For generations, the coca leaf has been unjustly branded as illicit, simply because it’s the raw ingredient for cocaine. In Andean regions, law enforcement tirelessly eradicates coca fields, while global powers, particularly the United States, have poured billions into these eradication efforts.
Yet, in Bolivia, where the cultivation, sale, and consumption of coca are perfectly legal, a different narrative is unfolding. In the quaint Andean village of San José de Pery, a government media official recently captured footage of 64-year-old farmer Jaime Mamani demonstrating how to prepare soil for coca plants. “I’m showing you how to use this tool, the wallhua,” Mamani explained, hoisting his three-pronged rake. “And just like that, the seedling is planted.”
To many outsiders, coca is synonymous with a dark, clandestine world of harvesting, chemical processing, secret labs, and global drug trafficking. However, in its natural state, the coca leaf is a far cry from this image. It’s a mild stimulant, revered for thousands of years in Andean communities, traditionally chewed, brewed into teas, and held in deep cultural and spiritual regard.
Indeed, the coca leaf is so profoundly embedded in the fabric of this small, landlocked South American nation that its government is actively campaigning to persuade the United Nations to remove it from the global list of most dangerous substances.
The U.N. currently lumps coca together with highly addictive drugs like fentanyl and heroin, labeling it as “highly addictive and liable to abuse.” The United States has historically resisted any reclassification, fearing it could inadvertently fuel an expansion of cocaine production. Despite billions spent by Washington on eradication and counternarcotics efforts in Colombia, the world’s leading cocaine producer, output continues to surge.
A formal U.N. review on the coca leaf is anticipated by March. While Bolivia has a special exemption allowing internal coca use, removing it from the dangerous drug list would liberate other signatory nations from the obligation to criminalize it. Even a downgrade to a less restrictive category could pave the way for legitimate trade, scientific inquiry, and industrial innovation.
However, whether the United Nations will enact any changes remains highly uncertain.
Proponents passionately argue that the leaf itself is inherently benign, and that its blanket criminalization unjustly penalizes a fundamental element of Andean Indigenous heritage. A preliminary report by the World Health Organization, the U.N.’s public health arm, has already indicated that coca possesses very low potential for dependence and poses no significant health risks.
Nevertheless, a shadow lingers. In Bolivia, some street vendors offer “reloaded coca,” leaves mixed with additional stimulants like caffeine. Local journalists have also flagged potential health concerns associated with these unregulated products.
Bolivia’s push for reclassification could also be influenced by the upcoming runoff presidential election on October 19th. The contest between two conservative candidates leaves uncertainty about whether a new administration would champion the coca leaf with the same fervor as the leftist governments of the past two decades.
In Bolivia, farmers within designated regions cultivate coca for sale in government-regulated markets. While some cocaine production does occur in the country, its output lags behind Colombia and Peru, with a vast majority of Bolivia’s coca destined for traditional, lawful consumption.
The coca leaf is omnipresent in Bolivia: it’s steeped in tea bags at luxury hotels, offered in vibrant orange and watermelon flavors at street kiosks, chewed by truck drivers on grueling journeys, and even prominently displayed in bowls on government officials’ desks.
This widespread acceptance is a relatively recent phenomenon. The historical crackdown on coca cultivation, which had sustained Indigenous communities for centuries, ignited deep resentment. This anger fueled political mobilization, ultimately propelling Evo Morales, a former coca growers’ union leader, to become Bolivia’s first Indigenous president in 2006.
Morales placed the plant at the heart of his political agenda. Under the powerful slogan “Coca Yes, Cocaine No,” his administration championed both traditional and contemporary uses of coca, promoting products like coca tea, flour, toothpaste, and more, all while reaffirming its commitment to combating cocaine trafficking.
In 2009, his government enshrined coca as a cornerstone of the nation’s cultural heritage within the constitution, a powerful assertion of Indigenous identity and a defiant stance against foreign drug policies. In 2012, Bolivia temporarily withdrew from the United Nations’ drug agreements, only to rejoin the following year after securing an exemption for traditional coca use within its borders.
A 2017 Bolivian law further formalized the domestic coca market by regulating its cultivation, trade, and consumption.
“When I was a child, coca was heavily stigmatized,” recalled Omar Pintones, 36, a coordinator for the government agency overseeing the coca industry. “Consuming coca leaf was associated with lower-class people, fostering a sense of shame.” Today, he proudly notes, “many professionals—lawyers, doctors, university academics, people from all walks of life—now use coca leaves.”
In San José de Pery, a five-hour journey from La Paz, residents express immense pride in their coca farming traditions. Farmers begin their day as early as 3 a.m., tending to plants that mature over three to four months. The harvested leaves are then dried, bundled, and sold to distributors who supply retailers nationwide.
The government enforces a national limit of approximately 54,000 acres for legal coca cultivation, a measure designed to sustain fair prices for local farmers. This regulated industry provides direct and indirect employment for tens of thousands of families.
President Luis Arce, who succeeded Morales in 2020, has continued Bolivia’s advocacy, bringing the case for coca leaf reclassification to the World Health Organization. A WHO spokesperson confirmed that their assessment will weigh the “harms versus potential benefits” of the coca leaf, along with the ease with which it can be converted into cocaine.
The Vice Ministry of Coca and Integral Development, a unique Bolivian institution, is the central authority governing the country’s coca industry. Its halls are routinely filled with Bolivians in traditional Indigenous attire, all seeking to renew their coca cultivation licenses.
Pintones, a ministry employee, noted that many of his colleagues, like himself, hail from coca-growing families and have tirelessly campaigned for the plant’s legalization.
“I have eaten, grown, clothed, studied, and supported my family thanks to the coca leaf,” he affirmed. “I consume coca leaves daily here at work and in my personal life. And I have never gone crazy or lost consciousness.”
The ministry is actively partnering with innovative companies exploring new coca-based products, including soda, ice cream, ointments, syrups, and soaps. They are also collaborating with universities to deepen scientific understanding of the leaf.
Research suggests that coca may enhance alertness and help regulate blood pressure. Studies have also highlighted its antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties, potentially aiding in infection defense.
Should the United Nations ease restrictions on the coca leaf, and other nations follow suit with decriminalization, a vast new global market for coca products could emerge. “Coca leaves have created countless jobs in Bolivia,” stated Mateo Mamani, Bolivia’s Vice Minister of Coca, in an interview. He believes that the ability to export coca would “generate significant income for the state.”
Bolivian researchers are continuing their studies into coca derivatives and their potential health advantages. “That’s what we want the world to truly grasp,” Mamani emphasized. “Yes, it is exploited for illicit purposes, but if we embrace the coca leaf’s positive aspects, we can gain so much from it.”
While traditional coca use is also constitutionally protected in Colombia and Peru, its presence isn’t as pervasive as in Bolivia.
Advocates for removing coca leaf from the U.N.’s restricted list contend that distinguishing traditional use from cocaine trafficking is entirely feasible through stringent regulation and vigilant monitoring of legal markets.
However, U.S. officials maintain that even if the leaf itself is relatively benign, it remains the raw ingredient for cocaine. They argue that international recognition or legalization of coca could undermine efforts to suppress cultivation and complicate enforcement. The previous Trump administration notably cited cocaine trafficking to justify its aggressive actions against boats allegedly leaving Venezuela bound for the United States.
Yet, even if an international coca market materializes, some critics express concern that the lion’s share of profits would likely flow to large corporations, with minimal benefits reaching Indigenous communities.
Sdenka Silva, a Bolivian sociologist and advocate for coca farmers, established the Museum of Coca. Nestled among backpacker hostels in central La Paz, this modest museum vividly educates visitors about the plant’s 8,000-year history within Indigenous cultures.
Silva recounts that when cocaine was legal in many countries during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, colonial powers like the Dutch cultivated coca in places like what is now Indonesia at significantly lower costs. This practice effectively crippled the coca industries in Peru and Bolivia. “I fear that something similar could happen again with large companies,” she expressed.
Despite these apprehensions, coca’s ardent supporters remain optimistic. “This shouldn’t be a political issue,” declared outgoing President Luis Arce, who is not seeking re-election. “The coca leaf is not a narcotic.”