The first time I visited Cochabamba, Bolivia’s third-largest city, I was struck by the way the market stalls spilled into the streets like a living organism—vendors shouting prices over the hum of engines, families haggling over bundles of quinoa and potatoes, the scent of fresh bread cutting through the mountain air. That was before the austerity measures. Now, those same streets are choked with protesters, their demands raw and unfiltered: No más hambre. No more hunger. The message is simple, desperate, and impossible to ignore.
Bolivia is in the grip of its most explosive political crisis in years, and at the center of it all is a fight that cuts to the bone: the right of Indigenous communities to feed their families. Since Rodrigo Paz—Bolivia’s first right-wing president in nearly two decades—took office in November 2025, the country has been slashed by austerity measures that have sent poverty rates soaring, particularly in rural areas where Indigenous populations dominate. The protests that have erupted across the country aren’t just about politics; they’re about survival. And as the government tightens its grip, the question looms: How far will Bolivia’s people go to reclaim what was promised to them?
From Revolution to Austerity: The Broken Promise of a New Bolivia
To understand the fury on Bolivia’s streets today, you have to go back to 2005, when Evo Morales—then a union leader and coca farmer—was elected president. His victory wasn’t just political; it was a seismic shift. For the first time in Bolivia’s history, an Indigenous leader, a descendant of the Aymara people, stood at the helm of a government that had long ignored the needs of the majority. Morales’ Movement Toward Socialism (MAS) didn’t just win elections; it rewrote the constitution, enshrining Indigenous rights, land reforms, and economic policies designed to lift rural communities out of poverty.
For nearly two decades, Bolivia saw real progress. Extreme poverty dropped from 38% in 2005 to 15% by 2019, according to the World Bank. Indigenous communities gained access to education, healthcare, and land titles. The country’s gas wealth, once siphoned off by foreign corporations, began funding social programs. But progress has a way of breeding complacency—and its opponents.
Enter Rodrigo Paz. A former senator from the right-wing Creemos party, Paz’s election in 2025 was framed as a rejection of Morales’ legacy. But what followed was less a democratic shift and more a sharp U-turn. Paz’s government, dominated by white, upper-middle-class technocrats (only two women in his cabinet, as Kathryn Ledebur of the Andean Information Network noted), has systematically rolled back the social gains of the past two decades. Subsidies for basic goods like gas and electricity have been slashed. Public spending on healthcare and education has been cut by nearly 40% in some regions. And the rural poor—who make up over 60% of Bolivia’s population—are paying the price.
“The Paz administration is not just reversing policies; it’s erasing the incredibly idea that the state has a responsibility to its citizens.”
The data tells the story. In La Paz, the cost of a basic food basket—rice, beans, oil, flour—has risen by 35% since Paz took office, according to the Bolivian National Institute of Statistics. In rural areas, where Indigenous families rely on small-scale agriculture, the situation is even direr. The price of fertilizers has doubled, while the government’s support programs for farmers have been gutted. “We’re not protesting for ideology,” one farmer in the Yungas region told Archyde’s sources. “We’re protesting because our children don’t have enough to eat.”
The U.S. Shadow: How Bolivia Became the Latest Battleground in the War on Drugs
Paz’s government hasn’t just been busy dismantling Bolivia’s social safety net. It’s also deepening ties with the United States, particularly on drug policy—a move that has alarmed human rights groups and Indigenous leaders alike. Bolivia, home to the world’s largest coca leaf production (used traditionally for tea and medicine), has long been at the center of U.S. Anti-drug efforts. But under Paz, the government has accelerated eradication programs, tearing up coca fields in Indigenous territories without consultation.
The irony? Coca is a lifeline for thousands of families in the Chapare region. For generations, farmers have grown it not for cocaine but for subsistence. Yet under Paz, eradication campaigns have displaced hundreds, pushing them deeper into poverty. “This isn’t about drugs,” says Transnational Institute researcher Oliver López. “It’s about control. The U.S. Wants Bolivia back in its sphere of influence, and Paz is happy to oblige—even if it means starving his own people.”
The U.S. State Department’s recent International Narcotics Control Strategy Report highlights Bolivia as a “priority” in the region’s drug war, praising Paz’s government for “taking bold steps” against coca production. What the report doesn’t mention is the human cost: entire communities left without income, without food, and without hope.
“Bolivia’s coca farmers are not criminals. They’re small-scale producers who have fed their families for centuries. Now, the government is criminalizing their livelihood.”
Who Wins? Who Loses? The Geopolitical Chessboard of Bolivia’s Crisis
Bolivia’s protests aren’t just a domestic affair. They’re playing out on a global stage, with winners and losers spread across continents.
- The Losers:
- Bolivia’s Rural Poor: The majority Indigenous population, who now face food insecurity, rising debt, and the loss of traditional lands. In the department of Potosí, where 70% of the population lives below the poverty line, protests have turned violent as police crack down with tear gas and rubber bullets.
- Indigenous Women: Already marginalized, they’re now bearing the brunt of austerity. In El Alto, a city adjacent to La Paz, women-led blockades have become a common tactic to halt traffic and demand supplies. “We’re not asking for charity,” one protester told Archyde. “We’re asking for our rights.”
- Bolivia’s Democracy: Paz’s government has been accused of undermining free speech. Journalists covering protests have been arrested, and social media has been used to spread disinformation targeting Indigenous leaders.
- The Winners:
- The U.S. Government: With Paz in power, Bolivia is once again a willing participant in the war on drugs, allowing for increased military cooperation and drug interdiction efforts. The U.S. Has already pledged $100 million in aid to Bolivia under Paz’s administration.
- Private Sector Elites: The austerity measures have opened doors for foreign investment in Bolivia’s lithium and gas sectors. Companies like Shell and Chevron have seen renewed interest in Bolivia’s resources, with contracts signed under Paz’s watch.
- Right-Wing Politicians in Latin America: Paz’s policies are being watched closely by other right-leaning governments in the region, from Brazil’s Lula opponents to Peru’s conservative factions. A successful rollback of Bolivia’s social programs could embolden similar moves elsewhere.
The Protests Aren’t Just About Paz—they’re About the Soul of Bolivia
What makes these protests different from past uprisings in Bolivia is their sheer, unrelenting desperation. This isn’t about ideology. It’s about comida. About whether a mother can afford to feed her child tomorrow. The government’s response has been to label protesters as “vandals” and “criminals,” but the reality is far more complex.
Take the case of the Consejo de Ayllus y Markas del Qullasuyu (CAMQ), an Indigenous organization representing over 200 communities in the Andes. They’ve led blockades on major highways, not for political gain, but because their requests for food aid have been ignored. “We’re not asking for handouts,” says CAMQ leader Felipe Quispe. “We’re asking for the government to fulfill its obligations. But Paz’s government would rather negotiate with the U.S. Than with its own people.”
The protests have also exposed the fragility of Bolivia’s social fabric. In the past, Indigenous movements and labor unions could unite under a common cause. Today, divisions are deepening. Some factions support dialogue with Paz, while others demand his immediate resignation. Meanwhile, the government’s security forces—many of whom are Indigenous themselves—have been ordered to crack down, creating a painful rift within communities.
What Happens Next? Three Possible Scenarios
As Bolivia teeters on the edge, three outcomes loom:
- The Austerity Deepens: Paz doubles down, further cutting social programs and relying on U.S. And private-sector support. Protests escalate into prolonged unrest, with potential for military intervention. The rural poor suffer the most, while urban elites and foreign investors benefit.
- Negotiated Compromise: Under pressure, Paz reverses some austerity measures and reopens dialogue with Indigenous leaders. A fragile stability returns, but trust in the government remains shattered. This scenario requires Paz to admit failure—a political risk he may not be willing to take.
- Mass Mobilization and Regime Change: The protests grow into a full-blown movement, forcing Paz’s resignation. A new government emerges, led by Indigenous and labor movements, and begins the painful task of rebuilding what austerity destroyed. This would be Bolivia’s second revolution in two decades—but this time, the stakes are survival.
The most likely outcome? A combination of all three. Bolivia is at a crossroads, and the path it chooses will determine not just its future, but the future of social movements across Latin America.
The Human Cost of Economic Theory
There’s a cold, almost clinical way to describe what’s happening in Bolivia: austerity measures implemented by a right-wing government, leading to increased poverty and social unrest. But that doesn’t capture the reality. It doesn’t capture the face of a grandmother in Oruro, selling her last piece of jewelry to buy medicine. It doesn’t capture the father in El Alto, skipping meals so his children can eat. It doesn’t capture the children in the streets, their stomachs growling, their eyes wide with hunger.
Economic theory is one thing. Human suffering is another. And in Bolivia today, the two are colliding with devastating force.
So what can be done? For outsiders, the answer isn’t simple. But for those inside Bolivia, the message is clear: No más hambre. No more silence. No more waiting for the government to act. The protests are a cry for help—and they’re not going away.
As Kathryn Ledebur put it: “Bolivia is a country that has shown the world what real change looks like. Now, it’s showing the world what happens when that change is taken away.”
The question is: Who will listen?
