In Peru, as it moves toward 2026, power is measured in tons of sediment removed, in dredges moving across Amazonian rivers, and in votes gathered in places where the state always arrives late. Illegal mining is no longer a frontier phenomenon: it is now a political actor that has learned to operate inside political parties, negotiate in committees, push draft reports, and detect legal loopholes with surgical precision.
Recent evidence confirms this, however uncomfortable it may be: at least ten congressional hopefuls across five regions are running despite having sanctions for illicit extraction or holding leadership positions in associations demanding “flexibility,” and they are spread across several parties. This is not a single-issue bloc but a transversal infiltration, with Perú Libre and Podemos Perú at the forefront.
Inside Congress, support is far from marginal: extending the transition regime toward formalization received majority votes from Fuerza Popular, Renovación Popular, Somos Perú, Podemos Perú, Bloque Magisterial, Avanza País, Perú Libre, and Juntos por el Perú–Voces del Pueblo. In other words, from across the political spectrum. The strategy is clear: enter through the electoral lists and then bend the rules from within.
The REINFO system—now a bottomless pit that indefinitely extends miners’ transitional status—has become a controversial tool. While they process their formalization, miners are granted exceptional coverage that shields them from criminal liability for illegal mining during the procedure. In theory, the registry required commitments and compliance, but that obligation has nearly vanished.
Meanwhile, candidate Rafael López Aliaga, from Renovación Nacional, has triggered another alarm with a misleading promise made at the CADE business forum: revoking formal mining concessions—which he calls “idle”—to redistribute them, sending an explicit signal to informal bases that claim those areas, often by force. This is a demagogic proposal for three reasons:
First, the real timelines of a mining project—discovery, studies, consultation, permits, and construction—require an average of 40 years to start producing, according to the Peruvian Institute of Economics. Second, holding a concession is not free: titleholders must pay to maintain their rights. López Aliaga repeats that they “pay 3 dollars,” but Carlos Gálvez, director of the El Brocal mining company, responded that the real cost—penalties and obligations included—can reach 30 to 150 dollars per hectare per year if there is no production. Third, the proposal rewards seizure by force. In a country with frequent invasions of concessions and weak oversight, “revoke and redistribute” normalizes territorial capture.
Additionally, although López Aliaga denies ties to illegal miners, his proposal aligns with the goals of illegal mining associations and reshapes the political and regulatory landscape at the start of the campaign. Journalists like Marco Sifuentes have already contradicted him, pointing out that at least three members of his party are linked to Confemin, an association that gathers illegal miners.
At the same time, record gold prices and violence in mining enclaves—Pataz is a recent scar—have strengthened associations capable of pressuring Lima: blockades, camps outside Congress without any police intervention (a curious contrast when compared to Generation Z protests), pressure on ministers, and cabinet collapses. Anyone who underestimates this capacity fails to grasp the incentive: easily sold gold, mercury poisoning rivers, and routes shared by miners and international criminal networks. This normalization turns into political power: if I can shut down highways, I can also place candidates and twist arms in congressional committees.
Informality does not appear out of nowhere. It is a blunt response to three factors: (i) a deficit of formal employment and lack of industries able to absorb labor in mining corridors; (ii) barriers to formalization—complex paperwork, corruption, lack of technical assistance; and (iii) record gold prices, which make it profitable to take risks with networks that supply inputs and smuggling routes.
If political parties continue enabling obvious operators of the illegal circuit, and if candidates campaign on promises to distribute concessions as if they were raffle tickets, the result will be tailor-made legislation and a state increasingly controlled by social actors who pollute without any restrictions. This ecosystem is not romantic: it carries violence, smuggling, human trafficking, money laundering, and environmental devastation in a country whose economy relies heavily on mining.
José de la Torre Ugarte holds a degree in Development Communication from the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru and an MBA from Pacífico Business School. He has worked as a consultant for various state institutions, communication agencies, and nonprofits.
*Machine translation, proofread by Ricardo Aceves.
Autor
Graduated in Comunication for Development from the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú. MBA from the Pacífico Business School. He has worked as a consultant in various government institutions, in communication agencies and non-profit organizations.
