“Peru needs a moral reform: to acknowledge the victims, punish those responsible, and ensure that state violence is never repeated. No democracy can stand on the denial of the pain it has caused.”

Peru is, once again, at a breaking point. In less than a decade, the country has seen five presidents fall—either through resignation or impeachment—one Congress dissolved, and even an attempted coup d’état. This unrelenting instability has naturally deepened citizens’ distrust in their institutions and in the democratic system itself. No government seems to last long enough to govern, and no Congress has shown the minimum sense of responsibility required to maintain an institutional relationship with the Executive—or at least to avoid destroying it.

The origins of this crisis are not recent. The presidential period between 2011 and 2016 was the last time a Peruvian head of state completed a full term without upheaval. Since then, the so-called “permanent moral incapacity,” an ambiguously defined constitutional clause, has become a political weapon. What was originally conceived as an exceptional measure for cases of clear corruption or mental unfitness has turned into a routine instrument to remove unpopular or inconvenient governments. Over time, impeachment ceased to be a mechanism of accountability and became one of political control.

From Kuczynski to Boluarte: the normalization of crisis

Pedro Pablo Kuczynski was the first to fall under this logic in 2018, cornered by a hostile Congress and by corruption allegations linked to the Odebrecht case. His successor, Martín Vizcarra, was removed in 2020 amid a political struggle and accusations of wrongdoing dating back to his time as a regional governor. Manuel Merino lasted barely five days after the police repression of protests that killed two young men, Bryan Pintado and Inti Sotelo. Then came Pedro Castillo, whose improvisation, errors, and clientelist networks ended in his failed self-coup in December 2022 and subsequent removal. Finally, Dina Boluarte assumed power and responded to social protests with a level of state violence that crossed every democratic limit. More than fifty Peruvians were killed by the National Police—most of them in the southern regions—and, to this day, none of those state-sponsored killings have received justice.

Boluarte’s recent impeachment should not be seen as the end of a cycle, but rather as another chapter in a long institutional agony. The country continues to repeat the same pattern: a weak president, an illegitimate Congress, mass protests, and a government that, lacking legitimacy, turns to brutality. To this vicious circle we must add a fragmented society that no longer trusts politics or its leaders. What Peru is experiencing is not only instability—it is a profound democratic exhaustion.

The underlying problem is not only corruption or polarization but the very architecture of the political system. The impeachment for “moral incapacity” is the clearest symbol of an institutional design that breeds crisis. In a country where congressional majorities are built on opportunism rather than conviction, any disagreement can become grounds to oust the sitting president. Through this mechanism, Peruvian democracy has turned into a machine of replacement rather than representation. As long as this clause remains in force, it is unlikely that any government will achieve stability.

Contrary to what some analysts argue, eliminating the “moral incapacity” clause would not weaken congressional oversight. On the contrary, removing such a vaguely defined and severely consequential provision would help restore a true balance of powers. Accountability must exist, but not under the constant threat of arbitrary impeachment. The country needs mechanisms to punish proven corruption, not political unpopularity.

Justice for the dead, dignity for democracy

Yet the crisis is not only institutional—it is also ethical. The deaths that occurred during the 2022 and 2023 protests remain unpunished. Investigations move slowly, stalled by official silence and evasive statements. The State has neither acknowledged responsibility nor asked for forgiveness. The response has always been the same: denial, justification, delay—and, in the most absurd cases, conspiracy theories blaming Venezuela, terrorist groups, or imaginary enemies, all to avoid any form of political accountability. But without memory and justice, there can be no democracy. The country cannot continue to accept that the price of stability is the blood of its citizens.

Holding the police and armed forces accountable is not an ideological demand; it is a basic principle of humanity. The Peruvians killed in Ayacucho, Juliaca, and Lima are not collateral damage—they are victims of a State that lost the line between order and repression. If Peru wants to rebuild itself, it must begin by recognizing that those lives mattered, that they were taken by political decisions, and that impunity is the most silent way of perpetuating violence. Those cases must be resolved, and the perpetrators must face justice.

The country needs a constitutional reform to abolish the “moral incapacity” impeachment clause, establish clear procedures for removal only in cases of proven crimes, and guarantee the independence of the judiciary. But it also needs a moral reform: to acknowledge the victims, punish those responsible, and ensure that state violence is never repeated. No democracy can survive on the denial of the pain it has caused.