We’ll miss you, Lucho | Te extrañaremos, Lucho

Editorial, El Día:

As unbelievable as it may seem, we’re going to miss you, Lucho. Not because your administration was good, or because your time in power left anything other than debt, shortages, inflation, and a fractured country. We’ll miss you because, when we hit rock bottom —the one you’ve dug with your own hands, alongside Evo— when the country is forced to face the brutal truth of its collapse, we’re going to need an illusion, a comforting lie, something to help us forget the catastrophe for a moment. And in that, no one does it better than you.

You were a master at painting cardboard landscapes while the country burned. You moved effortlessly among doctored statistics, recycled speeches, and blame that always fell on others. Meanwhile, people queued for fuel, dollars vanished, prices exploded —and you kept saying everything was under control.

Amid the chaos, you built a parallel reality. A country that exists only in your speeches, in your official ceremonies, in your travels, in your bubble of power. A country of industrialization, inclusion, and progress. On the streets, things were different: doctors without supplies, parents without milk for their children, small business owners shutting down, farmers without diesel to run their machinery.

And yet, you never stopped talking. You lacked the decency to admit failure, the courage to acknowledge that the crisis we’re living through was born of your blindness, your stubbornness, and your dependency on the past. Your government wasn’t just inefficient —it was in denial. You ignored all the warning signs, downplayed all the risks, repeated exhausted formulas, and kept piling on debt while our international reserves sank to historic lows.

We have been falling until we hit rock bottom

Now you say your legacy is at risk, as if you’d built something solid. The only thing truly at risk is the little hope the Bolivian people have left. You leave behind a broken country, a fragile economy, a state addicted to spending, and a society worn out, impoverished, and full of mistrust. The damage you’ve caused won’t be fixed in a year or with promises. Climbing out of this disaster will cost us blood, sweat, and tears.

This is rotten!!

And yet, Lucho, we’ll miss you. Because when the time comes for adjustment, for effort, for real sacrifice —when we have to rebuild from the ruins— many will look back and say: “at least back then, the lies sounded nice.” Just like in Argentina, when that brutal piece of graffiti appeared: “enough reality, we want promises.” You knew how to promise. You knew how to numb us. You were like a drug that pulled us out of our suffering for a moment. A conscience-numbing voice with a microphone in hand.

But you can’t live in a lie forever. Sooner or later, reality catches up. As it is now —in the streets, at the gas stations, in the markets. In the homes where the money is no longer enough. And although it sounds ironic, when we’re sunk at the bottom, we’ll remember that at least you knew how to dress hell up as paradise. That you had just the right amount of cynicism to smile while the country fell apart.

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