria for corruption and quite possibly for structural corruption.
He argued that the Chancellor of Justice should investigate the financing arrangements behind the project, noting serious allegations of links between state support and election funding that, even if unproven, are far too grave to ignore.
The Swedish speaking Svenska Yle’s interlocutors on governance and corruption have pointed to several warning signs: the decision process shows traits of unethical decision‑making and poor administrative practice, especially for a case involving significant public funds.
Instead of a transparent comparison of competing projects and open criteria for support, the state appears to have operated through informal party negotiations and personal networks – precisely the hyvä veli (“good old boys”) pattern that Finland’s own anti‑corruption strategies claim to be trying to dismantle.
The Chancellor of Justice’s office has already received at least six formal complaints (some say more) about the Garden Helsinki support decision, filed by citizens and politicians who want to know whether Orpo’s government acted in the manner the law requires.
In other words, the case has moved from grumbling in social media to the formal oversight machinery of the Finnish state.
Why it matters in Finland – and why now?
Politically, the Garden case strikes at the very heart of Finland’s self‑image. This is the country that likes to tell the world it is one of the least corrupt on earth, even as NGOs and expert reports have for years warned of under‑recognised risks in public procurement, urban development and the nexus of party funding and state subsidies.
When the prime minister is forced to stand before cameras and “defend” a subsidy for a colossal arena chaired by his own party colleague, while denying any favouritism or links to campaign donors, the narrative of cold Nordic virtue begins to look strained.
The timing is particularly toxic. Recent surveys show that roughly half of Finns already believe corruption is fairly or very common among top‑level politicians, even if civil servants and local councillors are considered somewhat more upright.
The Garden Helsinki episode arrives in the midst of other scandals and debates about structural corruption, reinforcing a public impression that large sums of money and large construction projects tend somehow always to favour the well‑connected.
Add to that the symbolism: Helsinki gets its gilded mega‑arena with bespoke state backing; the neighbouring city’s project is left to admire the view from the cheap seats. And all this only months before all the parties plan to start their parliamentary election campaigns.
Institutionally, the case tests whether Finland’s vaunted checks and balances actually function when a flagship project for the governing party is at stake. It is now up to the Chancellor of Justice and, indirectly, parliament and the media, to determine whether the Garden decision was simply bad optics or actually unlawful – and whether the “old snakes in the garden”, as one earlier commentary put it, still slither freely through the country’s public finances.
