After months of campaigning and an unprecedented runoff in the country’s democratic history, Bolivia’s elections concluded on October 19. The ticket of Rodrigo Paz and Edman Lara, representing the Christian Democratic Party (PDC), won with 54 percent of the vote, defeating Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga and Juan Pablo Velazco of the Alianza Libre party, who obtained 45 percent.
The day unfolded relatively calmly until nightfall, when the results began to be announced. Soon after, protests erupted among Libre supporters in Cochabamba, Santa Cruz, Sucre, La Paz, Oruro, and Tarija. Once again, as in late 2019 and early 2020, Bolivians wrapped in the national flag took to the streets, alleging fraud and demanding an audit. Although the protests soon subsided, resentment toward the Movement for Socialism (MAS)—now projected onto the PDC—reflects the disdain some urban sectors hold for the rural vote.
These have been difficult times. Rising prices, fuel shortages, and the growing precariousness of daily life have become the new normal in one of South America’s poorest countries. Even so, Bolivians chose the ballot box over the barricade, clinging to the faint hope that elections might deliver some relief. Yet now that the campaign has ended and the demagoguery fades, harsh reality sets in. What comes next?
The vote leaves some clues about Bolivia’s destiny in the coming months: a crisis of political representation, looming economic adjustment measures and their social consequences, and the reconfiguration of power relations—between the state, economic elites, and the heterogeneous world of social organizations that we might call the “popular camp.”
Crisis of Representation and the Rural-Popular Vote
Bolivia’s crisis of representation was evident throughout these elections, marking the departure of the MAS after nearly two decades in power. On one hand, political parties—including MAS and its factions—have been emptied of content: leaders offer no real projects or long-term visions, and demagoguery has filled the void once occupied by ideological debate. On the other, rural and urban popular sectors that traditionally supported Evo Morales and the MAS found themselves without a representative in the race, becoming the “uncomfortable” but decisive vote that ultimately determined the electoral outcome.
Political parties have lost all seriousness and become “taxi parties,” rented by candidates to get on the ballot.
Political parties themselves have lost all seriousness and become “taxi parties,” rented by candidates to get on the ballot. Forming a new party is prohibitively expensive and complex, so party owners use their position to negotiate with aspiring candidates. These dynamics have eroded the credibility of organizations that, in many cases, are family-run and lack structure, ideology, or long-term political vision.
Bolivia’s Plurinational Legislative Assembly will now be dominated by four right-wing parties—PDC, Libre, Unidad, and Súmate—suggesting an arena of constant negotiations and pacts. It remains to be seen how representative they will prove in relation to the popular camp, though the signs are not promising. After the first round, Quiroga’s sister and Lara’s wife were elected as “plurinominal” deputies. In Bolivia, there are two types of congressional seats: uninominal, based on direct district votes, and plurinominal, allocated proportionally according to a party’s departmental vote share. Thus, these newly elected deputies entered Congress through party lists, not territorial representation. Can these figures be trusted to provide oversight over their own relatives in the executive branch?
The popular camp’s vote was the clearest symptom of the crisis of representation and of a political culture still marked by racism and class prejudice. In February, television host Mario del Alcázar falsely claimed that the rural vote “counts twice as much as the urban vote,” and in another broadcast concluded that the true source of the crisis was universal suffrage itself—because it allows “uneducated people” to vote. Along similar lines, communicator and activist María Galindo denounced the UNITEL network for “class bias” in its electoral polling analysis, which showed that people with higher education and incomes were more inclined to vote for Quiroga.
During the first round, the vote traditionally destined for the MAS was split among the PDC, Alianza Popular, the “Arcista” MAS (aligned with current president Luis Arce Catacora), and Evo Morales himself, who found a way to insert himself into the process. Without a formal candidacy and illegally barred from running, the former president called for a null vote, symbolically appropriating this expression of protest. His move had an impact: null votes reached a record 19.87 percent. Discounting the historical average of around 4 percent, at least 15 percent of voters followed Morales’s call. This “ghostly” participation confirms the enduring potency of Evismo as a form of representation for important sectors of the population, despite the serious allegations of statutory rape allegations against him.
Paz and Lara: Low-Intensity Populism
Beyond the hard core Evista vote, a significant share of MAS’s base gravitated toward Lara, a former police officer who became a symbol of popular authenticity. His life story—used clothing seller, charismatic TikToker, admirer of Nayib Bukele, and self-styled anti-corruption hero—allowed him to connect with working-class sectors engaged in the informal economy. Lara speaks like the people, jokes like the people, and promises to govern “for those at the bottom.” His presence lent Paz’s ticket the populist veneer that the political heir and businessman never could have achieved on his own.
Lara mobilizes emotions more than ideas. In a time of exhaustion and uncertainty, that proves more effective than any policy program. He offered no transformative vision for the country but rather a low-intensity populism grounded in promises of order, justice, and prosperity under slogans like “capitalism for all” and “zero tolerance for corruption.” Ultimately, his appeal rests not on a political platform but on a moral narrative centered on his “goodness” and “incorruptibility.” His durability will depend on his ability to maintain his bond with the popular electorate—a vote that was not a gift, but a loan.
Edman Lara mobilizes emotions more than ideas. In a time of exhaustion and uncertainty, that proves more effective than any policy program.
During the runoff, the Quiroga–Velazco ticket sought to associate the PDC with the MAS, claiming that Morales had endorsed them—for Libre’s candidates, if a Masista votes for you, you are a Masista. In response, Lara and Paz effectively shifted their discourse to anti-elitist imagery. While Lara attacked “the racists and the insiders,” Paz raised the banner of “a government for the majority,” casting Quiroga as the candidate of racism and privilege. Their strategy succeeded, thanks largely to widespread distrust of the far right.
Quiroga emerged as the great loser of the election. Despite presenting himself as the techno-right-wing candidate destined to “restore order” and curb the MAS’s “waste and theft,” he failed to win over popular voters. Racist and classist outbursts from his inner circle (such as Velazco’s tweets and remarks by deputy-elect Juan Carlos Velarde) only widened his distance from the grassroots. Still, nothing prevents Quiroga’s neoliberal bloc and its think tanks from participating in Paz’s governing plans.
After the runoff, social media was flooded with racist and classist comments disparaging the popular camp’s vote. Amid the backlash, Comunidad Ciudadana deputy Mayra Zalles called for “understanding” and urged against hatred toward those who “vote from emotion and according to their level of education.” Far from an isolated provocation, such statements reveal the return of an old symbolic order—where the popular will must be tutored by an “enlightened minority.”
Beyond the racism and utilitarianism of politicians toward rural and working-class sectors—seen as a bothersome but necessary voting mass—the popular vote was, in these elections, an act of self-defense. The rejection of the far right constitutes a clear message from the Bolivian people: a refusal to accept the shock adjustments of neoliberalism.
The MAS’s long cycle as mediator between the state and society has reached its limit, leaving behind a depoliticized landscape and a deeply distrustful citizenry. The country has returned to the old “pacted democracy,” with weak representation in the state and an ever-widening gap between institutional politics and everyday life.
Economic Crisis: Who Holds the Power in Bolivia?
Bolivia enters a new political cycle amid a fractured economy. Labor informality has reached 85 percent, the dollar exchange rate has soared, and the fiscal deficit climbed to 10.62 percent of the GDP in 2024. A shortage of foreign currency for fuel imports is choking the economy, while subsidies on fuel have become an increasingly unsustainable fiscal burden. These structural problems are compounded by serious socio-environmental conflicts. Fires in eastern Bolivia and the Chaco, along with river contamination from gold mining, pose urgent threats—not only because of the ecological damage but also due to the economic interests at stake in these territories.
The rejection of the far right constitutes a clear message from the Bolivian people: a refusal to accept the shock adjustments of neoliberalism.
Paz and Lara’s economic plan aims to address these issues through state downsizing and restructuring, introducing a floating dollar exchange rate, gradually reforming subsidies alongside selective tax cuts, offering soft housing loans, legalizing undocumented vehicles, opening trade to reduce technology costs, and maintaining social benefits. In short, it is a blend of liberalism and demagoguery. Beyond the rhetoric, it is plausible that Paz will follow two major consensuses shared by right-wing candidates: promoting agribusiness for export as a solution to the crisis and reducing the state’s role in favor of private investment.
According to economist Jorge Viaña, successive MAS governments strengthened three major concentrations of capital—and thus power: agribusiness, gold mining, and banking. In 2024, for example, the banking sector posted record profits of $389 million, the highest in two decades. Yet despite these enormous earnings, their tax contributions to the state remain scandalously low.
Meanwhile, agribusiness is complicit in widespread forest burning and deforestation, making Bolivia the leading country in native forest loss in the region, surpassing Brazil. Strong accusations point to a perverse triangle connecting land acquisition, fire, and finance, where land is used as collateral for new loans. With the same ecocidal voracity, gold mining has been polluting rivers and communities in the north of the country. Although profits reached $2.408 billion in 2023—falling to $667.6 million in 2024 due to the fuel crisis and smuggling)—the sector contributes little to the national economy because of minimal taxation.
Despite this reality, these powerful sectors present themselves as victims of the crisis while positioning themselves as central to its solution, justifying measures and adjustments in their favor. On August 25, the Eastern Agricultural Chamber (CAO) met with elected deputies and senators after the first round of elections to advance a “Pact for Democracy and Governance.” Signatories, including the PDC, committed to protecting private property, passing an “anti-road-blockade law,” and guaranteeing full access to biotechnology (GMOs). Meanwhile, a coalition called the “Multisectoral Committee” led by the National Chamber of Exporters (CANEB), began pressuring the new government for laws allowing unrestricted exports and legal certainty over land ownership. Although La Paz’s gold mining cooperatives allied with Quiroga for the second round, claiming they had been used for “doctrinal and ideological purposes” over the past 20 years, the sector has already begun courting the PDC, promising support and protection.
As this shows, economically powerful sectors are not the primary victims of the crisis; they are an integral part of the problem. Yet they are the first to prepare negotiation tables to safeguard their interests with the incoming administration.
There is another powerful force in Bolivia: the streets. Protest politics have long been a backbone of public life.
However, there is another powerful force in Bolivia: the streets. Protest politics have long been a backbone of public life. In the 1990s and early 2000s, social mobilization was Bolivia’s true political language—the space where public matters were contested and resolved. That convergence of demands helped topple neoliberalism and usher in the progressive cycle.
But the Bolivia facing the new government today is different. Fourteen years of dependency between the central state and social organizations have eroded the autonomy of these structures. In many cases, co-optation, clientelism, and fragmentation weakened what was once a strong fabric of resistance. Still, rural and grassroots social networks retain a long memory of struggle and are unlikely to bear the costs of the crisis silently. In 2010, when Morales attempted to remove fuel subsidies—the so-called “gasolinazo”—the entire country rose up within days. Strikes, blockades, and marches forced the government to back down “obeying the people.”
The disappearance of the historic MAS leaves a vacuum that could reactivate other forms of organization and conflict. With a right-wing government ready to implement austerity measures and a society exhausted by crisis, the streets may once again become the arena where new balances of power are decided. Whether Paz will negotiate or rule with a heavy hand remains to be seen. If he honors his commitments to agribusiness, road blockades would be criminalized. Will the streets become the stage where new imaginaries of resistance against neoliberalism are born, potentially paving the way for alternatives that break the neoliberal consensus now embedded in the national government?
Gabriel A. Rodríguez Garcia is a PhD candidate in Social Sciences at the Institute of Social Sciences and Humanities of the Autonomous University of Puebla, Mexico. He holds an MA Social Sciences from the same institution and a BA in Linguistics from the Universidad Mayor de San Simón, Bolivia. His current field of research is social conflict, collective action, and subjectivities.
