No prisoners in Chile are serving sentences in dignified conditions.
In the northern city of Copiapó, President José Antonio Kast used a traveling public forum to clarify the boundaries of his authority and his intentions — distinguishing between what he promised and what others have since demanded of him. His remarks on pardons, military deployment, and prison reform reveal a leader attempting to govern within the tension between public fear and institutional constraint. The questions citizens brought him — about crime, about old prisoners, about lawless territories — are the perennial questions of a society still negotiating the relationship between justice, order, and memory.
- Citizens pressed Kast on a campaign promise many believe he made — to pardon all convicted former military and police — but he insists he only ever committed to reviewing cases individually, and has pardoned no one.
- An elderly community leader's plea to 'put your foot down' on crime captured a widespread anxiety, yet Kast pushed back against calls for broad military street deployment, warning that a single misfire could collapse public support for the policy.
- In Chile's southern territories, where armed groups have declared autonomy, Kast vowed repeated incursions to restore order while acknowledging that any death — on either side — would be exploited by those seeking to provoke the state.
- Kast accused the previous government of violating a longstanding agreement by mixing general inmates into Punta Peuco, a facility historically reserved for military and police convicts from the dictatorship era.
- A structural overhaul is underway: Gendarmería will be transferred to the Security Ministry, a shift Kast called radical — and he admitted, with unusual candor, that dignified detention conditions currently exist for no one in Chile's prison system.
President Kast traveled to Copiapó as part of his "Presidente Presente" initiative — a roving town hall where citizens bring their concerns directly to the head of state. Two subjects dominated the session: the prison system and the pardon question that has followed him since the campaign.
On pardons, Kast was unambiguous. He had never promised to pardon all convicts, he said — only to examine cases individually on their merits. To date, he has pardoned no one. The distinction clearly mattered to him, as some voices were now insisting he was bound to a blanket commitment he says he never made.
An elderly community leader in the audience urged him to take a harder line on crime, describing the daily toll of violence she saw in the news. Kast's response was careful: military deployment on city streets would only occur in narrow, specific circumstances — in the north, where terrorism was active. He cautioned that those calling loudest for soldiers in the streets might be the first to abandon that position if something went wrong.
On the southern territories where armed groups have claimed autonomy, Kast acknowledged the difficulty ahead while committing to persistent state presence. He said the government would not accept a death on either side, but warned that provocations were inevitable. His language was plain: he intended to find every last actor in the southern macrozone.
At Punta Peuco — the facility built to house former military and police convicted of dictatorship-era crimes — Kast raised a pointed complaint. A longstanding agreement had held that the prison would house only that population. The previous government, he said, had broken that agreement by mixing in other inmates. He called it wrong.
Finally, Kast announced a structural reform already in motion: the transfer of Gendarmería operations to the Security Ministry. He described it as a radical reorganization aimed at ensuring sentences are carried out lawfully and in humane conditions — then acknowledged, with notable candor, that such conditions do not currently exist for any prisoner in Chile. Whether the institutional transfer will produce the change he envisions remains the open question.
President José Antonio Kast arrived in Copiapó, in the Atacama region, to hold another session of his "Presidente Presente" initiative—a traveling town hall where he fields questions from residents and local leaders. The setting was familiar: a public forum where citizens raise their concerns directly to the head of state. On this day, several issues surfaced, but two dominated the conversation: the state of the prison system and the question of pardons that had shadowed his campaign.
When the topic of pardons came up, Kast was direct. He had not, he said, made an absolute promise during his campaign to pardon everyone. He would use the pardon power case by case, analyzing each situation on its merits. To date, he noted, he had pardoned no one. The distinction mattered to him—he wanted to be clear about what he had actually committed to and what he had not. "I have a clear conscience about this," he said, because some people were now telling him he had to pardon everyone. That was not what he had promised.
An elderly community leader in the audience pressed him on a different front. She spoke about the violence she saw in the news every day—killings, robberies, the constant stream of crime reports that made it impossible to watch the evening broadcast. She asked him to take a hard line. "Put your foot down," she said. "It's the only way the country will recover." Her plea reflected a broader anxiety about security that had animated much of the political conversation.
Kast's response on the use of the armed forces in public spaces was measured but firm. Many mayors were asking for military deployment on the streets, he said, but that would not happen except in very specific circumstances—in the north, in areas where terrorism was active. He pointed out the risk: if a soldier mishandled a weapon and fired, he would go to prison. If that happened again, many of those now calling for military intervention would be left without support. The implication was clear—be careful what you ask for.
On the southern territories where groups had declared autonomy, Kast acknowledged the challenge ahead. It would take time to restore order, he said, but they would do it. They would enter those areas repeatedly if necessary. What they could not accept was a death—on either side. But the groups there would try to provoke one. He committed to finding "every last terrorist in the southern macrozone." The language was stark, the resolve stated plainly.
When he returned to the pardon question, Kast reiterated his position with some force. He had said he would use the pardon power to examine cases individually. He had not said he would pardon everyone. Some were now telling him he had to do exactly that. He would not. Instead, the government was working to ensure that all people serving sentences could do so with dignity. There were legal proceedings underway, and the government would not interfere in those. The distinction between justice and vengeance mattered to him—a court could condemn someone, but the state's job was to ensure that condemnation was carried out according to law and in humane conditions.
At Punta Peuco, the prison facility that had housed military and police officers convicted of crimes during the dictatorship, Kast raised a separate complaint. There had been a consensus, he said, that the facility should hold only former members of the armed forces and police. The previous government had broken that agreement and begun mixing inmate populations. That was wrong, he said. It did not belong. The criticism suggested a view that certain prisoners should be segregated from others, a position that carried its own weight in the context of Chile's fraught history with military-era crimes.
Finally, Kast outlined a structural change coming to the penitentiary system. A law had been approved—passed during the previous administration but now moving forward—that would transfer all Gendarmería operations to the Security Ministry. This was a radical shift, he said, part of a broader effort to reorganize how the prison system functioned. The goal, as he framed it, was to ensure that sentences were carried out as the law prescribed and that conditions were dignified. He acknowledged that this was not currently happening for any prisoners in Chile. The admission was significant—a statement that the entire system was failing to meet basic standards. What comes next is the implementation of that transfer and whether it produces the changes Kast envisions.
Citas Notables
We did not make an absolute promise during the campaign that everyone would be pardoned, and I am very transparent about that and have a clear conscience.— President José Antonio Kast
There was a consensus that the facility should hold only former members of the armed forces and police. The previous government did not respect that and began mixing inmate populations, which is not appropriate.— President José Antonio Kast, on Punta Peuco prison
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
When Kast says he never promised absolute pardons, what exactly is he trying to clarify?
He's drawing a line between what he actually said in the campaign and what people now think he said. He offered to use the pardon power case by case. People heard that and thought he meant everyone would get one. He's saying that's not what he promised, and he wants to be clear about it.
Why does the distinction matter so much to him?
Because if he doesn't pardon people, he wants to be able to say he never committed to doing so. It protects him politically. But it also reflects a real tension—he's trying to balance the demands of people who want mercy with the demands of people who want punishment.
What's the significance of the Punta Peuco complaint?
That prison was supposed to be separate—a place for military and police officers only. The previous government mixed in other inmates. Kast is saying that was a violation of an understanding. It suggests he thinks certain prisoners should be kept apart from others, which in Chile's context is loaded because it involves how you treat people convicted of dictatorship-era crimes.
And the elderly woman asking for a hard line—what was she really asking for?
She was asking him to be tougher on crime, to make the violence stop. She couldn't even watch the news anymore. Kast didn't give her what she wanted—he didn't promise military in the streets. Instead he explained why that would be dangerous. He was managing her expectations.
What does the transfer of Gendarmería to the Security Ministry actually mean?
It's a structural reorganization of how prisons are run. Right now they're under one ministry, soon they'll be under another. Kast says it's radical, that it's meant to improve conditions. But he also admits conditions are currently failing for everyone. So it's a promise of change, but the outcome is uncertain.
Is he saying the system is broken?
Yes, directly. He says no prisoners in Chile are serving their sentences in dignified conditions. That's a damning statement about the entire penitentiary system. He's framing the ministry transfer as the solution, but he's also acknowledging the problem is systemic and severe.