Peru is a broken country that still marches for its democracy

“Peru is a deeply fragmented country, where the political class disregards the common good for personal gain.”

The presidential period between 2011 and 2016 was the last time Peru had a government that completed its term without interruptions or abrupt changes of president. Since then, the country has not known stability again and has been caught in a whirlwind of impeachments, presidential resignations, attempted coups, mass protests, and governments that last only long enough to become unpopular.

Over these years, the presidency of the republic has become a political minefield. From Pedro Pablo Kuczynski to Dina Boluarte, every president has ended up entangled in a web of corruption accusations or charges of “moral incapacity.” Congress and the Executive have turned politics into a constant war of attrition, where partisan interests prevail over national welfare and citizens’ security.

The removal of Dina Boluarte marks the latest chapter in Peru’s long political tragedy. Her government began under the shadow of repression and violence, and in the first protests against her administration, more than fifty people lost their lives — victims of a state that confused authority with brutality. That death toll alone should have ended her presidency, yet her government endured thanks to the complicity of a Congress that ultimately went on to oust her. For months, the administration denied any responsibility for the actions of the security forces, justifying each death as an inevitable consequence of chaos. The official narrative preferred to speak of “clashes,” but what took place were killings.

In recent weeks, the country has once again taken to the streets. Protests have multiplied in Lima, Ayacucho, Juliaca, and other cities across the country. On October 16, Eduardo Ruiz was killed by a gunshot during a demonstration, and the response from the interim government was the same as always: promises of investigation, calls for order, and complicit silences. The police once again acted as if protest were a threat rather than a right. And the new president, José Jerí, pledged a firm hand instead of reconciliation.

State violence in Peru is not new, but it has taken on a different meaning now. This brutality is the clearest sign of a power that has lost all legitimacy and survives only through force. When governments can no longer persuade, they resort to repression. When they cannot govern, they attempt to control through fear. The result is a country bleeding without direction, and a society beginning to normalize the unacceptable. Images of young people beaten in the streets or mothers crying outside hospitals no longer shock — and that indifference is the most dangerous symptom for a nation still clinging to the idea of democracy.

None of this occurs in a vacuum. Peru is a deeply fragmented country, where the political class disregards the common good for personal gain. In the streets, citizens are not asking for ideologies or parties — they are demanding safety. They are not demanding programs — they are demanding justice. The men and women marching today were not born under dictatorship, yet they have already learned to distrust democracy.

Repression only postpones problems; it does not solve them. Each death widens the gap between the State and its citizens, and nothing will change as long as the response remains silence or bullets. Peru needs dialogue, but also memory and justice. The families of the victims continue to wait for someone to take responsibility, yet no government has found the will to condemn those responsible or even to acknowledge its share of guilt.

What Peru is going through today is not just a political crisis but also a moral and social one — the exhaustion of a system that no longer represents its people and instead protects its own interests. The word “democracy” is still spoken, but it has lost its meaning in today’s Peru. Elections and speeches are no longer enough; the country needs functioning institutions and a shared sense of nationhood. Citizens no longer see themselves reflected in the State — they see it as distant, indifferent, even hostile.

And yet, despite everything, Peru’s fragile democracy endures. The marches that fill the plazas, the journalists who continue reporting despite exhaustion or fear, and the civil society that demands better leaders — all of this shows that, despite disillusionment, the country remains alive. Rage is not only rejection; it is also a form of love for the nation. Those who protest do so because they still believe it is worth defending.

Peru is not condemned. But it must recognize its fracture, confront its wounds, and stop hiding them. A broken country can heal if it faces impunity and restores the value of human life. Acknowledging and effectively prosecuting those responsible for killing their fellow citizens during protests is the first necessary step for this nation to begin to recover.