The political system has given Paz a green light to apply force
In the highlands of Bolivia, a government's attempt to stabilize its finances through austerity has collided with the accumulated grievances of a people long accustomed to subsidized survival, producing a crisis that has now claimed four lives — among them a child — and forced a reckoning with the oldest question in democratic governance: how much force may a state use to preserve itself? President Rodrigo Paz, facing roadblocks that have strangled La Paz and a financial market in open retreat, has secured from Congress the legal authority to deploy the military without the constraints that once governed such decisions. Whether this expansion of power will restore order or deepen the wound remains the question Bolivia now carries into an uncertain horizon.
- A twelve-year-old boy died unable to reach a hospital because strikers had sealed every road — a death that made abstract policy feel like a verdict.
- La Paz is running short of food and fuel after twenty-two days of blockades, and Bolivia's country risk premium has surged to 605 basis points, the second-highest in Latin America, as capital quietly abandons the country.
- Former president Evo Morales — accused by the government of orchestrating the unrest as political sedition — has issued Paz a stark choice: militarize and face deeper bloodshed, or step down and call elections within ninety days.
- Congress has stripped away the legal guardrails on military deployment, erasing the sixty-day cap and the requirement that police be overwhelmed first, handing Paz an instrument of force with few remaining limits.
- The law does not automatically trigger a state of exception — it only makes one possible — leaving Bolivia suspended between a government with new powers it has not yet used and a protest movement that shows no sign of standing down.
Bolivia has spent a month in the grip of escalating unrest, its capital La Paz strangled by roadblocks born from fury over President Rodrigo Paz's decision to cut fuel subsidies and government spending. At least four people have died in the turmoil, including a twelve-year-old boy who could not reach a hospital because strikers had sealed the roads. Food and fuel have grown scarce. The crisis has also drawn in a familiar ghost from Bolivia's recent past: former president Evo Morales, who left office in 2020, and whom government officials have accused of orchestrating the protests as a form of sedition against his successor.
On May 20th, Bolivia's foreign minister declared that a coup was being engineered, pointing directly at Morales. Morales responded with an ultimatum — Paz could either militarize the country, which Morales called a suicidal path, or step aside and hold elections within ninety days as the constitution permits. The financial markets were already rendering their own judgment: Bolivia's country risk premium had climbed to 605 basis points, the second-highest in Latin America, rising 227 points in under a month.
After twenty-two days of blockades and clashes, Paz moved. Congress passed and he immediately signed a law repealing the previous restrictions on military deployment in domestic conflicts — eliminating the sixty-day cap and the requirement that police be overwhelmed before soldiers could act. The framework enacted after Morales left office was gone.
Bolivian academic Bernardo Pacheco noted that the political system had essentially handed Paz a green light, while acknowledging that political currents ran beneath the protests' economic surface. The new law did not automatically trigger a state of exception — it only made one possible. For the opposition, it looked like a blank check for militarization. For the government, a last resort. Morales had warned that soldiers on the streets would deepen the bloodshed. Bolivia now waits to learn whether Paz will take that path — and whether it leads toward order or toward something worse.
Bolivia has spent the last month in the grip of escalating unrest. Protests and roadblocks have choked La Paz, the capital, born from anger over President Rodrigo Paz's decision to cut government spending and slash fuel subsidies—moves he says are necessary to stabilize the country's finances. The anger has metastasized into something larger and more dangerous. At least four people have died, among them a twelve-year-old boy who could not reach a hospital when he needed emergency care because the roads were sealed shut by strikers. Food and fuel have become scarce in the city. The crisis has drawn in figures from Bolivia's recent past: former president Evo Morales, who left office in 2020, has inserted himself into the conflict, and government officials have accused him of orchestrating the unrest as a form of sedition.
On May 20th, Bolivia's foreign minister Fernando Aramayo declared that a coup was being engineered against the state, pointing directly at Morales as the hidden hand behind the protests. The accusation reflected the government's view that what appeared to be economic grievance was actually political theater—a bid by the former president to destabilize his successor. Morales himself responded with a stark ultimatum: Paz could either militarize the country, which Morales called a suicidal path, or he could step aside and hold elections within ninety days as the constitution allows. The message was clear: there was a way out of this, but it required Paz to surrender power.
Bernardo Pacheco, a Bolivian academic at the Universidad de los Andes, offered a more measured analysis. The protests, he said, had now run for four weeks and involved unions, workers, and peasant organizations. The demonstrations had been violent, he noted, and that violence had created pressure on the government to respond with force. Different segments of the population were demanding that Paz take harder measures. Yet Pacheco also acknowledged what was visible beneath the surface: while the protests claimed economic motives, political currents ran underneath them. Morales, through his public statements, had shown his hand in organizing the conflict.
The financial markets were already pricing in catastrophe. By Tuesday of that week, Bolivia's country risk premium—the extra interest investors demand to lend to the government—had climbed to 605 basis points, the second-highest in all of Latin America. In less than a month, that premium had jumped 227 points. Money was fleeing the country.
On Wednesday, after twenty-two days of roadblocks and violent clashes, Paz moved. Congress passed a new law that he immediately signed and published in the official gazette. The law repealed the previous restrictions on military deployment in domestic conflicts. The old law, enacted in 2020 after Morales left office, had required that the police be overwhelmed before soldiers could act, and it had capped any military intervention at sixty days. That framework was now gone. Paz retained the constitutional power to declare a state of exception, but the guardrails had been removed. He could now deploy the armed forces to suppress disorder and restore order whenever he deemed it necessary.
Pacheco observed that the political system had essentially given Paz a green light. The president now had the tools to apply force, to use the military, to establish control. Whether he would use them remained unclear. What was certain was that the law did not automatically trigger a state of exception—it simply made one possible. For the opposition and the protesters, the law looked like a blank check for militarization. For the government, it was a last resort, a drastic measure to stop a crisis that was paralyzing the nation. Morales had warned that militarization would only deepen the bloodshed. The country now waited to see whether Paz would take that path, and if he did, whether it would end the crisis or ignite it further.
Citações Notáveis
Rodrigo Paz only has two paths: a suicidal decision to militarize, or finally achieve pacification and transition with elections in the next 90 days as the Constitution establishes— Evo Morales
The political system has given Paz a signal to establish control, apply forceful measures, and use the Armed Forces— Bernardo Pacheco, analyst at Universidad de los Andes
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did Paz cut fuel subsidies in the first place if he knew it would provoke this kind of reaction?
Because the alternative was financial collapse. The government's finances were unsustainable. But you're right—he knew the cost would be paid in the streets. He just calculated that the cost of not doing it was worse.
And Evo Morales—is he actually organizing these protests, or is that just the government blaming him?
That's the question everyone's asking. Morales has certainly inserted himself into the narrative, made public statements, positioned himself as an alternative. Whether he's pulling the strings or simply capitalizing on genuine economic anger is harder to prove. Pacheco suggests both things are true at once.
A twelve-year-old died because he couldn't get to a hospital. That's not abstract politics anymore.
No. That's the moment when a policy dispute becomes a humanitarian crisis. That death changes the moral weight of everything—the protests, the government's response, the decision to bring in the military. It's no longer theoretical.
So by repealing that 2020 law, Paz is essentially saying he's willing to use the military now?
He's saying he can. Whether he will is different. The law gives him the option. But Morales is warning that if he takes it, the violence will only escalate. Paz is betting that a show of military force will break the protests. Morales is betting it will harden them.
And the money leaving the country—what does that tell you?
It tells you that investors don't believe this ends well. A 605 basis point risk premium means they think Bolivia is becoming unstable, maybe ungovernable. Capital flees uncertainty. The market is pricing in the possibility that this spiral doesn't stop.