One candidate is Rodrigo Paz, a conservative centrist senator and son of neoliberal former Bolivian president Jaime Paz Zamora, who is pitching himself as a moderate reformer.
The other is right-wing former Bolivian president Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga, galvanizing voters through promises of harsh austerity and a scorched-earth approach to transforming Bolivia’s state-directed economic model after 20 years of leftist dominance.
At stake in the outcome of Bolivia’s consequential presidential election is the fate of one of South America’s most resource-rich nations, where inflation has soared to heights unseen in decades and polls show growing distrust in major institutions.
“There has been a paradigm shift,” said Renzo Abruzzese, a sociologist at the Higher University of San Andres in La Paz. “What is truly historic is that the old cycle is over. It has carried away classical leftist thinking that dominated much of the 20th century.”
The shadow of unrest among the fervent supporters of charismatic former Bolivian president Evo Morales, founder of Bolivia’s long-dominant Movement Toward Socialism (MAS) party, hangs over the next weeks of campaigning until the men face off in an unprecedented runoff on Oct. 19.
THE FRONTRUNNER
Screenshots of the Wikipedia entry for Paz’s past political allegiances elicited waggish mockery on Bolivian social media about the fluid ideology of this former mayor and governor.
Paz began his political career in the Revolutionary Left Movement of his father, Zamora. His movement emerged as a radical Marxist-inspired party and experienced brutal repression under Bolivia’s 1964 to 1982 military dictatorship. Paz was born in exile in Spain.
However, his father pivoted right as a pact with former Bolivian president Hugo Banzer, which vaulted him to the presidency in 1989.
The younger Paz rose through the political ranks over the past two decades in opposition to Morales’ platform of generous subsidies and hefty public investment.
He joined Quiroga’s right-wing party before gradually edging toward Bolivia’s technocratic center.
Analysts say his enigmatic pragmatism served Paz in the election on Sunday last week, as it did his father before him.
“Voters don’t want hard right or hard left. They want things to function,” said Veronica Rocha, a Bolivian political analyst. “Ambivalence is a political asset right now.”
Even his supporters are not sure how to describe his ideology.
“I don’t care about politics, I’m sick of it, I just support the candidate who I think will steal the least,” Emma Gesea Mamani, 57, said from her kiosk, selling snacks to hungry truckers wasting their days in lines for diesel as a result of Bolivia’s crippling fuel shortages.
JORGE QUIROGA
A former vice president, Quiroga briefly held the presidency after then-president Banzer retired for health reasons in 2001.
Fluent in English and educated at Texas A&M University, Quiroga has fashioned himself into a pro-business modernizer vowing to save Bolivia from what he calls “20 lost years” under the MAS party. He pledges drastic spending cuts, a bailout from the IMF and fire sales of Bolivia’s inefficient state-run firms.
After years of Bolivia’s foreign policy alignment with China and Russia, Quiroga vows to restore relations with the US and has said that he is close with US Secretary of State Marco Rubio.
“For years we lived in a time of darkness and lack of opportunities, like Cuba, Venezuela, Nicaragua,” 60-year-old engineer Jimmy Copa Vargas said. “With Tuto’s government, we’ll open ourselves to the world.”
Quiroga has run for president three times before, losing twice to Morales. Now 65, he hopes the fourth time’s the charm.
To attract young voters, Quiroga staged flashy concerts and named Juan Pablo Velasco — a wealthy young entrepreneur and representative of the Bolivian Freedom Alliance coalition — as his vice president.
He appears in campaign posters wearing a stern expression, tailored suit and Apple Watch, and often peppers his speeches with wonky macroeconomic data, fueling the perception among some Bolivians that he is out of touch with the rural poor in this majority-indigenous nation.
“I can’t trust that he’s not going to be the first one out on a lifeboat when Bolivia starts sinking,” said Luis Quispe, a 38-year-old taxi driver.
UNLIKELY CAMPAIGN
Paz went from polling near the bottom of the eight-candidate field to commanding more than 32 percent of the vote on Sunday, stunning the country.
He and his popular running mate, former police captain Edman Lara, crisscrossed Bolivian cities holding modest rallies filled with cheap beer and grilled meat, often recording videos to post on TikTok.
Despite undergoing emergency knee surgery earlier in the year, Paz visited dozens of stops in the traditional bastions of Morales’ party, engaging with voters at once desperate for change, but wary of a dramatic lurch to the right.
He has rejected an IMF bailout and proposed “capitalism for all,” touting accessible loans to boost young entrepreneurs and tax breaks to stimulate the formal economy.
“Rodrigo stands in the center, a refreshed version of social democracy,” Bolivian analyst and former lawmaker Carlos Borth said. “Meanwhile, Tuto has been marked as the radical right. That contrast matters.”
Many see Paz’s running mate, former police captain Lara, known in Bolivia as “El Capitan,” as the driving force behind his win.
After 15 years in the police force, Lara in 2023 gained national prominence by posting tales of police corruption to his followers on TikTok and Instagram. His videos went viral, becoming must-see dispatches for disgruntled Bolivians and social media-savvy youth who tuned in regularly to watch him talk to the camera.
He faced disciplinary measures over the exposes and was fired from the force, solidifying his status as something of a folk hero. After his dismissal, he struggled to scrape by selling secondhand clothing. His wife drove for a ride-hailing app.
That has resonated with many workers in Bolivia’s vast informal economy who have watched politicians enrich themselves while their own finances collapse and the country’s economy spirals.
EVO MORALES
The election might not mean the end for Evo Morales.
Sunday’s presidential election was the first since 2002 without Morales or a stand-in on the ballot.
Yet the outcome confirmed the maverick ex-union leader’s enduring influence. He transformed Bolivia over three straight terms marked by economic prosperity and political stability until his 2019 disputed reelection and subsequent ouster.
Disqualified from the race by a court ruling on term limits, Morales called on his followers to spoil their ballots against what he deemed an illegitimate election.
He campaigned hard for null votes nationwide, often attacking his leftist rivals — Eduardo Del Castillo, nominated by unpopular Bolivian President Luis Arce, and Bolivian Senate President Andronico Rodriguez, a former protege and coca farming union activist — more than the right-wing opposition.
While Sunday’s elections swept aside the MAS party’s splintered factions, the null-and-void vote captured third place.
Spoiled ballots appealed to nostalgic Morales supporters who fault Arce for Bolivia’s economic collapse and to voters disillusioned by politicians who they say are more focused on their own power games than on the public.
“Those who say Evo Morales is finished are mistaken,” Abruzzese said. “Morales and MAS won’t just disappear.”
In the past month, two important developments are poised to equip Taiwan with expanded capabilities to play foreign policy offense in an age where Taiwan’s diplomatic space is seriously constricted by a hegemonic Beijing. Taiwan Foreign Minister Lin Chia-lung (林佳龍) led a delegation of Taiwan and US companies to the Philippines to promote trilateral economic cooperation between the three countries. Additionally, in the past two weeks, Taiwan has placed chip export controls on South Africa in an escalating standoff over the placing of its diplomatic mission in Pretoria, causing the South Africans to pause and ask for consultations to resolve
An altercation involving a 73-year-old woman and a younger person broke out on a Taipei MRT train last week, with videos of the incident going viral online, sparking wide discussions about the controversial priority seats and social norms. In the video, the elderly woman, surnamed Tseng (曾), approached a passenger in a priority seat and demanded that she get up, and after she refused, she swung her bag, hitting her on the knees and calves several times. In return, the commuter asked a nearby passenger to hold her bag, stood up and kicked Tseng, causing her to fall backward and
In December 1937, Japanese troops captured Nanjing and unleashed one of the darkest chapters of the 20th century. Over six weeks, hundreds of thousands were slaughtered and women were raped on a scale that still defies comprehension. Across Asia, the Japanese occupation left deep scars. Singapore, Malaya, the Philippines and much of China endured terror, forced labor and massacres. My own grandfather was tortured by the Japanese in Singapore. His wife, traumatized beyond recovery, lived the rest of her life in silence and breakdown. These stories are real, not abstract history. Here is the irony: Mao Zedong (毛澤東) himself once told visiting
When I reminded my 83-year-old mother on Wednesday that it was the 76th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, she replied: “Yes, it was the day when my family was broken.” That answer captures the paradox of modern China. To most Chinese in mainland China, Oct. 1 is a day of pride — a celebration of national strength, prosperity and global stature. However, on a deeper level, it is also a reminder to many of the families shattered, the freedoms extinguished and the lives sacrificed on the road here. Seventy-six years ago, Chinese Communist leader Mao Zedong (毛澤東)