The crops in the pictures were props. The development was imaginary.
En octubre de 2021, el ministro del Interior Luis Barranzuela lanzó una acusación que sacudió los cimientos de la política antidrogas peruana: Devida, la agencia encargada de diseñar la estrategia nacional contra el narcotráfico, habría desviado millones en fondos estadounidenses destinados al desarrollo alternativo, convirtiendo la política pública en teatro fotográfico. La denuncia llegó en un momento de fragilidad institucional, cuando el aparato del Estado encargado de combatir tanto el narcotráfico como el terrorismo mostraba señales de agotamiento y abandono. En el fondo, la historia no es solo sobre corrupción o ineficiencia, sino sobre la distancia que puede crecer entre las instituciones y las comunidades a las que prometen servir.
- Millones de dólares en ayuda estadounidense para el desarrollo alternativo habrían desaparecido sin dejar rastro más que fotografías de cultivos que nunca prosperaron.
- La circulación de rumores sobre la paralización de operaciones de erradicación de coca en el VRAEM encendió alarmas sobre un posible abandono silencioso de la lucha antinarcóticos.
- El Dircote, la unidad antiterrorista que alguna vez fue el filo más afilado del Estado peruano contra Sendero Luminoso, habría sido vaciado de sus mejores cuadros y dejado a la deriva.
- Sendero Luminoso no desapareció: mutó, y hoy opera entrelazado con la economía del narcotráfico en regiones donde el Estado llega tarde y mal.
- El Congreso prepara una citación al ministro Barranzuela para que explique, ante la comisión de defensa, cómo piensa librar simultáneamente dos guerras con instituciones corroídas o debilitadas.
Una mañana de octubre, el ministro del Interior Luis Barranzuela tomó un micrófono de radio y lanzó una acusación directa: Devida, la agencia que diseña la estrategia antidrogas del Perú y que reporta directamente a la Presidencia del Consejo de Ministros, era corrupta. No de manera abstracta, sino de la forma más concreta posible: el dinero se esfumaba y los resultados no llegaban.
Devida administra fondos sustanciales del gobierno de Estados Unidos, destinados a financiar programas de desarrollo alternativo que ofrezcan a los agricultores opciones distintas al cultivo de hoja de coca. Según Barranzuela, esos millones habían desaparecido en una farsa burocrática: funcionarios que llegaban a zonas rurales, acomodaban cacao u otros cultivos sobre mesas para fotografías, y se marchaban. Los agricultores quedaban solos. El desarrollo era una ilusión cuidadosamente escenificada.
Las acusaciones llegaron en un momento de tensión adicional. Circulaban reportes de que las operaciones de erradicación de coca en el VRAEM —el valle de los ríos Apurímac, Ene y Mantaro, epicentro histórico del narcotráfico y la insurgencia— habían sido suspendidas. Barranzuela lo negó con firmeza: la erradicación continuaba, ninguna orden de detención había salido de su despacho.
Pero el ministro tenía otro frente abierto. El Dircote, la dirección antiterrorista de la Policía Nacional, había sido desmantelada silenciosamente: sus mejores oficiales dispersados, su capacidad operativa reducida a la mínima expresión. Barranzuela prometió reconstruirla, recuperar a los cuadros más capaces y devolverle su antigua fortaleza. La urgencia era real: Sendero Luminoso nunca desapareció del todo, sino que se transformó, fusionando ideología y narcotráfico en las sombras del VRAEM.
Las promesas y denuncias del ministro no quedaron sin respuesta. José Williams, presidente de la comisión de defensa del Congreso, anunció que Barranzuela sería citado en los próximos días para explicar su estrategia. La pregunta que flotaba en el ambiente era tan simple como urgente: ¿cómo se combaten simultáneamente el narcotráfico y el terrorismo cuando las instituciones encargadas de hacerlo están corroídas o vaciadas por dentro?
Luis Barranzuela, Peru's Interior Minister, walked into a radio studio one morning in October and made an accusation that would ripple through the country's drug-fighting apparatus. Devida, the state agency tasked with designing Peru's entire anti-narcotics strategy, was corrupt. Not theoretically corrupt, not structurally compromised—corrupt in the way that matters most to ordinary people: money was disappearing, and nothing was getting done.
Devida sits at the center of Peru's drug war. It reports directly to the Prime Minister's office and holds the blueprint for how the nation fights cocaine trafficking, coca cultivation, and the criminal networks that profit from both. The agency receives substantial support from the United States government, funding meant to finance alternative development projects—initiatives designed to give farmers a reason to grow something other than coca leaf. Barranzuela's charge was that this money, millions of dollars of it, had evaporated into thin air.
He described a pattern of theater masquerading as policy. Officials from Devida, he said, would show up in rural areas, arrange cacao or other crops on tables for photographs, and leave. The farmers would watch them go and wonder where the actual support was. The crops in the pictures were props. The development was imaginary. Meanwhile, the dollars that were supposed to fund real economic alternatives had simply vanished from the accounting.
The minister's words carried particular weight because they came at a moment of acute tension. Reports had begun circulating that coca eradication operations in the VRAEM—the Apurímac, Ene, and Mantaro river valley, a region where drug trafficking and leftist insurgency have long been intertwined—had been halted. If true, it would mean Peru had essentially stopped destroying coca crops destined for the cocaine trade. Barranzuela moved quickly to deny this. Eradication continues, he insisted. No such order had come from his office. He asked for time to work.
But his attention was divided. Alongside his accusations against Devida, Barranzuela was sounding an alarm about another institutional collapse: the Dircote, Peru's counter-terrorism directorate. The unit had been gutted, he said. Its best officers had been drawn away. The organization that once represented the cutting edge of Peru's fight against armed groups—particularly Shining Path, which never truly disappeared but instead evolved and metastasized into new forms—had been allowed to wither. Barranzuela pledged to rebuild it, to call back the most capable police officers and restore the directorate to something resembling its former strength.
Shining Path, he noted, had lost the armed struggle long ago. But the organization had not dissolved. It had simply shifted terrain, operating now in the shadows of Peru's drug economy, where ideology and narcotics trafficking had become inseparable. The threat remained acute, and the institution meant to counter it had been starved of resources and attention.
The accusations and commitments hung in the air, waiting for scrutiny. José Williams, who chairs Congress's defense commission, announced that Barranzuela would be summoned to explain himself—to lay out precisely how he intended to wage war on drugs and terrorism simultaneously, with agencies that appeared to be either corrupt or depleted or both. The hearing would happen within days, Williams said, or the following week at the latest. Either way, the Interior Minister would have to answer.
Notable Quotes
Devida receives support from the American government for alternative development projects, but we have learned that there are acts of corruption within Devida. Millions of dollars have not been used, and farmers say officials have come here just to take photos about alternative development themes.— Luis Barranzuela, Interior Minister
Eradication operations continue. This minister has never authorized such a thing, because it would be acting against the law. Let me work.— Luis Barranzuela, Interior Minister
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does Barranzuela go public with this? Why not investigate quietly and then act?
Because the accusation itself is the action. He's signaling that things are broken and he's the one who sees it. It's a power move—he's establishing his authority by naming what his predecessor allowed to happen.
But if Devida is corrupt, doesn't that implicate the government that appointed its leadership?
Yes. Which is why he has to move fast. He's trying to get ahead of the story—to be the one who discovered the rot, not the one who tolerated it.
The photo-op detail is striking. What does that tell us?
It tells us the corruption isn't hidden in ledgers. It's visible. Farmers see it. They know when they're being used for a picture. That's the kind of thing that erodes trust in institutions faster than anything else.
And the Dircote issue—is that separate, or connected?
It's the same story told twice. Institutions weakened, resources diverted, the real work left undone. He's saying the entire security apparatus has been neglected.
What happens if Congress doesn't believe him?
Then he has to produce evidence. And if the evidence doesn't exist, he's just made himself a target. That's why he's being careful about the eradication denial—he knows that's the claim that will be tested first.
So this is a gamble.
It's a gamble that the problems are real enough that fixing them will make him look competent, and that Congress will give him the time to do it.