RICO’s Q — The piece ¿Se terminó el gobierno de Laura Fernández? (Is Laura Fernández’s Government Over?) argues that shelving the Tratado Transpacífico (Trans-Pacific Partnership) is not, by itself, a coherent economic strategy. The author’s central question is what policy will replace it—and whether the government has the resources, expertise, and institutional cooperation to make that policy work.
The agricultural “accompaniment agenda” becomes the main example. The author says it lacks clear goals and practical details, while the agriculture ministry’s budget is being reduced. He also argues that the agenda would require collaboration with public universities, which he portrays as being at odds with the government. Together, these points suggest a gap between the government’s announcement and its ability to carry it out.
The article then challenges the idea that protectionism can be adopted with a simple declaration. Japan, South Korea, and China are cited as examples of countries that used protectionist measures within broader economic plans. The author’s point is that such policies require direction, institutional capacity, and room to adjust—not just a change in rhetoric.
The rest of the piece widens the criticism to fiscal policy, the Central Bank, health care, fuel prices, public protests, and the governing party’s conduct in the legislature. The dark-room metaphor depicts the Central Bank’s decisions as directionless, while the “scissors and machete” image presents fiscal cuts as destructive rather than strategic.
The tone is sharply polemical and openly hostile toward the government. Its vivid metaphors and rhetorical questions are meant to persuade and provoke, not to offer a neutral assessment. The final claim—that Fernández’s government is “finished” and the country is “adrift”—is the author’s political judgment, not a conclusion established by evidence presented in the article alone.
Following is a translation of the original published by author and teacher, Luis Paulino Vargas Solís, on Facebook:
President Fernández has decided to shelve the Trans-Pacific Partnership.
That’s fine. But what comes next?
Apparently, they’re offering an “accompaniment agenda” for the agricultural sector.
What exactly does that mean?
For now, nobody seems to have a clue.
And keep in mind: for a plan like this to be serious, it needs real clarity—about its approach and objectives, its tools and operating methods, and how the institutions involved will coordinate. It also needs qualified staff. And money. Quite a bit of money.
The problem is that the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock’s 2027 budget has been cut by more than ¢3.2 billion. That’s a 4.5 percent reduction in a budget that was already pretty meager.
There’s another complication. A serious “accompaniment agenda” would have to involve many institutions, not just the ministry. Public universities, in particular, would have an important role to play.
How is that supposed to work when Fernández’s government has declared war on the universities?
Since Costa Rica’s withdrawal from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, some media outlets have been asking whether the country is returning to “protectionism.”
But the issue isn’t settled by simply declaring, “From now on, we’re going to be protectionist.”
It’s true that Japan, South Korea, and China all relied on protectionism during the early—and quite prolonged—stages of their economic rise. China, in fact, has never entirely abandoned it, though its use has become more selective.
But they didn’t just announce a policy and watch a miracle unfold.
They generally had a fairly clear idea of where they wanted to go and how to get there. That doesn’t mean everything went perfectly, or that they never had to make adjustments and rethink their plans. But those changes were made within a path that had been laid out reasonably well.
In Costa Rica, under Fernández’s government, all we see today is darkness and confusion.
That confusion reaches into every corner.
Take, for example, the sheer clumsiness with which Mr. Chaves handles fiscal policy.
He seems trapped in what I’d call “the erotic thrill of the scissors and the machete.” Every time he cuts, slashes, or prunes something, he seems to experience an intense, almost frenzied rush—especially when the target is the Supreme Court, which he loathes and, even more, fears.
But this demolition leads nowhere except to a Costa Rica in ruins.
Or consider the Central Bank and its handling of interest rates and the dollar-colón exchange rate.
Here’s one way to picture it: the bank has a seven-member board of directors. Imagine those seven people locked in a completely dark room, with not even the faintest beam of light coming in and large rocks scattered randomly across the floor.
What can they do? One thing: stumble around, bumping into things every few steps.
That’s how these people have managed interest-rate and exchange-rate policy.
Meanwhile, fuel prices are rising, people are dying in overcrowded hospitals, and here and there an angry public is boiling over, taking to the streets and protesting.
But rejoice! Fernández has now inaugurated “her” CACCO.
What else is there for her to do?
Keep hurling insults, shouting, making faces, and traveling abroad—which, it seems, she’s started to enjoy? What more can we expect from her?
And let’s be clear: the Chavista legislative caucus is no help at all. Trapped in a bubble of boundless arrogance and self-importance, its members neither engage in dialogue nor put forward anything remotely serious.
Fernández’s government is finished. The ship is adrift.