Indirect murder | Responsibility

Political assassinations have been a frequent occurrence in Bolivia’s terrible history. The list of crimes is long, starting with the attempted assassination of Sucre on April 18, 1828, and the terrible crime of Pedro Blanco on January 1, 1829.
In 1956, Moisés Alcázar did the counting, starting with Blanco, then Eusebio Guilarte, Jorge Córdoba, Manuel Isidoro Belzu and Mariano Melgarejo. Next came Agustín Morales, Hilarion Daza, José Manuel Pando, German Busch and Gualberto Villarroel, and finally Óscar Huenzaga de la Vega, the only non-president on the list. To these names we can also add Rene Barrientos, Juan José Torres, Marcelo Quiroga and Luis Espinal.
Not all cases have been proven to be murders. The deaths of Busch and Barrientos are still shrouded in mystery, while Quiroga was a politician who denounced many things, and Espinal was the one who revealed the coup. The commonality is that they were all political enemies of someone, and once they were dead, they were no longer political enemies.
But in this multicultural age, murder is no longer immediate, nor the aftermath of a bullet at close range. There is no need to hide in the shadows and fabricate suicides or “fix” the engines of helicopters or airplanes.
Today, weapons are the law and the enforcers of crime are judges and prosecutors. Guess? No. If breaking the law is a crime, and Manuel Osorio calls serious crimes “crimes,” what can we say about a justice system that keeps people in prison for months or even years without ever facing a trial? What if during this period some of them die without even being formally charged? Is this not an illegal deprivation of liberty?
Let’s take the example of José María Bakovic, who, as president of the National Road Service, learned that the Brazilian construction company OAS, which financed the campaign of former Brazilian President Lula da Silva, had extended its influence to Bolivia. His mistake was to denounce that part of these resources had been allocated to the campaign of Evo Morales. That was enough. In 2006, a complaint was filed against him by the Presidency, and another one followed, until there were 72. His health deteriorated and he finally died in 2013.
But the case of Marco Antonio Aramayo, the former manager of Fundioc, transcends everything: he was the one who denounced corruption in the native fund, but Evo Morales chose to protect the chairman of the board, Nemisia Achacolo, who gave him a thumbs down. . “They just filed more than 250 cases against him,” the numerous complaints prolonged his “preventive” detention and in the end he died. Poisoning was going on in his surroundings.
Perhaps the deaths of these two men were not the result of direct action, but the whole country saw that the desire for revenge of the movement for socialism, through punitive repression of opposition, led to their deaths.
These are, then, indirect murders, because the result is the same: the corruption whistleblower disappears, becomes a nuisance, and for those who would like to emulate them, the message is clear: whistleblowing could get you killed.