In the heart of La Paz, Juan Mamani, a 30-year-old street vendor, joined thousands of Evo Morales’ supporters on Friday, their voices rising in a chant: “Evo, our brother, we’ll fight for you!” Clutching a Bolivian flag, Mamani marched toward the Supreme Electoral Tribunal to register Morales’ candidacy for the 2025 presidential election. But as the crowd surged, police unleashed tear gas and swung batons, turning the protest into a chaotic clash. “They’re stealing our future,” Mamani gasped, his eyes stinging. The violence, which injured two officers, a journalist, and a bystander, underscores Bolivia’s raw divide as Morales’ backers fight a court ruling banning his run.
The Constitutional Court’s Wednesday decision reaffirmed a two-term limit, barring Morales, Bolivia’s first Indigenous president, from a fourth term after leading from 2006 to 2019. From his Chapare stronghold, Morales, facing human trafficking charges he denies, rallied supporters to march, calling the ban a “coup against democracy.” His Movement Toward Socialism (MAS) party, once a unifying force, is split, with President Luis Arce, his former ally, endorsing the ruling and naming Minister Eduardo del Castillo as MAS’s candidate. “Mr. Morales must face justice,” del Castillo said, citing an arrest warrant tied to allegations involving a minor in 2015.
Bolivia’s economic crisis, with inflation soaring and fuel scarce, fuels the unrest. Morales’ supporters, many Indigenous farmers like 50-year-old Rosa Condori, credit him with schools, hospitals, and pride. “Evo lifted us up,” Condori said, her voice breaking as she dodged tear gas. But his absence from the march—hiding to avoid arrest—drew whispers of doubt. “He should stand with us,” said a young protester, his face smeared with soot. The clashes, which saw rocks and firecrackers met with police force, left La Paz’s streets littered with debris and fear.
The conflict’s roots trace to Morales’ 2019 ouster amid fraud allegations, followed by Arce’s 2020 victory. The judiciary, once accused of bending to Morales, now faces claims of serving Arce. “The courts are a puppet show,” Morales said, a sentiment echoed by supporters waving Wiphala flags. Yet, his legal troubles, including rape allegations he calls fabricated, divide even loyalists. The U.N. has called for calm, but Bolivia’s history of judicial flip-flops—Morales himself ran in 2019 despite term limits—casts a shadow over the tribunal’s legitimacy.
Reactions pulse with passion. In El Alto, Quechua women played panpipes, their music drowned by sirens. Videos on social media show marchers, some masked, chanting “Evo vive!” while police push them back. “This is our fight,” posted one user, sharing images of bloodied protesters. Arce’s supporters, fewer but vocal, rallied for “rule of law,” highlighting MAS’s fracture. Carla Gomez, the injured journalist, recounted her ordeal: “I was filming when the gas hit; I couldn’t breathe.” Globally, solidarity protests in Argentina and Peru amplify the cause, with signs reading “Free Evo.”
The fallout threatens Bolivia’s fragile stability. Last year, Morales’ supporters blockaded roads, choking supply lines and spiking food prices—a tactic they may revive. The MAS’s infighting could hand power to opposition groups, while Arce struggles to tame a collapsing economy. For Condori, the stakes are personal: “Without Evo, we’re invisible again.” But Morales’ scandals erode his halo, with some marchers quietly questioning his fitness to lead.
What lies ahead? The electoral tribunal, led by Oscar Hassentoufel, will review Morales’ candidacy, though he warned, “The law is clear.” Supporters pledge escalation, with social media posts threatening nationwide strikes if Morales is jailed. Arce’s government, wary of bloodshed, calls for dialogue but deploys more police. In La Paz, Mamani and others regroup, their faces set with defiance. As Bolivia braces for more turmoil, one question burns: can its people’s hope and rage find a path to peace, or will division tear them apart?
