I am addressing myself especially to those who once shared a classroom with me, those I taught, and those I encouraged to care about Peru’s development. I want to offer you a moment of calm reflection. I am not writing from a partisan perspective: I never have been. I am writing from the concern of someone who has taught for over thirty years, who has worked with university students and professionals, and who, since 1991, has sought to view the country not only from Lima, but also from its rural areas, its forgotten communities, and its families who await real opportunities in the various social programs I was fortunate enough to organize.

I have witnessed rural poverty firsthand. I have seen it in villages that desperately need roads, water, sanitation, healthcare, technical assistance, and markets. I have also witnessed the dignity of many families who don’t ask for privileges, but rather for the basic conditions necessary to work and thrive. That is why I am concerned that, during challenging election periods, the rhetoric of social justice could become a tool for manipulation. Not everyone who speaks on behalf of the poor truly works for them. Not everyone who promises social justice knows how to build it.

Some might think that if neither option is entirely convincing, the best course of action is not to vote, to cast a blank ballot, or to spoil the ballot. I understand that reaction. Sometimes it stems from weariness, disappointment, and a desire to avoid feeling responsible for either possible outcome. But in a runoff election, that stance may be morally inadequate. When the country must choose between two real alternatives, withdrawing from the decision does not eliminate its consequences. It merely leaves the decision to others.

Those of us with higher levels of education have a special responsibility. Not because our vote is worth more, but because we’ve had more opportunities to analyze and compare information, and to distinguish between appealing rhetoric and viable proposals. If more educated people remain silent, the public sphere becomes more vulnerable to emotion, resentment, and unfulfilled promises. Neutrality, at times, can end up favoring precisely what worries us most.

We must therefore examine the moral and political character of those who seek to govern. Concern for the most vulnerable is not demonstrated at a rally, with an emotional phrase, or with a campaign promise. It is demonstrated when a real person appears who needs truth, care, and accountability. That is why the case of Dante Castro Arrasco is especially serious as a moral warning. If the family of a candidate who died during Mr. Sánchez’s campaign activities denounces a lack of basic information and insufficient support, the question is not merely legal. The question is human: how will someone who fails to respond adequately to the suffering of their own treat the vulnerable?

We must also consider the relationship between words and actions. A public figure who changes their position depending on the audience can raise reasonable doubts about their trustworthiness. If they first harshly criticize the Central Bank’s technical autonomy and then appear willing to guarantee continuity to provide reassurance, the problem isn’t that they backtrack. Backtracking can be a good thing. The problem is not knowing whether the moderation stems from genuine conviction or from electoral expediency. In economics, trust isn’t built with last-minute pronouncements, but with consistency in words and actions.

The same applies to political affiliations. One cannot speak of democracy while simultaneously downplaying ties with those who have championed authoritarian paths, such as those in Nicaragua, Cuba, and Venezuela. One cannot demand democratic trust while politically rehabilitating figures like Antauro Humala, who are linked to attempts at institutional collapse. Peru has suffered too much from improvisation, ideologically driven social mobilization, and the notion that rules can be changed from a position of power for the benefit of one’s own elite.

Some will say, “Let’s give them a chance.” But prudence demands another question: if you had to hand over your house, your savings, your family assets, and your children’s future to a group of people, would you do it if you had seen repeated signs of contradiction, ambiguity, or irresponsibility? Peru is our common home. We cannot hand it over to untrustworthy hands simply out of weariness, protest, or fleeting illusions.

It’s also important to be fair to the other side of the election. There are wounds, mistakes, and painful memories. No one should ask for a naive vote. However, there are times when politics demands choosing not between the perfect and the bad, but between the risky and the less risky; between the uncertain and the more governable; between a promise of rupture and a possibility of order. In 2006, many Peruvians faced a similar dilemma. Alan García came into office burdened by a disastrous first term, but many of us thought he could try to correct his course. And his second term, with its limitations, was just that: years of economic growth and greater stability, where the poverty level fell substantially and public spending was managed responsibly.

This situation leads me to incorporate into this reflection a concept that may be unfamiliar to many. In traditional Japanese families, honor is understood not only as an individual quality, but as a family asset that involves the name, the memory, and the continuity of the house. Therefore, when a family member commits a serious offense or causes public dishonor, the shame can be felt as something that also affects the descendants, not because they legally inherit the guilt, but because they inherit a moral responsibility to uphold the family name, repair the damaged trust, and demonstrate through their own conduct that the family can once again be associated with the concepts of rectitude, discipline, and respect.

I cannot say that a cultural heritage guarantees political behavior. But this reality of a moral duty, and the experience of Alan García’s second election, should weigh more heavily in our decision. My invitation is simple: let’s not vote out of anger, nor from the comfort of washing our hands of the matter. Let’s vote thinking about the real country: about those who need jobs, security, roads, healthcare, investment, education, and a functioning government.

When no option excites, maturity lies in choosing seriously. A vote doesn’t always express complete agreement. Sometimes it expresses responsibility for the harm we want to avoid and for the order we need to rebuild. Peru has suffered too many years of disorder. We cannot afford to make decisions lightly.

A hug from afar.