I vividly remember the image of Antonio Araníbar Quiroga during the tribute the Chamber of Deputies paid to his political career and his life, just a few weeks before his passing. Shortly after his return to Bolivia, I went to visit him. It was an encounter that left me with mixed feelings: the joy of seeing him back in his homeland and the profound sadness of witnessing the physical limitations that prevented him from expressing himself fluently.
That is why I was deeply moved to see him, during that tribute, singing the National Anthem at the top of his lungs. He didn’t just sing with his mouth; he accompanied every note with an energetic and rhythmic movement of his arm. I imagined the immense emotion he must have felt interpreting those “sacred” notes, wrapped in the chorus of the attendees at the ceremony.
Toño, as we affectionately called him, was a true apostle of politics and, in more ways than one, a martyr for democracy. He endured over twenty years of exile with dignity, a consequence of the vengeance of those who today constitute one of Bolivia’s greatest shames before the world.
At the turn of the century, in the context of the LNG project, he invited me, along with a small group of experts, to his apartment in Sopocachi to share reflections and analysis. He always waited for us with the only drink allowed: a “chuflay”, just soft enough to encourage conversation. Having known the residences of other former foreign ministers, I was surprised by the Franciscan austerity of his home. Without exotic decorations or ostentation, that dwelling was a faithful reflection of an honest life and a career dedicated to public service.
A few years later, we interacted again when he accepted the position of Minister of Hydrocarbons in the government of Carlos Mesa and kept me on as an advisor to his office. Unfortunately, he remained in the position for only a few weeks, due to the harassment of the same individual who, years later, would force him into exile. Even so, that brief time was enough to strengthen our ties and consolidate a mutual appreciation that would grow over the years. I only regret not having shared more moments with him. In fact, Toño usually lunched alone, perhaps seeking a moment of tranquility, and I, out of respect, never dared to propose joining him. I thus lost an opportunity to continue learning from his experience.
Among the fondest memories of that period, I treasure an official trip to Brazil with the then-Foreign Minister Juan Ignacio Siles and other members of the government. In a photograph, both of us appear alongside Dilma Rousseff, then Minister of Mines and Energy of Brazil, after an official lunch at the Planalto Palace. Later, we accepted an invitation from Braskem executives to visit the petrochemical plant in Salvador de Bahía. It was a relaxed trip, wrapped in the magical atmosphere of that city, which strengthened the friendship between the members of the delegation and the enthusiasm to promote a binational petrochemical hub in Puerto Suárez. That project was later relocated by the MAS government to the “Trópico de Cochabamba”, in one of the most misguided measures of that administration.
During his exile, we stayed in contact thanks to my columns, which he would sometimes comment on. During his fleeting return to La Paz for the Hague trial, he sought me out for an emotional meeting, a prelude to the last one I mentioned above.
If anything consoles me, and I am sure it also gladdened Toño’s heart, it is the opportunity that life gave him to rest eternally on his native soil. And also, the opportunity to sing, with all the strength he had left, the anthem of the homeland he served with integrity, conviction, and an unwavering love.