For more than a month, Bolivia has been experiencing one of its worst crises in years. There is an indefinite general strike, road blockades in over 90 locations across the country, and mass demonstrations, primarily involving indigenous farming communities, miners, teachers, and workers from various sectors. The hardest hit are the cities of La Paz, Bolivia's capital, and neighboring El Alto, a city with a predominantly indigenous population. There are already shortages of food and fuel, and the prices of basic necessities are rising daily.
Terre des Hommes partner organization Inti Watana works with disadvantaged children and young people in La Paz. Staff members report on the situation and the background of the conflict.
Why are people protesting?
To understand what is happening, one must look at both recent history and the concrete figures. Bolivia is in the midst of a severe economic crisis: The inflation rate was 20.4 percent at the end of 2025, wages are barely enough to live on, and the state is already burdened with high foreign debt, while foreign exchange reserves have reached a historic low.
On this fragile ground, the spark that ignited everything finally took hold: a land law. Law 1720, which redefined the sale and use of agricultural land, was immediately rejected by farmers and Indigenous people, who saw it as a way to increasingly concentrate land in the hands of large agribusinesses—at the expense of small-scale farmers and Indigenous communities. President Paz repealed it shortly afterward, but the political damage had already been done.
The core of the problem, however, extends far beyond this single law. Many of the people taking to the streets today had supported the Movement for Socialism (MAS) for almost two decades—the party that governed Bolivia from the early 2000s onward with promises of social change and social justice for the indigenous population, but which lost credibility over time due to internal disputes and accumulated disappointments. Tired of this cycle, many former MAS supporters opted in 2025 for Rodrigo Paz, a centrist politician who promised a break with the existing system.
People hoped for an orderly way out of the crisis and were even prepared to make the sacrifices associated with the abolition of fuel subsidies – knowing full well that this would lead to price increases. However, the economic austerity measures were implemented without a prior social pact and without a sound public explanation, which further fueled public discontent. At some point, a sense arose that boundaries had been crossed: Today, a significant portion of the population is demanding the president's resignation, while the other part supports him and calls for the declaration of a state of emergency.
A conflict with two faces
One of the children from Inti Watana's project described the situation as follows: “The blockades aren't all bad. Since there's no meat or roast chicken, we're eating healthier. Since there's no transportation, we're walking. And since we have nowhere to go, we're spending more time with our families or at Inti Watana, where we talk and look out for each other.” Aside from this anecdote, the reality is harsh. The general strike has now lasted for several weeks. The movement lacks unified leadership and is riddled with internal contradictions.
The government and right-wing groups are also organizing demonstrations with white flags and demanding order. The mainstream media label the demonstrators as "paid" or accuse them of being rioters and drug dealers. Openly racist remarks against indigenous communities are also commonplace.
At the same time, there are worrying signals coming from the state. Parliament repealed a law that restricted the use of the state of emergency – a measure that gives the government more leeway to deploy the military against the protests. Two ministers resigned in protest, and it has emerged that some military leaders are also unwilling to act without a clear legal framework to protect them in the future.
The conflict has already claimed at least eight lives and left nearly one hundred injured; several social and indigenous leaders have been arrested. This information comes primarily from alternative and independent media, as official figures are lacking.
Humanity is on display in the streets
Amidst the tensions, there were many heartwarming gestures: grandmothers from rural communities stepping to the roadside to offer water to the demonstrators, community kitchens springing up at blockade points, songs composed in the midst of the mobilization. The march of Indigenous people from the Amazon was particularly impressive. Some of them had walked more than a thousand kilometers for 28 days, from the lowlands to La Paz in the highlands.
Many city residents wonder how the protesters manage to maintain the blockades for weeks on end. The answer lies in a cultural tradition: it's not always the same people. They take turns daily – some come, others go, they share food and organize themselves together. It's a form of resistance deeply rooted in the communal culture of indigenous peoples.
A lot is at stake
Bolivia is currently experiencing not just a government crisis, but a systemic crisis whose origins date back to the colonial era. On one side are the indigenous and rural populations, and on the other are the middle class and economic elites, who traditionally held more political and economic influence – and both sides are struggling to implement their vision for the country after the end of the MAS government.
Without genuine mediation efforts and structural changes that address both the economic crisis and the historical demands of indigenous peoples, this will not be the last uprising. Bolivia has been resolving its most profound conflicts in the streets for decades. This time is no exception.
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