[1980–Present] Internal Conflict and Modern Era

The year is 1980. After twelve years of military rule, Peru breathes a cautious sigh of relief, returning to democracy with the election of Fernando Belaúnde Terry. In the cities, especially Lima with its colonial-era balconies and burgeoning concrete suburbs, there is a fragile hope. But in the highlands, in the department of Ayacucho—a region whose name in Quechua means "corner of the dead"—a different story is beginning. On the eve of the election, a small group of militants storms a polling station in the village of Chuschi. They don't use guns; they burn the ballot boxes. This act, seemingly minor, is the opening salvo of a war that will tear Peru apart. This is the public debut of the Communist Party of Peru, better known to the world by its ominous nom de guerre: Sendero Luminoso, the Shining Path.

Led by a former philosophy professor named Abimael Guzmán, who styled himself "Presidente Gonzalo," the Shining Path was unlike any other leftist insurgency in Latin America. It was dogmatic, messianic, and exceptionally brutal. Inspired by Mao's Cultural Revolution, their goal was not to win hearts and minds but to obliterate the existing Peruvian state and build a new one from its ashes through a prolonged "people's war." Their violence was calculated and symbolic. In Lima, residents would wake to find dogs hanging from lampposts, a message to Deng Xiaoping, whom they considered a traitor to communism. Power lines were dynamited, plunging the capital into terrifying, candle-lit darkness, a stark reminder of the state’s fragility. The fear was a physical presence, a shadow that fell over daily life. You would think twice about who you spoke to, what you said. A car backfiring could send people diving for cover.

The state’s response, initially clumsy, became increasingly ferocious. The military was deployed to the emergency zones in the Andes, but they often saw every Quechua-speaking peasant as a potential terrorist. Peru was caught between two fires. If you collaborated with the military, the Shining Path would execute you in a public "people's trial." If you refused to join their ranks, they could still kill you for being apathetic to the cause. In villages like Lucanamarca in 1983, Senderistas slaughtered 69 campesinos, including children, with machetes and axes as a punishment for resisting them. Conversely, in places like Accomarca in 1985, army patrols massacred dozens of villagers, including women and children, on the mere suspicion of collaboration. For the rural poor in the Andes, life became a nightmare of impossible choices. They were the primary victims, caught in a war not of their making.

As the violence spiraled, the economy collapsed. President Alan García, who came to power in 1985, attempted to defy international lenders and control prices, with catastrophic results. Peru descended into one of the worst periods of hyperinflation in world history. The currency, the Inti, became virtually worthless. Prices would change not just daily, but hourly. A worker’s entire monthly salary, carried in a thick stack of bills, might only buy a chicken by the end of the day. Housewives would rush to the market the moment it opened, trying to buy bread or rice before the next price hike. Lines for basic goods snaked around city blocks. This economic desperation fueled the conflict, creating fertile ground for extremist ideologies that promised a radical, violent solution.

Into this chaos stepped an unlikely figure in 1990: Alberto Fujimori, a university rector of Japanese descent. Campaigning in a tractor to symbolize his connection to the working man, he defeated the famous novelist Mario Vargas Llosa to become president. His first major act was a radical economic program known as the "Fujishock." Overnight, he eliminated subsidies and price controls. The cost of gasoline increased by 3,000%. The immediate pain was immense, but it broke the back of hyperinflation. Yet, with the Shining Path still controlling vast swaths of the country, Fujimori took an even more drastic step. On April 5, 1992, he appeared on television and announced an "autogolpe," or self-coup. He dissolved Congress and suspended the constitution, surrounding the Palace of Justice with tanks. It was a shocking authoritarian turn, but one that many desperate Peruvians supported, believing it was necessary to win the war.

With consolidated power, Fujimori's intelligence services scored their greatest victory. For years, a special police unit, GEIN, had been meticulously tracking Guzmán, not through force, but through patient detective work—analyzing trash from a suspected safe house in a middle-class Lima neighborhood. They noted empty tubes of psoriasis cream, a known ailment of the elusive leader. On September 12, 1992, they raided the house and captured an overweight, bearded Guzmán without firing a shot. The moment was surreal. The feared ideologue who had brought a nation to its knees was caught in a second-floor apartment above a dance studio. His capture, televised for the world to see as he raged from a cage dressed in a striped prison uniform, was a mortal blow to the Shining Path. Though the violence would continue for years, its fanatical heart had been ripped out.

The 1990s were the Fujimori years, a decade of contradictions. The insurgency was largely defeated and the economy stabilized. But it came at the cost of democracy and human rights, with accusations of forced sterilizations in poor, indigenous communities and a web of corruption spun by his intelligence chief, Vladimiro Montesinos. In 2000, this web unraveled when videos were leaked showing Montesinos bribing politicians. Fujimori fled to Japan and faxed his resignation. A period of transition to democracy began, and with it, a painful reckoning. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to investigate the two decades of terror. Its final 2003 report was a national trauma. It estimated that 69,280 people had been killed or disappeared between 1980 and 2000. It concluded that the Shining Path was responsible for 54% of the deaths, but it also held state forces accountable for egregious abuses. Crucially, the report highlighted that three out of every four victims were indigenous, Quechua-speaking peasants, exposing the deep-seated racism and inequality that underpinned the entire conflict.

Since the turn of the millennium, Peru has charted a new course. The 2000s saw an economic boom, often called the "Peruvian Miracle," fueled by high prices for its mineral exports like copper and gold. A new, confident middle class emerged. The skylines of Lima and other cities transformed with glass towers and sprawling shopping malls. Peruvian cuisine, from ceviche to fusion dishes, exploded onto the global stage, becoming a source of immense national pride. Yet, the ghosts of the past and the challenges of the present remain. Political instability has become chronic, with a revolving door of presidents embroiled in corruption scandals, many linked to the Brazilian construction giant Odebrecht. The economic model based on resource extraction has created fierce conflicts with indigenous communities over land rights and environmental pollution. The deep inequalities between the modern, coastal cities and the rural, often-neglected highlands that fueled the initial conflict persist. Peru today is a nation of profound resilience, a country that stared into the abyss and pulled itself back. It is a vibrant, modernizing society, but one where the scars of war are still visible, and the memory of the darkness serves as a constant, cautionary tale.