Why did blue turn into green on the electoral map? | ¿Por qué el azul se transformó en verde en el mapa electoral?

By Beatriz Cahuasa, Vision 360:

The real test will be whether the new government can rule alongside those who are once again empowered and unwilling to yield even a fraction of power—even if it means changing political colors.

The sound of the diana—that signature tune of the band accompanying the fraternity dancing in faith and devotion to the Virgin—drew everyone’s attention. It was the signal for the pasante to come out and welcome the man he had adopted as his compadre.

Though he wore the same dark suit that characterized the fraternity members, his skin color set him apart among those present. That embrace between compadres was more than a gesture of goodwill: it symbolized trust, loyalty, solidarity, and political brotherhood.

For the new compadre, the pasante was more than a mere host of the gathering of his closest circle—he was the key to accessing a reserved political space, one difficult for any outsider to penetrate. A space that, in the past, had been dominated by the man who called himself the country’s first Indigenous president.

In his case, shared skin color and common origin opened the door: they were masis—equals. For someone with a different skin color, the path was harder. His journey was a constant struggle, since earning the title of compadre in an environment where belonging was not easily granted was no simple task.

Sharing a drink from the same glass carried deeper meaning: it symbolized equality. For the adopted compadre, it meant gaining the trust of a key group that could open new political routes. That alliance ensured that what they considered their “conquests” would not be lost.

The pact emerged as the natural successor to MAS, with whom they had shared spaces of power, at least in leadership circles. Yet from their experience, that project had already lost direction. The new alliance offered the chance to retain control within their own bases—operative, loyal, and for years kept in the shadows.

These compadres, once relegated to the second line, were in fact the guarantors of the “community vote”—a practice in which an entire community decides as a bloc whom to support. In return, the commitment was clear: power-sharing. Many of them have already been elected and will take the stage in the new Parliament. They are new faces to the average citizen, but old acquaintances for those who ruled over the past two decades.

The sena quina—like in the dice game cacho—was to bet on preserving and multiplying the bases’ supposed achievements in order to reach power. How else to explain the excessive promises of multiplying them fivefold? Now, on the eve of the runoff, these second-line compadres constantly remind everyone—through the media, social networks, and wherever they can—that their support has a price.

To attribute the victory solely to the “TikTok king” is to ignore the careful weaving of alliances by someone with politics in his blood. His experience allowed him to sense the power vacuum left by a failed government—one his new compadrescoexisted with and from which they learned how to maintain control, even if it was only an illusion shared.

That is why blue turned into green on the electoral map. But after the triumph, is there truly a desire to overcome the crisis, fight corruption, and deliver better days for the people? Or is it merely a strategy to allow the compadres to perpetuate the power they once shared, resting on their traditional bases?

Living in that territory will not be easy. The real test will be whether the new government can govern alongside those who are once again empowered and unwilling to cede even an inch of power—even if it means changing political colors.

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