Bolivya'da Polis Şiddeti Tırmanırken ABD'den Yardım

State violence in Bolivia is ramping up. The US is helping.

In May and June, Bolivian police violently dispersed massive demonstrations in La Paz, detaining hundreds of protesters and injuring many more. The crackdown, capping over 50 days of protests demanding President Rodrigo Paz’s resignation, marked the sharpest escalation yet in a standoff between the government that took office late last year and the mostly Indigenous social movements that have long shaped Bolivian politics. The crisis convulsing Bolivia did not begin with the 2025 election, or with the 2019 coup to deny Evo Morales, Bolivia’s first Indigenous president, a fourth term after a disputed election. Its roots go back to at least 2016 when Morales, who came to prominence in the 1990s as the leader of the coca-growers’ union and later founder of the Movement Towards Socialism (MAS) party, lost a referendum that would have removed presidential term limits. Backed by a friendly constitutional court, however, Morales ran anyway three years later and claimed a razor-thin first-round victory. The opposition, encouraged by a flawed initial report by the Organization of American States, claimed fraud. Weeks of violent unrest ensued, followed by the military’s “suggestion” that Morales resign as president, and his exile to Mexico. A repressive, right-wing interim government under Jeanine Áñez subsequently oversaw extrajudicial killings of unarmed Indigenous protesters at Sacaba and Senkata, massacres that still cast a shadow over Bolivian politics. Morales’s ouster, which was supported by the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump, was the latest turn in a centuries-old struggle between Bolivia’s Indigenous and peasant majority and its predominantly white European elite, which has controlled the country’s resources and government since the Spanish conquest. Morales’s rise in the 1990s and 2000s was the high-water mark of a decades-long push to force that elite to share power. His fall in 2019, and Áñez’s talk of restoring “Christian civilization” to government – a phrase used by U.S.-backed dictator Hugo Banzer during the Cold War – was widely understood as a restoration of the old order. Since then the pendulum has swung again, though unevenly. MAS regained the presidency in 2020 under Luis Arce, but his term ended in economic crisis, fuel shortages, and an open rupture with Morales, splitting the party’s base. Barred from the 2025 election by a court-ordered term-limit ruling, Morales urged his followers to spoil their ballots, and the election became a contest among a badly weakened left, a market-friendly Christian Democrat in Rodrigo Paz, and Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga, Banzer’s former vice-president and a right-wing hardliner. Facing that choice, much of the MAS backed Paz as the least-bad option. Since he took office, however, much of his Indigenous voter base feel, as protesters in La Paz put it, “betrayed” by the government’s inability to solve longstanding economic problems, its right-wing policies inconsistent with Paz’s campaign as a moderate, and his sidelining of his populist vice-president. In early June, Paz called on citizens to confront blockaders themselves, setting off clashes between anti-riot police and protesters. The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) has denounced the police’s excessive use of force, in some cases coordinated with right-wing vigilante groups. After seven weeks of paralyzing protests and road blockades that worsened an already ongoing economic and energy crisis, Paz declared a 90-day state of exception, granting security forces broad new powers, though the blockades had already begun to fade before the declaration. The last time a Bolivian president invoked emergency powers, in 2019, soldiers killed at least 23 people and injured over 230 with impunity, incidents the IACHR called “massacres.” Thomas Becker, the Legal and Policy Director at the University Network for Human Rights who led a successful prosecution against a former Bolivian president for human rights abuses, calls the pattern familiar and alarming: rising violent clashes, arbitrary detentions, and abuse by police alongside illegal paramilitaries, compounded by branding demonstrators as “narco-terrorists,” a term echoed by U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth and other Trump officials. New U.S. Chief of Mission Erik Martini has also called for more counter-narcotics work, echoing Reagan-era policy by saying “the U.S. is worried, coca comes from cocaine.” For Becker, the atmosphere recalls the volatile months before 2019 and the killings that followed under Áñez. Violeta Tamayo was injured in May while covering the protests for the leftist news site La Izquierda Diario. Tamayo says police, without warning, “fired tear gas point-blank, aiming right at waist-height into the crowd.” She was hit at short range in the arm by what she believes was a tear gas canister, leaving a wound that exposed bone. Underlying the crackdown is the rapid militarization of Bolivia’s drug war. Earlier this month, the U.S. and Bolivia signed a $20 million agreement to train and arm Bolivian security forces, following Paz’s decision to restore cooperation with the DEA, which Morales had expelled two decades ago. “The return of the DEA in Bolivia marks the resurrection of a security paradigm that has led to gross violations of human rights, and filled prisons and cemeteries in Bolivia and across Latin America, while leaving the international drug trade largely intact,” said Guillame Long, a former Ecuadorian foreign minister and senior fellow at the Center for Economic and Policy Research. Long lamented that this approach will replace a less violent strategy “starting to show clear signs of success.” Since Paz took office, the DEA returned officially to Bolivia, with a new La Paz office announced in May. In March, Uruguayan drug kingpin Sebastián Marset was captured in Bolivia and extradited to the U.S. in a DEA-backed operation, and in April Bolivian police took part in U.S.-sponsored training run by Colombian instructors, the region’s most experienced in counterinsurgency. During the blockades, right-wing allies including Argentina’s Javier Milei and Chile’s José Antonio Kast sent what they called “humanitarian aid” to Bolivia, deliveries Bolivian and Argentine lawmakers are now investigating for allegedly including “repressive material” like tear gas. At the height of the protests, which led to 583 arrests, Hegseth described the demonstrators as “narcoterrorists” whose aim was to “overthrow democratically elected leaders.” For Becker, this evokes past U.S. interference in Bolivia that criminalized coca growing and caused the disappearances of political dissidents, the same violence that helped the MAS and Morales rise in the first place. In June, the Trump administration designated Brazil’s largest criminal organizations, which are also active in Bolivia, as narcoterrorist groups, unlocking new legal authority near the Brazilian and Paraguayan borders, where DEA activity is expected to concentrate. Across the region, U.S. operations against “narcoterrorist” cartels have already killed more than 200 civilians, through strikes on suspected drug boats in the Caribbean and Pacific and on what turned out to be an Ecuadorian dairy farm. The Bolivian government’s rhetoric mirrors this broader shift, folding protest movements, criminal organizations, and political opposition into a single, elastic category of threat, one now shaping Bolivia’s use of emergency powers, too. Even with blockades largely lifted, the government says it won’t lift the state of exception until it is “no longer needed.” Bolivia is hardly alone in this pattern of executive overreach, which spans the region’s left and right alike, from Ecuador’s Daniel Noboa to Colombia’s Gustavo Petro. Meanwhile, Morales and Paz now publicly call each other “narcos,” and Paz officials have suggested Morales’s days “are numbered.” Morales remains protected by armed loyalists in his Chapare bunker. Officials in Paz’s government and in Santa Cruz say they already have grounds to prosecute him, and Morales claims a parallel U.S. process is underway for his capture or extradition, feeding speculation he could face a fate resembling Nicolás Maduro’s. Still, he retains far more political backing than Maduro did, and would be much harder to remove without serious bloodshed. It remains to be seen how far this war on drugs, and on political dissidents, will go, and whether Bolivia’s fragile democratic institutions can withstand the pressure. But for Long, one thing is certain: “history has already shown that a return, now under Rodrigo Paz, to a militarized approach of fighting drugs while criminalizing coca-growing communities does not defeat organized crime.”