Treat it as savings, not as spending money.
Twice a year, Peru's formal labor system delivers a quiet promise to its workers: a deposit meant to stand between them and the uncertainty of unemployment. This November, the second CTS payment arrives by the 15th, governed by Law 32322, which now permits free withdrawal — a convenience that economists warn may erode the benefit's deeper purpose. The story of who receives it, and who does not, maps the uneven terrain of formal work in Peru, where protections exist on paper long before they exist in practice.
- Millions of formal private-sector workers await a CTS deposit due by November 15 — a biannual severance benefit that functions, in theory, as unemployment insurance.
- Law 32322 has unlocked the payment for free withdrawal, blurring the line between a financial safety net and a discretionary bonus, raising concern among economists about long-term worker vulnerability.
- The benefit's reach is fractured: public employees are excluded, CAS contract workers face legal limbo, MYPE-regime workers receive only half, and part-time workers receive nothing at all.
- A minimum of 30 days worked in the preceding semester is the threshold for eligibility — a simple rule that quietly excludes those with gaps, recent hires, or fragmented employment.
- Economists urge workers to resist treating the deposit as a windfall, recommending it be directed toward savings instruments or productive investment to preserve its original protective function.
Peru's formal workers are set to receive the second CTS payment of the year, with deposits due by November 15 — or November 14, since the deadline falls on a Saturday. The Compensación por Tiempo de Servicios is a severance benefit embedded in the country's labor structure, designed from the outset as a form of forced savings: money set aside from each paycheck to cushion workers against the shock of job loss.
Economist Fernando Lossio Vargas of Universidad Científica del Sur describes the benefit's original logic clearly — it is unemployment protection built into the salary itself. But that logic has been steadily softened since the pandemic. Law 32322, enacted in May 2025, continues a pattern of allowing free withdrawal, transforming what was once restricted insurance into accessible funds. The line between safety net and spending money has grown thin.
The benefit does not reach everyone equally. Workers in the general private-sector regime qualify in full. Public employees have historically been excluded. CAS workers — hired on temporary public contracts — gained a legal right to CTS through recent legislation, but implementing regulations have yet to be written, leaving their access in limbo. MYPE-regime workers receive half the standard amount. Part-time workers receive nothing. What sounds like a universal benefit is, in practice, a partial one.
Eligibility requires at least 30 days of employment in the preceding semester — a threshold that excludes recent hires, workers with gaps, and those in fragmented arrangements. For those who do qualify, the deposit is calculated from their computable salary multiplied by days worked and divided by 360.
Lossio's advice for what comes next is measured: do not spend the CTS as though it were a bonus. Seek financial products that generate returns, or direct it toward something productive — a small venture, a skill, a foundation. The law may now permit free withdrawal, but the economist argues the underlying principle of unemployment protection is worth preserving voluntarily, even when the state no longer enforces it.
Peru's formal workforce is waiting for money that arrives twice a year, and this November it comes again. The second Compensación por Tiempo de Servicios—CTS, a severance benefit built into the labor system—will hit bank accounts by November 15, though companies have until Friday the 14th to deposit it since the 15th falls on a Saturday. The catch, as with most things in Peru's labor market, is that not everyone qualifies, and the rules matter more than they might seem.
The CTS exists as a form of forced savings, a piece of every formal worker's compensation set aside to function as unemployment insurance. When the system was created, the logic was simple: if you lose your job, you have money to live on while you search for the next one. Fernando Lossio Vargas, an economist and finance professor at Universidad Científica del Sur, explains it plainly—the benefit is meant to protect workers during periods without work, a financial cushion built into the salary structure itself. But over time, especially since the pandemic, that original purpose has blurred. The government has repeatedly allowed workers to withdraw their CTS freely, treating it less like insurance and more like accessible savings. Law 32322, passed in May 2025, continues this trend, letting workers pull out their November payment without restriction.
Not all workers in Peru receive the full CTS, and understanding who does and who doesn't reveals the fractures in the formal labor system. The benefit applies cleanly only to workers in the general regime—the standard private sector employment category. Public sector workers have historically been excluded entirely. CAS workers, those hired under temporary contracts in the public sector, only recently gained the legal right to CTS through a law change, but the rules implementing that change haven't been written yet, leaving their actual access uncertain. Workers in the MYPE regime, typically small and medium enterprises, don't receive the full CTS; they get half. Part-time workers get nothing. The result is a benefit that sounds universal but reaches only a portion of Peru's formal workforce, its impact diluted across different labor categories.
To receive the November payment, a worker must have logged at least 30 days of employment in the preceding period. If you worked from May through October—six months—you qualify for CTS based on that half-year of labor. Miss those 30 days, and you don't get paid. It's a straightforward threshold, but one that excludes workers with gaps, those who recently started, or those whose employment is fragmented.
Lossio offers practical advice for what comes next. The CTS, now freely available, should not become discretionary spending. He recommends workers treat it as genuine savings, seeking financial products that generate returns, or investing it in something productive—completing a small business venture, for instance, that could generate additional income. The original purpose was unemployment protection, and while the law now allows withdrawal, the economist suggests not abandoning that principle entirely. Use the money strategically, he says, not as a windfall to be spent but as a tool to build something that lasts.
The calculation itself is mechanical: take the worker's computable salary—base pay plus family allowance plus the average of variable payments like commissions or overtime—multiply it by the days worked in the semester, and divide by 360. The result is what lands in the account. For millions of Peruvian workers, that deposit represents real money at a moment when economic conditions remain tight. For others, it represents nothing at all, a benefit designed for them but not yet accessible, or accessible only in part.
Citas Notables
The CTS is meant to function as unemployment insurance, protecting workers during periods without work, but over time—especially since the pandemic—that original purpose has blurred.— Fernando Lossio Vargas, economist and finance professor
Workers should treat the CTS as genuine savings or productive investment, not as discretionary spending, to preserve its original purpose as unemployment protection.— Fernando Lossio Vargas
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does Peru have this system at all? It seems like an odd way to structure unemployment protection.
It's actually quite old. The CTS was designed when labor protections were weaker and workers had almost no safety net. By forcing employers to set aside money, the system guaranteed something would be there when a worker lost their job. It was paternalistic but practical.
And now it's become something else entirely.
Exactly. The pandemic broke the logic. When people were desperate, the government let them withdraw it. Then it kept happening. Now it's less insurance and more like a twice-yearly bonus that workers can access freely. The original purpose is still written into the law, but the practice has drifted.
So who actually benefits from this November payment?
Formal sector workers in the general regime who've worked at least 30 days in the past six months. That sounds broad, but it excludes public sector workers, part-timers, MYPE workers getting only half, and CAS workers who technically have the right but can't access it yet because nobody wrote the rules.
That's a lot of exclusions.
It is. The benefit looks universal on paper but reaches only a slice of Peru's workforce. The fractures in the labor system show up right there.
What should someone actually do with the money?
The economist recommends treating it as savings or productive investment—something that generates returns or builds toward future income. Not as spending money. The original idea was to have something when you're unemployed. That purpose shouldn't disappear just because the law now lets you withdraw it.