Peru was about to elect its eighth president in eight years
Un mes después de las urnas, Perú encontró su respuesta provisional: Keiko Fujimori y Roberto Sánchez avanzaron a una segunda vuelta el 7 de junio, tras un conteo de treinta y tres días que reflejó no solo la fragmentación de un campo con treinta y seis candidatos, sino la fragilidad de las instituciones que deben sostener la democracia. El país se prepara para elegir a su octavo presidente en ocho años, un ciclo que habla menos de elecciones individuales y más de un sistema que busca, sin encontrar aún, su propio equilibrio.
- El 12 de abril, las mesas abrieron tarde, los materiales escasearon y Lima extendió la votación un día entero, convirtiendo el acto cívico en una prueba de resistencia institucional.
- Durante treinta y tres días, miles de actas permanecieron bajo disputa, revisadas manualmente por juntas locales, manteniendo al país en una incertidumbre que se volvió rutina.
- Fujimori obtuvo apenas el 17% y Sánchez el 12% en un campo tan fragmentado que los treinta y cuatro candidatos restantes se repartieron más del setenta por ciento del electorado.
- La ratificación oficial del Jurado Nacional de Elecciones, prevista para el 17 de mayo, era esperada pero no garantizada, recordatorio de cuánto peso carga cada paso del proceso.
- El 7 de junio, Perú deberá elegir entre la herencia autoritaria de los Fujimori y la rehabilitación de un gobierno cuyo líder cumple once años de prisión por intentar disolver el Congreso.
Un mes después de las elecciones del 12 de abril, Perú tuvo por fin su respuesta. La primera vuelta había comenzado en desorden: mesas que abrieron tarde, materiales insuficientes y centros de votación en Lima tan rezagados que los funcionarios extendieron el proceso un día completo. Luego vino la espera real. Durante treinta y tres días, la Oficina Nacional de Procesos Electorales contabilizó los resultados mientras miles de actas permanecían bajo impugnación, revisadas manualmente por inconsistencias. A mediados de mayo, el conteo terminó: Keiko Fujimori había obtenido 2,8 millones de votos —el 17%— y Roberto Sánchez, 2 millones —el 12%—. Las cifras eran modestas porque el voto se había dispersado entre treinta y seis candidatos, y los treinta y cuatro restantes se llevaron más del setenta por ciento del electorado.
Antes de que la segunda vuelta del 7 de junio pudiera convocarse oficialmente, el Jurado Nacional de Elecciones debía ratificar los resultados el 17 de mayo. La confirmación se daba por descontada, pero el hecho de que fuera necesaria decía mucho sobre el estado de las instituciones electorales del país.
Fujimori llegaba a su cuarta candidatura presidencial apoyada en la figura de su padre, Alberto Fujimori, cuya presidencia en los noventa sigue dividiendo a los peruanos entre quienes recuerdan estabilidad económica y quienes no olvidan el autoritarismo y las violaciones a los derechos humanos. Sánchez, congresista y exministro de Pedro Castillo, apostaba por una estrategia distinta: reivindicar la gestión de un gobierno cuyo líder cumple once años de prisión por haber intentado disolver el Congreso en diciembre de 2022.
Lo que más llamaba la atención no eran los candidatos sino el marco que los rodeaba. Perú estaba a punto de elegir a su octavo presidente en ocho años. Los retrasos electorales y las actas impugnadas no eran excepciones: eran síntomas de un sistema bajo tensión crónica. La segunda vuelta decidiría quién heredaría ese paisaje fracturado, pero no lo sanaría.
A month after Peru went to the polls, the country finally had its answer. On April 12, voters cast ballots in a first round that stretched into chaos—polling stations opened late, materials ran short, and Lima's voting sites fell so far behind that election officials extended voting by a full day. Then came the real wait. For thirty-three days, the National Electoral Office tallied results while thousands of voting records sat under dispute, flagged for inconsistencies that required manual review by local election boards. By mid-May, the count was done. Keiko Fujimori, the right-wing candidate, had secured 2.8 million votes—17 percent of the total. Roberto Sánchez, running from the left, collected 2 million votes, or 12 percent. The numbers were modest because Peru's political landscape had fractured across thirty-six candidates, with the remaining thirty-four splitting more than seventy percent of the electorate between them.
Neither Fujimori nor Sánchez had won outright, so Peru would hold a runoff on June 7. But before that could happen officially, the National Electoral Jury had to ratify the results on May 17—a procedural step that reflected how fragile Peru's electoral institutions had become. The confirmation was expected, but the delay itself was telling.
Fujimori was making her fourth attempt at the presidency. She had built her campaign around her father, Alberto Fujimori, the former president whose tenure in the 1990s remained polarizing—remembered by some as a period of stability and economic growth, by others as an era of authoritarianism and human rights abuses. She leaned into that legacy, betting that voters would see continuity and strength in her name. Sánchez, a congressman and former minister under Pedro Castillo, had chosen a different strategy. He was trying to rehabilitate the record of the Castillo administration, even as Castillo himself sat in prison serving an eleven-year sentence for his failed autogolpe—the self-coup attempt in December 2022 when he had tried to dissolve Congress and seize emergency powers. Castillo's presidency had been chaotic and brief, and his imprisonment cast a long shadow over anyone associated with his government.
What struck observers most was not the candidates themselves but the context. Peru was about to elect its eighth president in eight years. The country had become a revolving door of leadership, each administration shorter and more turbulent than the last. The electoral delays and the thousands of disputed voting records were not anomalies—they were symptoms of a system under strain, institutions that had lost the capacity to function smoothly even in routine circumstances. The June runoff would determine who would inherit this fractured landscape, but it would not fix it.
Citas Notables
Castillo currently serves an 11-year sentence for his 2022 autogolpe attempt— Electoral record
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did it take a full month to count the votes?
The delays started on election day itself. Polling stations in Lima didn't open on time, materials were missing, and they had to extend voting by a day just to get everyone through. Then thousands of voting records were challenged—inconsistencies that required local boards to review them manually. It wasn't incompetence so much as a system stretched too thin.
And both candidates are tied to controversial figures?
Exactly. Fujimori is running on her father's name, which means she's asking voters to either embrace or forgive his 1990s presidency. Sánchez is trying to defend the Castillo years even though Castillo is in prison for attempting a coup. Neither has clean hands.
What does eight presidents in eight years actually mean for the country?
It means no continuity, no long-term planning, constant institutional disruption. Every new president comes in and tries to undo the last one's work. The electoral system itself is showing the strain—it can barely count votes anymore.
Is there any sense of which candidate might win the runoff?
The source doesn't say. Both came out of a fragmented field where thirty-four other candidates split most of the vote. In a two-person race, dynamics shift. But the real question isn't who wins—it's whether whoever takes office can actually govern a country this unstable.