He would not dialogue with vandals, even as the streets burned.
Six months into his presidency, Bolivia's Rodrigo Paz Pereira finds himself governing a country in open revolt — four dead, forty roadblocks, and a capital that resembles a battlefield more than a seat of power. The crisis is both inherited and inflamed: decades of economic fragility, the abrupt end of a fuel subsidy, and the long shadow of former president Evo Morales have converged into what some call a coup and others call a cry of legitimate despair. The United States has chosen its language carefully, naming criminals and drug traffickers where protesters see hunger and broken promises. In this collision of geopolitics and daily suffering, Bolivia is asking an old question anew — who gets to name a revolution, and who gets to survive one.
- Four people are dead — one in direct clashes with riot police, three others denied hospital access by roadblocks — and the toll threatens to rise as fuel shortages and economic collapse deepen the standoff.
- More than forty road blockades have paralyzed the country, with transport workers, Indigenous communities, farmers, and miners united in demanding that President Paz Pereira step down or face, in one striker's words, 'bloodshed.'
- Washington has escalated the stakes dramatically, labeling the unrest 'an ongoing coup d'état' financed by organized crime, while Bolivia expels Colombia's ambassador after its president called Paz Pereira a 'puppet of the US' — turning a domestic crisis into a regional diplomatic rupture.
- Evo Morales, sheltered in the coca-growing Chapare region and facing arrest on human trafficking charges, looms over the unrest — the government accuses him of orchestrating it to evade trial, while he frames it as resistance to neoliberalism.
- Paz Pereira has announced a cabinet reshuffle and a new economic council to bring workers and Indigenous groups into dialogue, but has drawn a hard line against negotiating with what he calls 'vandals,' leaving the path to resolution narrow and uncertain.
The streets of La Paz have become a battleground. For two weeks, demonstrators and police have clashed across Bolivia, their confrontations set against a backdrop of fuel shortages, economic collapse, and a president only six months into his term. Rodrigo Paz Pereira, a centre-right former senator who took office in November promising to restore order after nearly two decades of leftwing rule, now faces the country's worst crisis in four decades.
Four people have died — one demonstrator killed in direct clashes, three others who could not reach hospitals because roadblocks sealed the roads. Dozens more are injured. More than forty blockades crisscross the country, and the protesters are a broad coalition: transport workers, Indigenous groups, farmers, miners, all united in the belief that Paz Pereira has failed them. One striking worker warned bluntly of 'bloodshed' if the president did not resign.
Paz Pereira responded with a cabinet reshuffle and the creation of an economic and social council meant to give workers and Indigenous communities a formal voice. He promised a government 'closer to the population' — but refused to negotiate with what he called vandals, framing the unrest as an assault on democratic order rather than a legitimate grievance.
The crisis has drawn sharp international attention. The United States declared the protests 'an ongoing coup d'état' financed by organized crime, with senior officials including Marco Rubio pledging support for Bolivia's constitutional government. Bolivia, in turn, expelled Colombia's ambassador after President Gustavo Petro called Paz Pereira a 'puppet of the US' and described the upheaval as a popular insurrection. Colombia responded by expelling Bolivia's ambassador from Bogotá.
Underneath the political theater lies a genuine economic catastrophe. Bolivia is enduring its worst financial crisis in forty years — scarce dollars, scarce fuel, rising inflation. One of Paz Pereira's first acts was to end a two-decade fuel subsidy, betting on market forces to improve supply. Instead, shortages persisted, and a 'dirty fuel' scandal further eroded his credibility. He blamed sabotage by former officials linked to the previous government, but the damage was done.
Hovering over everything is Evo Morales — Bolivia's first Indigenous president, now sheltered in the coca-growing Chapare region, shielded by hundreds of farmers from an arrest warrant on charges of human trafficking. The government accuses him of deliberately stoking the unrest to avoid trial. Morales denies it, casting the protests as resistance to neoliberalism. His presence — neither imprisoned nor neutralized — remains the unresolved question at the heart of Bolivia's crisis, one that a cabinet reshuffle alone cannot answer.
The streets of La Paz have become a war zone. For two weeks now, demonstrators and police have clashed in the Bolivian capital, their battles playing out against a backdrop of fuel shortages, economic collapse, and a president struggling to hold power just six months into his term. Rodrigo Paz Pereira, a centre-right former senator, took office in November promising to restore order after nearly two decades of leftwing rule. Instead, he has inherited—or perhaps triggered—the country's worst crisis in four decades.
The numbers tell part of the story. Four people are dead: one demonstrator killed in direct clashes with riot police, three others who died when roadblocks prevented them from reaching hospitals for medical care. Dozens more have been injured. More than forty road blockades now crisscross the country, paralyzing commerce and movement. The protesters are diverse—transport workers demanding fuel supplies, Indigenous groups, farmers, miners—all united by the conviction that Paz Pereira's government has failed them. A striking transport worker named Romer Cahuaza warned bluntly of "bloodshed" if the president did not step down.
Paz Pereira's response, delivered at the presidential palace on Wednesday, was to announce a cabinet reshuffle and the creation of an "economic and social council" designed to give workers and Indigenous groups a seat at the table. He promised a "more agile cabinet, closer to the population." But he drew a hard line: he would not "dialogue with vandals." The distinction mattered to him, even as the streets burned. He framed the unrest as an attempt to "disrupt the democratic order," a phrase his foreign minister, Fernando Aramayo, echoed in the press.
What makes this crisis extraordinary is not just its domestic intensity but its international dimensions. The United States has waded in with a stark characterization: the protests are "an ongoing coup d'état," financed by a "perverse alliance between politics and organised crime." Christopher Landau, the US deputy secretary of state, made this claim in Washington. Marco Rubio, the secretary of state, reinforced it, posting that the United States "stands squarely in support of Bolivia's legitimate constitutional government" and would not permit "criminals and drug traffickers" to overthrow elected leaders in the hemisphere. This language—coup, criminals, drug traffickers—frames the unrest not as legitimate grievance but as a criminal conspiracy.
Meanwhile, Paz Pereira has expelled Colombia's ambassador, Elizabeth García, in retaliation for remarks by Colombia's leftwing president, Gustavo Petro. On Sunday, Petro had reposted a video calling Paz Pereira a "puppet of the US" and describing Bolivia's upheaval as a "popular insurrection" born of "geopolitical arrogance." Bolivia's foreign ministry justified the expulsion as necessary to "preserve the principles of sovereignty and non-interference in internal affairs"—a claim that rings hollow given the US ambassador's public statements about the nature of the unrest. Colombia's foreign ministry responded by announcing that Bolivia's ambassador would leave Bogota.
Beneath all this lies an economic catastrophe that predates Paz Pereira but has accelerated under his watch. Bolivia is experiencing its worst economic crisis in four decades. Dollars are scarce. Fuel is scarce. Inflation is rising. When Paz Pereira took office, one of his first acts was to end a two-decade fuel subsidy, betting that free-market forces would improve supply and quality. Instead, shortages persisted. Then came the "dirty fuel" crisis: part of the fuel supply was found to be adulterated. Paz Pereira blamed sabotage by former officials linked to the previous leftwing government, but the damage to his credibility was done.
Hanging over everything is the figure of Evo Morales, the country's first Indigenous president and the historic leader of the leftwing Movimiento al Socialismo party that ruled for nearly two decades before Paz Pereira's victory. Morales is now entrenched in the coca-growing region of Chapare, where hundreds of farmers shield him from police and military enforcement of an arrest warrant. He faces charges of human trafficking and of fathering a child with a fifteen-year-old girl in 2006. He has failed to appear in court, and a judge has issued a new arrest warrant. The presidential spokesperson, José Luis Gálvez, claims Morales is deliberately fueling the unrest to "evade the trial." Morales denies this, framing the protests instead as resistance to "the implementation of the neoliberal model" and calling the fuel crisis a legitimate grievance.
Paz Pereira's cabinet reshuffle and new council may offer some relief, but they address symptoms, not causes. The economic crisis is real. The fuel shortages are real. The deaths are real. And Morales remains a shadow over the government—neither imprisoned nor neutralized, neither fully present nor fully absent. What happens next depends on whether Paz Pereira can stabilize the economy, whether the US pressure on regional actors holds, and whether the protesters believe his promises of inclusion are genuine or merely tactical.
Citas Notables
We need to reorganise a cabinet that must have the capacity to listen.— President Rodrigo Paz Pereira
Let there be no mistake: the United States stands squarely in support of Bolivia's legitimate constitutional government. We will not allow criminals and drug traffickers to overthrow democratically elected leaders in our hemisphere.— US Secretary of State Marco Rubio
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did the US step in so quickly with such strong language about a coup?
Because Paz Pereira restored relations with Washington after nearly two decades of leftwing rule. The US sees the protests as a threat to a friendly government, and it's using the language of coups and organized crime to delegitimize the demonstrators and rally regional support.
But the protesters seem to have real grievances—fuel shortages, economic collapse. Aren't those legitimate?
Absolutely. The economic crisis is genuine and predates Paz Pereira. But that's precisely what makes this so volatile. He inherited a disaster, made some unpopular choices, and now can't escape the consequences. The US framing doesn't address any of that.
What's the role of Evo Morales in all this?
He's the ghost in the machine. He's not leading the protests, but his presence—sheltered in Chapare, facing arrest warrants—gives the government someone to blame. It also reminds people of what they lost when his party fell. Whether he's actually orchestrating anything is unclear, but his shadow is real.
Is Paz Pereira's cabinet reshuffle likely to work?
It's a gesture toward listening, which matters. But you can't reshuffle your way out of a fuel shortage or a four-decade economic crisis. The council he's creating might give workers a voice, but only if he actually listens—and his refusal to "dialogue with vandals" suggests he's still drawing lines.
What happens if the protests continue?
More deaths, more economic paralysis, more regional tension. Colombia and the US are already at odds with Bolivia over the ambassador expulsion. If this drags on, you could see broader regional instability. The question is whether Paz Pereira can stabilize the economy fast enough to undercut the protests' momentum.