In Uruguay, social justice has become a perfect pretext. Under that noble label—who could be against it, right?—lies a network of practices that, far from correcting inequalities, reproduce a web of clientelism, favoritism, and waste with a whiff of textbook progressivism. At this point, more than a state policy, it seems like a business model. Public, of course, but a business nonetheless.
The most evident example is the Ministry of Social Development, the famous MIDES. Born with the goal of coordinating social policies, it has ended up transformed into a bloated, opaque, and highly inefficient bureaucracy. Each year it manages one of the largest budgets of the state, and yet social indicators barely move. Where does the money go? A good part is channeled through NGOs that, coincidentally, are often led by friends of those in power, former activists, or figures aligned with a certain ideological sector. Agreements are signed, funds are distributed, reports are drafted, but the real impact is hard to find. That said: no one goes unpaid.
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Another unusual chapter is that of the graceful pensions, a mechanism that, in theory, should address exceptional situations, but in practice functions as a parallel income system for specific groups. One of the most privileged has been the children of the disappeared, who receive pensions of up to 80 thousand pesos monthly, often of a lifetime nature. Should their pain be ignored? Of course not. But let's agree that turning that historical tragedy into a permanent privilege doesn't seem like a sustainable or fair policy for the rest of the population who also face difficulties without enjoying such treatment.
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