An Angry Country | Un país emputado

By Hernán Terrazas E., Brujula Digital:

As the saying goes, “these guys never learn,” and the worst part is that, with their outsized ambitions and egos, they played with the expectations of a citizenry that, once again and reluctantly, tried to give them a chance despite so many past instances where things didn’t work out. They failed again—and this time, it really is the last.

Trying to pin the blame on one or more individuals at this point seems like a pointless exercise. Perhaps, it must be said, the greatest responsibility lies with Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga, who refused to accept the verdict of the polls on the grounds that it was no longer legally permissible to conduct them.

Just days earlier, a couple of studies showed that the Libre candidate wasn’t likely to win within the bloc, but it wasn’t definitive enough to justify such a political tantrum. A mere 1%—within the margin of error, as they say. Anything could have happened, even a victory for Quiroga. But no—they had to blow up the unity and drive things to an irreversible split.

There is no unity anymore. At least not the kind envisioned with cautious hope at the beginning, when the leaders who claimed to be the “true” opposition told the country that this time it was serious, that they had reached an agreement for one of them—chosen through primaries or polling—to be the candidate while the others would rally around that person to defeat the common enemy.

Many people didn’t have a good feeling about the formation of that bloc. From the start, it was said that too much ego was at play, that it was unlikely either of the top contenders—Doria Medina or Quiroga—would accept the other as the winner.

In fact, in their public statements, neither of them even considered the possibility of coming in second—let alone, of course, being the other’s running mate. They were only interested in the presidency. United, yes—but only up to a point. The idea of one becoming the other’s vice president was unthinkable.

And the path was full of those usual obstacles of Bolivian politics: distrust, scheming, backhanded maneuvers, half-hearted commitments, attacks both open and covert, insinuations—in short, the same old story—played out on a stage where a segment, perhaps the majority, of society had placed its hopes for change.

And what everyone feared happened. The construction of unity took months; the breakup took just a few days, sealed definitively by Carlos Mesa, who abandoned ship in the middle of the storm—as if that move could somehow save him from a shared wreck.

There isn’t much more to say or to hear. The coming hours and days will surely be filled with statements and justifications, with belated apologies for having let down a country and jeopardized its future. Strengthen democracy? Save the economy? Fight corruption? If they couldn’t even manage to endure unity, how can they possibly do anything on their own?

Nothing will be believable, because there’s no plausible explanation for such an outcome, because no one’s going to buy the story that there’s still a remote chance to get things back on track, because people are understandably furious and will have to think long and hard about whether there’s anyone left they can trust to restore the hope that a few have stolen.

What remains, perhaps—as has already been said—is to once again take a chance on renewal, on breaking away from polarization, leaving behind radicalism, the bargain-bin Mileis, and the so-called reformers of “continuity,” to try to help the country quickly find its path. Now, everything is in the hands of the people.

Hernán Terrazas is a journalist.

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