They bought cacao and put it on the table to say it was theirs
In the early weeks of his tenure, Peru's Interior Minister Luis Barranzuela turned his gaze inward, indicting the very institutions meant to anchor the state's war on drugs and insurgency. His allegations against Devida — that American aid had been wasted on performance rather than progress — and his warnings about the hollowing out of the counter-terrorism unit Dircote, speak to a recurring human dilemma: the machinery built to defend a society can quietly corrode from within, long before the threat it was meant to contain grows bold again. Peru now faces the question of whether naming that decay is the first step toward repair, or merely another chapter in a longer story of institutional drift.
- Barranzuela's public accusations against Devida shattered the usual silence between ministries, alleging that millions in U.S. aid had funded staged photo opportunities rather than real economic alternatives for coca farmers.
- Rumors that the ministry was preparing to suspend coca eradication in the volatile VRAEM region sent alarm through security circles, forcing the minister into an emphatic public denial.
- Beneath the drug war debate lies a quieter crisis: Dircote, Peru's counter-terrorism directorate, has been starved of resources for years, leaving the state increasingly blind to a Shining Path that never truly vanished.
- Barranzuela has pledged to rebuild Dircote with the force's best officers and to hold the line on eradication, framing both moves as urgent corrections to years of neglect.
- Parliament is not waiting — the Defense Commission has moved to summon the minister, signaling that his own allegations have invited the scrutiny he may not have anticipated.
Luis Barranzuela arrived at Peru's Interior Ministry not with reassurances, but with accusations. In a radio interview, he alleged that Devida — the state commission overseeing Peru's anti-drug strategy — had squandered millions in American development aid, describing a pattern in which officials purchased cacao, displayed it as proof of successful alternative development, and then left farmers behind. The programs, he said, had been theater. The money, in many cases, had simply gone unspent.
His remarks landed in a charged moment. Rumors had already begun circulating that his ministry was moving to suspend coca eradication operations in the VRAEM, a region in the Andes where drug production and leftist insurgency remain deeply entrenched. Barranzuela denied it flatly, insisting that eradication would continue and that authorizing otherwise would be acting against the law.
But his deeper concern was the slow unraveling of Dircote, Peru's counter-terrorism directorate. Once home to the country's most capable officers, the unit had been gradually drained of resources and left to weaken while Shining Path — defeated militarily decades ago — quietly adapted and endured. The minister pledged to reverse the decline, recruiting top personnel and restoring the directorate's capacity. His words carried an implicit admission, however: the institutions meant to protect Peru had been allowed to deteriorate, and the damage was real.
Parliament responded swiftly. The chair of the Defense Commission announced that Barranzuela would be summoned to account for his anti-narcotics strategy in detail. In opening the door to scrutiny of Devida and Dircote, the minister had also opened it to scrutiny of himself.
Luis Barranzuela took office as Peru's Interior Minister with a public indictment of the very agencies meant to support his work. In an interview with radio station Exitosa, he alleged that Devida—the state commission tasked with designing and executing Peru's anti-drug strategy—had squandered millions in American development aid and engaged in what amounted to theater rather than genuine reform.
Devida, officially the National Commission for Development and Life Without Drugs, operates under the Prime Minister's office and receives substantial support from the United States government for alternative crop development programs. Barranzuela's complaint was specific and damning. He described a pattern in which agency officials had purchased cacao, displayed it as evidence of successful alternative development, and then departed—leaving farmers with the impression they had been subjects of a photo opportunity rather than participants in a real economic transition. Millions of dollars, he said, had simply gone unused. The minister characterized the situation as symptomatic of deeper institutional rot, noting that the agency had lost sight of the social dimensions of coca cultivation in favor of treating it as a simple trafficking problem.
The timing of Barranzuela's remarks was pointed. Days earlier, rumors had circulated that his ministry was preparing to halt eradication operations against coca destined for drug trafficking in the VRAEM—a volatile region in the Andes where both narcotics production and leftist insurgency remain entrenched. The minister flatly denied the allegation, insisting that eradication efforts would continue and that he would never authorize such a reversal. "This minister has never authorized such nonsense, because that would be acting against the law," he said, asking for space to do his work.
But Barranzuela's broader concern extended beyond drug trafficking to the specter of armed insurgency. He spoke with evident frustration about the deterioration of Dircote, Peru's specialized counter-terrorism directorate. The unit, he explained, had once drawn the country's most capable police officers and had been central to the state's long struggle against Shining Path. Over time, however, it had been starved of resources and attention, left to atrophy while the terrorist organization—which never truly disappeared—adapted its methods. Shining Path had lost the armed conflict decades ago, Barranzuela noted, but had simply shifted its operations into other domains. The neglect of Dircote, he suggested, had allowed that threat to fester.
He pledged to reverse the decline. His ministry would rebuild Dircote by recruiting the police force's best personnel and restoring it to its former capacity. The fight against terrorism, he insisted, remained essential and urgent. Yet his words also carried an implicit acknowledgment: the state apparatus meant to protect Peru from its most serious threats had been allowed to deteriorate, and the agencies responsible for combating drugs and violence had become compromised or depleted. Fixing that would require not just resources but a fundamental reassertion of institutional competence.
Parliament took notice. José Williams, who chairs the Defense Commission, announced that Barranzuela would be summoned to explain his anti-narcotics strategy in detail—either that week or the next. The minister's allegations had opened a door to broader scrutiny of how Peru's security apparatus was functioning and whether the government could credibly claim to be addressing the country's most pressing criminal and security challenges.
Citas Notables
Devida receives support from the American government for alternative development projects, but we have learned that there are acts of corruption within Devida—millions of dollars that have not been used.— Luis Barranzuela, Interior Minister
This minister has never authorized such nonsense, because that would be acting against the law.— Luis Barranzuela, denying reports of halted coca eradication operations
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Barranzuela choose to air these allegations publicly rather than address them internally first?
He was already under pressure. The rumors about halting eradication operations had created a credibility crisis, so going public allowed him to seize the narrative—to say, "I'm the one cleaning house, not the one protecting corruption."
What does he mean by saying the coca issue is "social" rather than a trafficking problem?
He's acknowledging that coca farming is how rural communities survive. You can't eradicate your way out of that without offering real alternatives. Devida was supposed to provide those alternatives, but instead it was performing development rather than delivering it.
Is Shining Path actually a serious threat in 2021, or is he invoking it for political cover?
Both, probably. The group is genuinely active in certain regions, but it's also a useful specter—it justifies security spending and makes neglect of counter-terrorism look like negligence rather than choice.
What does Parliament's summons actually accomplish?
It creates a record. It forces him to articulate a strategy under oath, and it signals that these allegations won't be forgotten. If things don't improve, he's already on the record.
Does his criticism of Devida suggest he'll actually reform it, or just distance himself from it?
Hard to say. He's signaling that he sees the problem, but whether he has the political capital to fix it is another question entirely.