Mountains, Mary, and Modern Bolivia

On August 16, 1989, a presidential helicopter landed on a sacred mountain just south of Quillacollo. Pilgrims, focused on their ceremonies and rituals, hardly noticed the chopper approach.¹ Bolivia’s newly elected president, Jaime Paz Zamora, had come to the mountain to give thanks for his recent good fortune. Despite coming in third in the popular vote, Paz Zamora secured the presidency when another candidate withdrew from the race and Congress elected him.² Now, a few days into his presidency, Paz Zamora stepped out of the helicopter and onto Cerro Calvario to thank the Virgin of Urkupiña for his electoral miracle.

That was the second miracle Paz Zamora experienced. The first was being the sole survivor of a plane crash during his 1980 campaign for the vice presidency, a tragedy that left his face disfigured with burns. Yet his own miracles only served to confirm what he heard all his life. Born and raised in Cochabamba, Paz Zamora grew up hearing stories of miracles attributed to the Virgin of Urkupiña — illnesses cured, fortunes secured, curses reversed. Every August, he witnessed pilgrims flock to the Cochabamba Valley from around the country to ask the Virgin for material prosperity or to thank her for delivering on her promises.

Paz Zamora’s pilgrimage was far from unique. His footsteps followed a path worn by thousands over centuries, part of an Andean tradition that predates the Virgin herself. Long before Catholics destroyed “idols” on mountains and replaced them with symbols and altars of their own, indigenous Andeans prayed to Pachamama every August for agricultural prosperity in the coming year.³ Like a bear emerging from hibernation, the goddess of the earth required sustenance before returning to full power. Indigenous communities in the region held mountains as the foundation of Andean cosmology, revered them as huacas (holy places) and associated them with tutelary spirits called achachilas or apus. They brought sacrifices to the mountains, understanding the principle of reciprocity — one must give to the earth before taking from it.

The political relationship Paz Zamora cultivated with the Virgin didn’t end with his helicopter visit or his time in office. It was he who bestowed upon her the presidential sash that she continues to wear to this day. And since then, presidential candidates have made pilgrimages to the Virgin, some even calling her the “true president of the Bolivian people.”⁴

His and his successors’ devotion wasn’t political theatre. In September 1992, Paz Zamora declared the Virgin’s Church of San Ildefonso a national monument and heritage site. A decade later, President Carlos Mesa elevated the Religious Festival of Our Lady of Urkupiña to a Cultural Heritage Site of Bolivia.⁵ Through these acts, the state formally embraced what had long been popular on the streets. The Virgin of Urkupiña had become inseparable from Bolivia’s national identity.

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The Virgin of Urkupiña: Patron of National Integration

Out of all the incarnations of the Virgin Mary in Bolivian devotional life — the Virgin of Copacabana, the Virgin of Cotoca, the Virgin de Valle — Urkupiña punches above her weight in terms of influence in the country’s political life. The Virgin of Copacabana holds the title of patron saint of Bolivia, but it is Urkupiña who wears the presidential sash in the colors of the Bolivian flag and bears the designation “Queen of National Integration.”

“National integration” is an important idea in the Plurinational State of Bolivia. Each August, Quillacollo transforms into a microcosm of the country as a whole. Drug dealers pray alongside merchants, peasants beside working professionals, students next to politicians, the rich rubbing shoulders with the rabble. Individuals across all demographic categories come together on a dusty hill some 8,000 feet above sea level. At its altitude, the location occupies a middle ground between the lowland rainforest and the high altiplano — a geographical metaphor for its role as a central meeting place for Bolivia’s diverse populations. Here, social and regional divisions temporarily unite in shared devotion.

Yet one should not overstate her political clout. In 2025, the Virgin’s political connections couldn’t prevent the rescheduling of her festival when it conflicted with the presidential elections. Bolivia’s electoral blackout laws (the veda electoral), which prohibit public gatherings and alcohol sales before elections, took precedence over the celebration of the “Patron of National Integration.” Despite proposals to reschedule the election itself, authorities ultimately moved the festival dates instead — from August 13-15 to August 9-11 — to avoid conflict with both the electoral blackout and Bolivia’s bicentenary celebrations on August 6.

Even the Virgin who wears the presidential sash had to yield to constitutional mandates. Even Mary is not above the law.

Such earthly constraints, however, cannot diminish how tightly the sacred geography of mountains is woven into Bolivia’s national identity.⁶ Since the 1830s, el Cerro Rico de Potosí has appeared on the nation’s coins. An image of the mountain that gave the world much of its silver was literally imprinted on currency. It is currently on the country’s coat of arms, where it’s been for quite some time. If indigenous Andeans held mountains as sacred, so too did the colonizers. In 18th-century paintings, the Virgin Mary’s face and hands sometimes appear on depictions of Potosí, her mantle formed by the mountain’s triangular shape.

That religion intersects with the state isn’t what makes the Virgin of Urkupiña remarkable. Mixing religion and politics is common practice in much of the world. Instead, it’s how this particular devotion creates a triangulated relationship between mountain, Mary, and the modern state.