BOGOTA, Colombia – As the sun rises over the Andean highlands on Sunday, October 19, 2025, some 7.9 million Bolivians are streaming toward polling stations for the nation's first-ever presidential runoff election, a high-stakes contest that could decisively end nearly two decades of leftist rule and steer the landlocked South American country toward a pro-market renaissance. The ballot pits centrist Senator Rodrigo Paz Pereira, 58, of the Christian Democratic Party (PDC), against conservative former President Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga, 65, of the Freedom and Democracy (Libre) Alliance. Polls opened at 8 a.m. local time and will close at 4 p.m., with results expected late into the night.
This unprecedented runoff, mandated by Bolivia's 2009 constitution after no candidate secured 50% or 40% with a 10-point lead in the August 17 first round, arrives at a moment of profound national reckoning. In that initial vote, Paz stunned observers by capturing 32.06%—far exceeding pre-election surveys that pegged him below 10%—while Quiroga took 26.70%. Businessman Samuel Doria Medina, who garnered 19.69%, was eliminated but endorsed Paz, potentially funneling crucial support from eastern lowlands voters. The ruling Movement Toward Socialism (MAS), which has governed almost continuously since 2006, imploded with just 3% for its candidate, Eduardo del Castillo, losing its congressional majorities and signaling the collapse of its once-iron grip on power.
Voting is mandatory in Bolivia, a holdover from its 19th-century electoral traditions, with non-voters facing fines and, more practically, needing a "certificate of suffrage" for 90 days to access public services, banking, or even job applications. Turnout in the first round topped 85%, and officials anticipate similar fervor amid the crisis gripping the nation of 11.3 million. Polling stations, guarded by the military, stretch from the fog-shrouded altiplano of La Paz to the humid Yungas valleys and the soy-rich plains of Santa Cruz. Yet, beneath the pageantry of indigenous voters in polleras and bowler hats casting ballots beside urban professionals, lies a stark reality: Bolivia is mired in its worst economic crisis in four decades, exacerbated by fuel shortages, galloping inflation, and a fractured left that has left the country on the brink.
The economic freefall traces its roots to the tail end of the MAS era. Once buoyed by a natural gas boom that swelled foreign reserves to $15 billion in 2014, Bolivia's hydrocarbon sector—nationalized under former President Evo Morales—has since withered due to chronic underinvestment and declining production. Gas exports, the lifeblood of the economy, plummeted, draining dollars needed for imports. By early 2025, reserves had shriveled to under $2 billion, with liquid foreign exchange at a mere $47 million. This dollar drought supercharged import costs, igniting inflation that rocketed from 2% in 2023 to over 25% by August 2025—the highest in Latin America outside Venezuela and Argentina. Basic goods like bread have "shrinkflated": a standard roll, once 100 grams, now weighs 60 grams but costs four times as much, as bakers ration subsidized flour amid shortages.
Fuel scarcity has compounded the misery. Bolivia, unable to produce enough diesel and gasoline domestically, relies on imports subsidized at universal levels—a policy that once symbolized MAS populism but now devours billions in scarce dollars. Queues at gas stations snake for kilometers, with drivers like La Paz taxi operator Javier Quispe waiting up to four hours, only to find pumps dry. "Before, it was easy; now, life is really hard," Quispe told reporters, his truck idling on fumes. The ripple effects are devastating: Farmers in the eastern lowlands can't irrigate fields without diesel-powered pumps, slashing potato and onion harvests and doubling food prices in markets like El Alto's sprawling wholesale hub. Truckers blockade highways, protesting delays that spoil produce en route to cities, while urban households like that of homemaker Angelica Zapata ration meals to one per day for her children. "Everything is so expensive," she laments, echoing a national chorus.
The International Monetary Fund (IMF) has sounded alarms, projecting 20% inflation for 2025 and urging "credible fiscal consolidation" through subsidy cuts, wage rationalization, and tax hikes—measures that could spark unrest in a country where poverty affects 37% of the population. Fitch Ratings downgraded Bolivia to CCC in 2025, citing imminent debt risks as obligations loom in 2026. Black markets thrive: Dollars fetch 50% above the official rate of 6.96 bolivianos, fueling smuggling of subsidized fuel and gold across borders. Recession grips the economy, with GDP growth stalling at under 2%, down from 4.2% in 2023, as El Niño floods and roadblocks from protests disrupt agriculture and mining. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio hailed the election as a "promising development," noting both candidates' pledges to rebuild ties with Washington after years of alignment with Russia, China, Venezuela, and Cuba.
At the heart of this crisis lies the implosion of the MAS, fractured by a venomous feud between President Luis Arce and his mentor-turned-rival, Evo Morales. Morales, the Aymara union leader who became Bolivia's first Indigenous president in 2006, lifted millions from poverty through resource nationalization and social programs, but his 2019 ouster amid fraud allegations—followed by violent protests that killed dozens—left scars. Exiled briefly, Morales handpicked Arce, his ex-finance minister, to reclaim power in 2020 with 55% of the vote. Yet, what began as a division of labor—Arce governing, Morales leading the party—devolved into fratricide over 2025 ambitions.
By 2023, tensions erupted: Morales announced his candidacy, defying a constitutional two-term limit upheld by courts despite his interruptions. Arce, eyeing reelection, expelled Morales loyalists from MAS leadership and seized party control at a rival congress in El Alto. Morales countered by ousting Arce from the party at a coca-growers' gathering in Lauca Ñ, branding him a "traitor" and accusing him of corruption and DEA revival. Clashes between factions turned deadly: In June 2025, protests over Morales' disqualification left six dead, including four police, as cocaleros blockaded Chapare roads to shield him from an arrest warrant on statutory rape charges.
The rift, analysts say, is both ideological and venal. Morales represents the radical, rural base—coca farmers and indigenous federations—who decry Arce's "technocratic" drift toward moderation. Arce, backed by urban middle classes and eastern intercultural groups, blames Morales for economic mismanagement and authoritarianism. "The war between Morales and Arce destroyed MAS," says political analyst Daniel Valverde. Morales, barred from running, has urged null votes, potentially siphoning 5-10% from the left's remnants and tilting the scales rightward. Arce's approval plummeted to 20% by mid-2025, his "no crisis" denials fueling public fury.
Into this vacuum step Paz and Quiroga, both Tarija natives with gubernatorial pedigrees, offering divergent visions of salvation. Paz, born in exile during his father Jaime Paz Zamora's dictatorship-era opposition, embodies renewal without rupture. A senator since 2020, former Tarija mayor, and economist, he surged by courting disaffected MAS voters—rural elders, less affluent urbanites, and even some coca growers wary of austerity. His running mate, ex-police captain Edmundo Lara, burnished anticorruption credentials, resonating with the underclass. Paz's platform: A "50-50" decentralization model, funneling half of revenues to regions; blockchain for transparent procurement; a cryptocurrency-backed stabilization fund; and gradual subsidy phaseouts, sparing public transport. He pledges MERCOSUR integration, tariff cuts on non-local goods, and "capitalism for all"—fiscal discipline with social safety nets intact. "Change without chaos," he intones at rallies, donning folk costumes to dance chuquisaqueño rhythms in Tarija squares.
Quiroga, by contrast, channels "radical change" for "20 lost years." The Yale-educated businessman served as president from 2001-2002, succeeding cancer-stricken dictator Hugo Banzer, and has run unsuccessfully thrice before. A Libre coalition founder and Latin right-wing networker, he pairs with tech exec Juan Pablo Velasco for a pro-business ticket. His blueprint: IMF loans for dollar infusions; privatization of loss-making state firms; deep spending cuts, including fuel subsidies; reversal of Morales-era nationalizations; and biofuel expansion alongside soy and cattle in the east. Quiroga vows to end alliances with "dictatorships" like Venezuela, prioritizing U.S. and EU ties, and distinguishes "good" Yungas coca (cultural) from Chapare's "bad" (trafficking). At La Paz closers, he rallies with confetti and chants: "Free nation!"
Polls show a nail-biter. An October Ipsos Ciesmori survey gave Quiroga 55.2%, Paz 44.8%; Red Uno pegged it 52.6%-47.4%. Prediction markets like Wahlfieber tilt Paz at 52%. Urban youth and Santa Cruz agribusiness favor Quiroga's boldness; Paz draws moderates fearing unrest. Analysts like Daniela Osorio warn of "social uprising" if reforms ignore the vulnerable. Whoever wins on November 8 inherits a Congress without MAS majorities, demanding coalitions.
As voters queue in Laja, an Aymara woman outside La Paz tells AP: "We've suffered enough. We need bread, fuel, hope—not more fights." In this polarized crucible, Bolivia chooses not just a leader, but a path from abyss to renewal. The world watches: A rightward pivot could ripple through lithium-rich Andes, reshaping U.S.-Latin ties and global energy plays. For now, the polls hum with ballots, and the Andes hold their breath.
