Week 9: Plata o Plomo

Dear all,

Escobarian decade. At least we are given a choice. Or let me put it this way: so far, we still have a choice.

Plata o plomo is a Colombian Spanish slang phrase notoriously used by Pablo Escobar, dubbed the “King of Cocaine” and one of the wealthiest conventional criminals in history, having amassed an estimated net worth of US$30 billion by the time of his death. A person who says the phrase “plata o plomo” is telling the listener to either accept a bribe (plata, meaning “silver”) or lose their life (plomo, a metonym for a “lead bullet”).

Any functional government holds a monopoly (at least in theory) on the legitimate use of force. The lesson: every political system ultimately rests on plata o plomo.

There is nothing novel about money shaping politics. What is new is that you can buy the government for pennies on the dollar with enough cash and (crucially) a ruthless will to deploy it as a weapon.

Why have the four wealthiest people in America (and most of their fellow billionaires) become Trump supporters? It is not because of the price of eggs. Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and Larry Ellison—like Musk—run companies with tens of billions of dollars in government contracts and hundreds of billions potentially affected by government regulations. In years when they choose to pay taxes (all four have paid little or none in certain past years), they prefer lower rates. Even in the pre-Trump era, billionaires paid the IRS an average rate of just 8.2 percent—less than the rate (including FICA) paid by a teacher earning $40,000 per year.

There are 218 Republican representatives up for re-election in 2026, along with 20 Republican senators running that year. In the last cycle, the most expensive Senate and House races (Texas and VA-07) cost $200 million and $25 million, respectively, for all candidates combined. Funding every single Republican seat at the highest recorded rate would cost less than $10 billion—that is about 3 percent of Musk’s fortune.

In December, Musk threatened to fund primary challenges against any Republican member who voted for legislation he did not like. A week later, the bill died.

The “Escobarian decade” serves as a clear, yet painful reminder of how interconnected political violence, organized crime, corruption, and the influence of billionaires are in shaping our contemporary society. Escobar often justified his actions—including drug trafficking and violence—as a means of providing for his community and family. He operated under a utilitarian logic, believing that the ends justified the means, even if those means led to immense suffering.

Escobar wielded power through fear, violence, and intimidation. While he was deeply involved in criminal activities, he also engaged in significant charitable efforts, building schools and housing for the poor in Medellín. His vision was personal and localized, focused primarily on his community and family. His actions were driven by a desire for power and control rather than by a broader societal vision.

You can see where this is going.

In the shattered and rugged corners of sustainability across the world, plata o plomo has gained traction as well—though not as violently. The new episode of “money is the only value we care about” has been playing out for some time now. It reminds everyone working in this space of the harsh, inevitable reality: long-term efforts to address the enormous financial implications of externalities must generate profit. Now. Next month. Next quarter.

If they do not, plomo becomes an option.

Now, in all of this—indulge my spiritual moment—there is something almost religious about it. A kind of longing, a craving for absolution. For relief of some sort. Most people know that Catholic Christianity allows absolution on a personal level for sins committed against God and His commandments. The question that remains unanswered is whether companies can obtain absolution. And that, quite obviously, is where we are right now.