Panama has been producing world champions for nearly a century. What it has not yet built is the legal infrastructure to capture the value those champions generate.

Panamá Al Brown was the first Latin American world champion. Ismael Laguna, Roberto Durán, and Eusebio Pedroza followed. For a country our size, that concentration of champions has no equal in the region. But the pattern repeats itself: the athlete is Panamanian and the fight is broadcast from somewhere else, the promoter operates from another jurisdiction, the sponsor signs in another market, and the broadcast rights are negotiated under a law that isn’t ours. The talent is exported. The business stays abroad.

The conditions to reverse that pattern already exist, and they aren’t athletic — they’re logistical and legal. Panama runs on the dollar, without the currency friction that complicates any international sponsorship contract. It sits at UTC-5 and doesn’t observe daylight saving, so a Panamanian prime-time event is simultaneously prime time for the North American market and for much of Latin America. Tocumen connects the continent by direct flight, which matters when production crews, commissioners, and press have to move inside forty-eight-hour windows. And the corporate and banking infrastructure built for international operations is already here. These are precisely the reasons multinationals place their regional headquarters in Panama.

What’s missing isn’t a venue. It’s the contractual scaffolding that turns an event into an asset. Who owns the signal and how it’s divided by territory. How free-to-air, cable, and streaming windows are separated without cannibalizing each other. What happens to visiting athletes’ image rights during the days they’re in the country. How income earned in Panama by a non-resident athlete is taxed, and which double taxation treaty applies depending on nationality. Under what immigration framework a sixty-person production crew enters for a week. And how all of it is documented for the sanctioning body, which has its own rulebook and does not bend it.

From my seat on the World Boxing Council, I’ve seen how the decision of where to stage a fight actually gets made. It isn’t decided by the capacity of the venue. It’s decided by whether the organizers can guarantee, in a contract that holds, the conditions of the bout: the purse in escrow, the medical protocols, anti-doping control, the chain of custody for officiating decisions, and a dispute resolution clause both sides accept in advance. A host city that can’t document that doesn’t lose the fight in negotiation. It loses it earlier, when it isn’t considered at all.

That work is done in advance, and it’s done once. The contractual architecture of an international event is reusable: structure it properly the first time and the ones that follow are built on top of it. It’s the same thing that happened with the ship registry — Panama doesn’t dominate global merchant shipping by geographic accident, but because it built the legal infrastructure the job required, decades ago, and then maintained it. Sport allows for the same logic.

That’s what the firm’s International Sports Business Department exists for. If you’re evaluating bringing an international event to Panama, structuring broadcast rights, or negotiating a sponsorship agreement that crosses borders, the starting point isn’t the venue. It’s the contract.

When a case crosses the Atlantic, what matters most isn't knowing the law in two countries. It's knowing who to call on the other side.

My alliance with Crespo & Ruiz in Madrid isn't a referral agreement. It's a working relationship built on real cases — commercial litigation, judgment recognition proceedings, corporate transactions involving entities in both jurisdictions, and clients who live in one country and operate in the other.

Spain and Panama have a particular legal relationship. The tax treaty between both countries is one of the most relevant for business owners operating in both markets. The historical presence of Spanish capital in Panama — in banking, construction, telecommunications — has generated decades of cross-border case law that very few local firms know in depth.

What the alliance resolves is the enforcement problem. Winning an arbitration in Panama against a Spanish counterpart isn't worth much if no one in Madrid can enforce the judgment. And vice versa. Coordination between jurisdictions — both in procedural strategy and timing of actions — is what determines whether a cross-border case ends well or extends indefinitely.

I've managed cases where the client was in Madrid, the asset was in Panama, and the counterparty was in a third country. Those cases are not managed with a call to a correspondent firm. They're managed with a team that already has practice working together, that speaks the same legal language, and that understands the timelines and logic of each system.

If you have a matter involving Spain and Panama — corporate, tax, litigation, or intellectual property — that's exactly the combination this alliance exists for.

DIGERPI processes thousands of applications each year. Most arrive with errors. Many arrive too late.

Too late in the sense that someone already registered first. In Panama — as in most industrial property systems — the principle is first in time, first in right. It doesn't matter that you've been using that brand name for years. If someone else registered it first, you have to prove prior use in a challenge process. And that consumes time, money, and energy that no business owner wants to spend.

The prior art search is not optional. It's the first step. Before investing in brand design, before printing materials, before launching, you need to verify that the asset you want to protect is available. I've seen companies build their entire visual identity on a trademark that was already registered.

The process with DIGERPI has clear stages: application, formal examination, publication in the Official Gazette for three months, opposition period, and final resolution. Real timelines — not theoretical ones — range between eight and eighteen months depending on complexity and whether third parties file opposition.

For patents the process is longer and technically more demanding. The examination of novelty, inventive step, and industrial application requires precise documentation. An error in the description of the claim can permanently limit the scope of protection.

I'm frequently asked whether it's worth registering in Panama if the business primarily operates abroad. My answer is always the same: if you have operations or clients in Panama, or plan to, local registration is the starting point. International protection comes after, and Panama is part of the Madrid System for trademarks — which facilitates expansion.

In boxing, the most important contract an athlete signs isn't with their promoter. It's the one they sign with their own image.

I say this after years of working with Latin American athletes who came to consult me when the damage was already done — contracts that assigned name, nickname, and likeness rights broadly and indefinitely, without proportional consideration, without a reversion clause.

Sports law in Latin America is young. Leagues and organizations — WBC, WBA, WBO, IBF in the case of boxing — operate under their own regulations, which don't always align with the laws of the country where the athlete lives or competes. That gap is where problems happen.

A promoter may have contractual rights over a boxer's fights without having rights over their commercial image. Or they may have those rights too, if the contract was poorly negotiated. The difference between those two scenarios can be the difference between building a long-term personal brand and signing that brand away to a third party for a decade.

I've seen cases where the boxer won the championship and lost the rights to their own story. Their name on products, their image in broadcasts, their commercial appearances — all assigned in clauses that no one clearly explained before signing.

What the athlete needs to understand is that their image rights are an asset independent of their athletic performance. That asset has value before the first title fight, during the peak of their career, and after retirement. Protecting it requires counsel before the contract — not during the litigation.

The most dangerous contract I've seen in thirty-nine years of practice had no drafting errors. It had no dispute resolution clause.

That absence cost two years of litigation across three different jurisdictions.

International commercial contracts follow a different logic than domestic contracts. Agreeing on price, delivery terms, and timeline isn't enough. The central question every international contract must answer is: what happens when something goes wrong, where do we resolve it, and under which law?

I've drafted and reviewed contracts between Panamanian companies and counterparts in Europe, Asia, and North America. The most frequent mistake isn't technical — it's that the parties negotiate the deal and leave the contract for last, as if it were a formality. The contract is not the formality. The contract is the deal.

Governing law defines which rules apply in a dispute. Jurisdiction or arbitral seat defines where it gets resolved. The force majeure clause — which no one reads until they need it — defines which events release parties from their obligations. And the confidentiality clause, which many reduce to boilerplate, can be the difference between protecting strategic information and losing it.

When I work with a client on an international contract, the goal isn't just for the document to be legally correct. The goal is for it to be enforceable — so that if there's a problem tomorrow, the contract gives you an advantageous position, not a position of parity with whoever breached.

That requires thinking about the worst case before signing. Not after.

When people ask why so many vessels sail under the Panamanian flag, the instinctive answer is "the Canal." The Canal is geography. The ship registry is a decision.

They are different things.

Panama administers the world's largest ship registry — over eight thousand active vessels. Not because it's the cheapest option, though fees are competitive. But because over decades of operation, the system proved itself to be predictable, internationally recognized, and backed by a Maritime Authority that has adapted to IMO standards without losing the agility that made it attractive in the first place.

I've represented European, Asian, and Latin American shipowners in registration processes under the Panamanian flag. What I consistently notice is that the decision is rarely just fiscal. It's an infrastructure decision. The shipowner wants to know that their vessel can operate in any port in the world without objections to the flag, that documentation will be recognized, and that in the event of a civil liability incident, there's a clear legal framework.

Panama has that. And it's not easy to replicate.

What many shipowners don't anticipate are the post-registration obligations. The AMP requires periodic inspections, safety certifications, and compliance with international maritime labor conventions. A registered vessel that doesn't keep its certifications current can be detained in a foreign port — and that cost is not offset by any savings on registration fees.

The Panamanian flag is an asset. Like any asset, it requires management.

Every week I receive calls from business owners who have already incorporated in Panama — and did it wrong.

Not wrong in the legal sense. Wrong in the sense of irrelevant. A corporation formed without a clear purpose, without an active bank account, without a structure that can withstand international scrutiny, is paper with a notarial seal. Nothing more.

Panama has one of the most flexible corporate frameworks in the world. That's an advantage for those who know how to use it and a trap for those who follow trends. I've seen Latin American, European, and North American entrepreneurs — all sharing the same illusion that incorporating in Panama automatically means asset protection or tax efficiency. It doesn't work that way.

The first thing I analyze with every client is the real purpose of the structure. Is it to operate locally? To receive international payments? To protect assets? To build a holding structure? Each answer leads to a different architecture. The corporation is the most common vehicle, but it's not always the right one.

The second issue is the bank account. Panama has tightened its banking compliance standards significantly in recent years — for good reason. Opening an account for a newly incorporated company requires source-of-funds documentation, demonstrable economic activity, and in many cases a prior relationship with the institution. Anyone promising you an account in two weeks probably isn't telling you everything.

The third issue is maintenance. A company that doesn't pay its annual fees to the Public Registry, that doesn't have an active registered agent, that doesn't update its directors and officers, accumulates risk silently. I've received cases where the problem wasn't the transaction — it was that the company had technically been in arrears for three years.

Incorporating in Panama is a decision made with information, not with urgency. If you already have a corporation and you're not sure it's working the way it should, that's the starting point.