For the millions of Peruvians who wake before dawn to scrape a living from the earth or hawk goods in dusty markets, the presidential election is not about abstract ideologies. It is about whether they will be able to feed their children tomorrow. And as the country hurtles towards a knife-edge vote, the dominant emotion on the streets is not hope but fear. Insecurity, instability, and a grinding cost-of-living crisis have turned this race into a battle for the soul of the nation's real economy.
On one side stands Keiko Fujimori, the iron-willed daughter of a former authoritarian, promising a firm hand against crime and a return to the free-market policies that lifted many out of poverty two decades ago. On the other, Pedro Castillo, a rural schoolteacher and union leader, pledges to rewrite the constitution to give the state a greater role in the economy and to stand up for the poorest. But for the voters I spoke to in the working-class districts of Lima and the struggling highland villages, the choice feels less like a promise and more like a choice between two different kinds of crisis.
Maria Elena, a 47-year-old mother of three who sells empanadas in the San Juan de Lurigancho district, told me she has not slept properly in weeks. “I worry about my sons getting caught up in the gangs,” she said, her eyes darting towards the darkened alleyway beside her stall. “But I also worry about the price of oil. Last month I had to raise the price of my empanadas. My customers are angry, but what can I do? If I don’t raise the price, I lose money. If I do, I lose customers.” Her story is the story of Peru’s precarious middle: squeezed between rising costs and stagnant wages, terrified of crime and mistrustful of politicians.
The statistics bear out her anxiety. According to the National Institute of Statistics, inflation in Peru is running at its highest rate in over a decade, with the cost of food and transport soaring. Meanwhile, the pandemic wiped out years of economic progress, pushing nearly three million people back into poverty. Formal employment has not recovered, and the informal sector where most Peruvians work offers no safety net. The result is a society on edge.
Union leaders, once a powerful force in Peruvian politics, are trying to make their voices heard in the campaign. But they are struggling to cut through the noise. “The candidates talk about security, they talk about corruption, but they don’t talk about wages,” said Jorge Salas, a veteran organiser with the General Confederation of Peruvian Workers. “Our members are not interested in ideology. They want to know how they will pay for their bus fare to work, how they will afford school books for their children. Neither candidate has given a clear answer.”
Castillo’s base is among these frustrated rural and urban workers. He has mobilised teachers, farmers, and miners with his simple message: the system is rigged against them. But his critics, including many in the business community, warn that his plans to nationalise key industries and rewrite the constitution would spook investors, trigger capital flight, and spark hyperinflation. It is a fear that resonates with middle-class voters who remember the chaos of the 1980s.
Fujimori, meanwhile, offers stability and the promise of a tougher line on crime. But for the working poor, her record is tainted by the memory of her father’s authoritarian rule and by persistent allegations of corruption. In the shantytowns that ring the capital, the name Fujimori is divisive. Some credit the family’s market reforms with building the roads and schools that gave them a foothold. Others remember the mass sterilizations of poor women and the heavy-handed repression.
As the campaign enters its final days, the air is thick with tension. Polls show a dead heat. Whichever candidate wins will inherit a country where trust in institutions is shattered, the economy is fragile, and the gap between the rich and the rest is growing. For the working classes, the message is clear: the election will not solve everything. The real work of putting bread on the table begins the day after the vote. And for many, that work feels harder than ever.
