The night Abelardo de la Espriella won Colombia’s first-round presidential vote—with over 10 million ballots—he celebrated from a boat on the Magdalena River, the same waterway that has long symbolized the country’s dreams and fractures. His victory wasn’t just a political milestone; it was a seismic shift in how Colombia imagines its future. The 69-year-old conservative outsider, a former prosecutor turned populist firebrand, didn’t just win on charisma. He did it by weaponizing three radical proposals: a “mano dura” crackdown on crime, a sweeping reduction of the state’s reach and a tax revolt that could redefine Colombia’s economic DNA. But what the headlines missed is how these ideas—each a powder keg on its own—are colliding with Colombia’s deepest contradictions.
De la Espriella’s rise isn’t just about him. It’s about a country at a crossroads. Colombia’s murder rate has surged to its highest in a decade, with gang violence and cartel wars eroding trust in institutions faster than any government can rebuild it. Meanwhile, the state—already stretched thin by corruption scandals and underfunded public services—faces a fiscal cliff, with debt servicing consuming nearly 40% of the national budget. And then there’s the tax question: Colombia’s elite have long dodged contributions, while the middle class, squeezed by inflation, now sees de la Espriella’s promise of “libertades tributarias” (tax freedoms) as a lifeline. But as one economist put it to us, “This isn’t just about money. It’s about who gets to decide the rules of the game.”
The “Mano Dura” Paradox: Will Tough Love Work?
De la Espriella’s security platform is a throwback to the 1990s, when Colombia’s “iron fist” policies briefly drove down homicide rates—before the violence simply migrated underground. His plan? Mandatory military conscription for men aged 18–25, the expansion of police powers to detain suspects for up to 96 hours without charge, and the reinstatement of the death penalty for drug traffickers. It’s a playbook that resonates in a country where 60% of Colombians say crime is the biggest threat to their safety. But the numbers tell a darker story.
Between 2016 and 2023, Colombia’s homicide rate rose by 40%, with extortion and armed group killings now outpacing street crime. De la Espriella’s solution? More boots on the ground. But Colombia’s military, already overstretched, has struggled to contain the rising tide of dissident FARC factions and neo-paramilitary groups. “You can’t arrest your way out of a war,” warns Álvaro Vargas Llosa, senior fellow at the Center for Global Development.
“De la Espriella’s security plan is like treating a cancer with a scalpel—it might kill the tumor, but it’ll also destroy the healthy tissue around it. The real question is: What happens when the military can’t hold the line?”
The human cost is already clear. In Medellín, where de la Espriella’s base is strongest, homicides spiked 30% in 2023, with entire neighborhoods under de facto cartel control. His proposal to arm civilians—echoing the failed “convivir” militias of the 1990s—risks turning Colombia into a patchwork of armed vigilantes, where the state’s retreat becomes the gangs’ gain.
The State’s Retreat: Who Wins When Government Shrinks?
De la Espriella’s promise to “reduce the state” isn’t just about cutting bureaucracy. It’s a direct challenge to Colombia’s post-peace agreement model, where the government has slowly ceded control to regional elites and multinational corporations. His plan calls for privatizing Ecopetrol, slashing subsidies for public education, and outsourcing healthcare to private insurers—all while promising to “liberate” small businesses from red tape. The math, at first glance, is seductive: Colombia’s public sector employs 1.8 million people, or 12% of the workforce. But the devil is in the details.
Take healthcare. Colombia’s universal system, while flawed, covers 98% of the population. De la Espriella’s plan to shift costs to private insurers would leave 40% of rural Colombians—who already lack access to basic services—even further behind. “This isn’t efficiency,” says María Victoria Llorente, former health minister under Santos.
“It’s a race to the bottom. The state can’t just walk away from services it hasn’t fully funded in the first place. Who’s going to pay when the poor can’t afford premiums and the rich already have their own doctors?”
The privatization of Ecopetrol, Colombia’s crown jewel, is equally fraught. The company, though profitable, is a political football—its oil fields sit in regions where armed groups and indigenous communities have clashed over land rights. Selling stakes to foreign investors could bring capital, but it also risks corruption, given Colombia’s 120th ranking in Transparency International’s corruption index. “The state isn’t the problem,” says Vargas Llosa. “The problem is that the state has been captured by the same elites who now want to privatize it for their benefit.”
The Tax Revolt: Who Gets the Freedom?
De la Espriella’s most explosive proposal is his vow to slash taxes for businesses and the middle class, while tightening enforcement on the wealthy. It’s a gamble: Colombia’s tax revenue as a percentage of GDP sits at 13.5%, half the OECD average. The country loses $10 billion annually to tax evasion, much of it funneled through offshore accounts. But de la Espriella’s plan to audit the rich while cutting rates for the rest is a tightrope walk.
The wealthy have already begun testing the waters. In 2022, Colombia’s tax authority recovered $20 trillion pesos (about $5.5 billion) in evaded taxes, but enforcement remains patchy. De la Espriella’s proposal to create a “tax freedom zone” for small businesses—exempting them from VAT and payroll taxes—could boost growth, but it also risks deepening inequality. The middle class, already squeezed by inflation, might cheer, but the poor? They’ll foot the bill.
Consider this: Colombia’s informal economy employs 50% of workers. Many of these are street vendors, domestic workers, and gig economy riders—people who can’t afford to pay taxes even if they wanted to. De la Espriella’s plan to “liberate” them from the taxman is noble, but without a social safety net, their gains will be temporary. “You can’t have a tax revolt without a welfare state to catch the fallout,” says Llorente. “And Colombia doesn’t have that.”
The International Domino Effect: What Happens Next?
De la Espriella’s victory has already sent shockwaves through Latin America. His mix of populist rhetoric and neoliberal economics mirrors the rise of Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil and Nayib Bukele in El Salvador—leaders who won on law-and-order platforms before facing backlash over human rights abuses. The difference? Colombia’s peace process with the FARC is still fragile, and de la Espriella’s hardline stance could derail it entirely.
Internationally, the U.S. Is watching closely. Colombia is a key ally in the fight against drug trafficking, and de la Espriella’s crackdown on cartels could bring short-term gains. But his proposal to reduce U.S. Military aid—currently at $450 million annually—could strain relations. “The U.S. Wants results, not rhetoric,” says a former State Department official, speaking off the record. “If de la Espriella can’t deliver security, they’ll walk.”
Meanwhile, Venezuela’s Maduro regime is cheering from the sidelines. A de la Espriella victory could embolden hardliners in Bogotá to roll back diplomatic ties with Caracas, further isolating Venezuela. But it also risks reviving the armed conflict along the border, where dissident groups and paramilitaries still operate.
The Unanswered Question: Can Colombia Afford This?
Here’s the rub: de la Espriella’s policies aren’t just ideological. They’re mathematically unsustainable. Colombia’s debt-to-GDP ratio is 70%, and interest payments alone devour $12 billion annually. His plan to cut taxes while expanding the military and privatizing state assets would require austerity measures that could trigger a social uprising.
Yet the alternative—more of the same—has failed. Colombia’s last two presidents, Duque and Petro, both tried to balance security and social spending. Both saw their approval ratings collapse. De la Espriella’s gamble is that Colombians are willing to bet on chaos. But history suggests otherwise. In 1994, when Colombia’s murder rate hit 120 per 100,000, the state’s brutal response didn’t end the violence—it just made it harder to track.
Today, the numbers are just as dire. In 2025, Colombia’s homicide rate was 45 per 100,000, up from 25 in 2016. De la Espriella’s “mano dura” approach could push it higher. His tax cuts could widen inequality. His state reduction could unravel public services. But here’s the thing about revolutions: they don’t need to make sense. They just need to feel right.
What’s Next? The Choice Is Yours
Colombia is at a fork in the road. De la Espriella’s second-round opponent, Gustavo Petro, has staked his legacy on social justice and diplomacy. But after two years of rising crime and economic stagnation, many Colombians are ready to try something—anything—different. The question isn’t whether de la Espriella’s policies will work. It’s whether Colombia can afford to find out.
One thing is certain: the next six months will test the limits of democracy in a country where the rule of law has long been more aspiration than reality. The boat on the Magdalena River wasn’t just a celebration. It was a warning. The water is rising. And Colombia’s future depends on who’s willing to steer.
So, here’s the question for you: When the state retreats, who fills the void? The military? The cartels? Or something worse?
