By Nikos Mottas
Chile’s presidential election marks a clear political reversal. José Antonio Kast, a figure of the hard right, has been elected president, bringing the far right back to the country’s leadership just three years after the centre-left government of Gabriel Boric took office.
The result is not simply a conservative swing; it reflects a deeper political disappointment and a growing sense that the previous cycle of “progressive” governance failed to deliver real change.
Boric’s presidency was born out of the massive social uprising of 2019 and the widespread demand for dignity, social rights, and an end to the Pinochet-era economic model. Yet, despite the radical language and the participation of the Communist Party of Chile in government, the core structures of Chilean capitalism remained untouched. Privatised public services, job insecurity, high living costs, and social inequality continued to shape everyday life for millions. Over time, the gap between expectations and reality became impossible to ignore.
Kast capitalised on this frustration. His campaign centred on “law and order,” fear of crime, and hostility toward migrants — classic themes of the contemporary far right. At the same time, his political identity has long been linked to sympathy for the Pinochet dictatorship. He has openly defended its legacy, relativised its crimes, and spoken approvingly of Augusto Pinochet himself. While he softened his rhetoric during the campaign, the ideological roots of his project were never in doubt: authority over rights, repression over social reform, and the defence of the existing economic order.
The return of the far right cannot be explained only by conservative mobilisation or media influence. It is also the product of popular disillusionment with governments that called themselves left-wing while limiting themselves to managing capitalism. In Chile, as elsewhere, reformist administrations promised change but refused to confront the power of capital in any meaningful way. When living conditions failed to improve decisively, hope gave way to cynicism — and cynicism opened the door to reaction.
This pattern is not unique to Chile. Across Latin America, so-called progressive governments, from Lula da Silva to Maduro to Morales, have presented themselves as alternatives while remaining trapped within the logic of the system. Even when they temporarily alleviate poverty, they do not break with exploitation or dependency. When economic or political crises return, the right, often in a more authoritarian form, steps back in.
Brazil offers a particularly clear example. The Workers’ Party governments under Lula combined social programmes with strict respect for capitalist profitability, financial markets and agribusiness interests. Millions benefited from income transfers and consumption increased, but the structures that produce inequality, such as precarious labour, financial domination, land concentration and the political power of capital, remained intact. When the economic cycle turned and corruption scandals erupted, popular frustration did not lead to a radical alternative from below. Instead, it opened the way for Jair Bolsonaro, an openly reactionary figure who presented himself as the “authentic” defender of order, property and authority. The limits of social-democratic management did not block the far right. They helped create the conditions for its rise.
A similar dynamic unfolded in Bolivia. The government of Evo Morales achieved real improvements in living standards and expanded state control over natural resources. Yet it remained heavily dependent on extractivism and global commodity markets. When that model entered into difficulty and political tensions sharpened, the government proved unable to mobilise society beyond electoral loyalty. The crisis that followed culminated in the 2019 coup and the temporary return of openly right-wing and racist forces. This was a stark reminder that partial reforms, without a deeper transformation of power and class relations, remain fragile and easily reversible.
The same logic can be seen in Mexico under Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO). Despite strong anti-neoliberal rhetoric and social programmes that improved conditions for parts of the poor, AMLO’s project avoided any serious confrontation with the core interests of Mexican capitalism. Big business, the financial sector and the US-Mexico economic framework remained untouched, while militarisation expanded in the name of security. The result was not a break with the system but its rebranding in progressive language, leaving the roots of violence, inequality and exploitation largely unresolved.
Chile fits squarely into this regional pattern. The Boric government, with the Communist Party playing a prominent role, raised expectations of a decisive break with the Pinochet-era model. In practice, pensions remained largely privatised, strategic sectors stayed in private hands and labour insecurity persisted. The collapse of the constitutional process and the government’s retreat into institutional moderation deepened popular frustration. As in Brazil, Bolivia and Mexico, the absence of a real rupture with capitalist power transformed hope into disillusionment, and disillusionment into political withdrawal or support for reactionary forces.
These experiences point to a broader conclusion. What are often described as left-progressive governments function in practice as social-democratic versions of capitalism. They soften some of its effects, redistribute a limited share of wealth and provide temporary relief, but they do not challenge the mechanisms that reproduce exploitation and insecurity. Over time, this does not lead to lasting emancipation but to the recycling of popular misery, as hope gives way to fatigue and cynicism. In that political vacuum, the right appears not as an anomaly but as the system’s more consistent and ruthless manager.
Chile’s election is therefore more than a national event. It is another warning: there is no durable solution to people’s problems through a “friendlier” management of capitalism. When the left abandons the goal of real rupture, the system eventually restores its most brutal representatives. And the price is paid by society as a whole.
Kast capitalised on this frustration. His campaign centred on “law and order,” fear of crime, and hostility toward migrants — classic themes of the contemporary far right. At the same time, his political identity has long been linked to sympathy for the Pinochet dictatorship. He has openly defended its legacy, relativised its crimes, and spoken approvingly of Augusto Pinochet himself. While he softened his rhetoric during the campaign, the ideological roots of his project were never in doubt: authority over rights, repression over social reform, and the defence of the existing economic order.
The return of the far right cannot be explained only by conservative mobilisation or media influence. It is also the product of popular disillusionment with governments that called themselves left-wing while limiting themselves to managing capitalism. In Chile, as elsewhere, reformist administrations promised change but refused to confront the power of capital in any meaningful way. When living conditions failed to improve decisively, hope gave way to cynicism — and cynicism opened the door to reaction.
This pattern is not unique to Chile. Across Latin America, so-called progressive governments, from Lula da Silva to Maduro to Morales, have presented themselves as alternatives while remaining trapped within the logic of the system. Even when they temporarily alleviate poverty, they do not break with exploitation or dependency. When economic or political crises return, the right, often in a more authoritarian form, steps back in.
Brazil offers a particularly clear example. The Workers’ Party governments under Lula combined social programmes with strict respect for capitalist profitability, financial markets and agribusiness interests. Millions benefited from income transfers and consumption increased, but the structures that produce inequality, such as precarious labour, financial domination, land concentration and the political power of capital, remained intact. When the economic cycle turned and corruption scandals erupted, popular frustration did not lead to a radical alternative from below. Instead, it opened the way for Jair Bolsonaro, an openly reactionary figure who presented himself as the “authentic” defender of order, property and authority. The limits of social-democratic management did not block the far right. They helped create the conditions for its rise.
A similar dynamic unfolded in Bolivia. The government of Evo Morales achieved real improvements in living standards and expanded state control over natural resources. Yet it remained heavily dependent on extractivism and global commodity markets. When that model entered into difficulty and political tensions sharpened, the government proved unable to mobilise society beyond electoral loyalty. The crisis that followed culminated in the 2019 coup and the temporary return of openly right-wing and racist forces. This was a stark reminder that partial reforms, without a deeper transformation of power and class relations, remain fragile and easily reversible.
The same logic can be seen in Mexico under Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO). Despite strong anti-neoliberal rhetoric and social programmes that improved conditions for parts of the poor, AMLO’s project avoided any serious confrontation with the core interests of Mexican capitalism. Big business, the financial sector and the US-Mexico economic framework remained untouched, while militarisation expanded in the name of security. The result was not a break with the system but its rebranding in progressive language, leaving the roots of violence, inequality and exploitation largely unresolved.
Chile fits squarely into this regional pattern. The Boric government, with the Communist Party playing a prominent role, raised expectations of a decisive break with the Pinochet-era model. In practice, pensions remained largely privatised, strategic sectors stayed in private hands and labour insecurity persisted. The collapse of the constitutional process and the government’s retreat into institutional moderation deepened popular frustration. As in Brazil, Bolivia and Mexico, the absence of a real rupture with capitalist power transformed hope into disillusionment, and disillusionment into political withdrawal or support for reactionary forces.
These experiences point to a broader conclusion. What are often described as left-progressive governments function in practice as social-democratic versions of capitalism. They soften some of its effects, redistribute a limited share of wealth and provide temporary relief, but they do not challenge the mechanisms that reproduce exploitation and insecurity. Over time, this does not lead to lasting emancipation but to the recycling of popular misery, as hope gives way to fatigue and cynicism. In that political vacuum, the right appears not as an anomaly but as the system’s more consistent and ruthless manager.
Chile’s election is therefore more than a national event. It is another warning: there is no durable solution to people’s problems through a “friendlier” management of capitalism. When the left abandons the goal of real rupture, the system eventually restores its most brutal representatives. And the price is paid by society as a whole.
* Nikos Mottas is the Editor-in-Chief of In Defense of Communism.
