There is something almost comforting about the predictable rhythm of Peruvian governance. It possesses the rhythmic consistency of a metronome, albeit one ticking toward a detonator. One does not simply “govern” in Lima; one merely occupies the presidential chair until the furniture itself decides it has had enough of the current occupant’s weight. Enter José Jerí, the 39-year-old interim placeholder—a man who assumed the mantle of power in October only to find that the mantle is, in fact, a shroud.

The latest act in this tragicomedy involves clandestine meetings with Chinese businessmen in the narrow, neon-lit arteries of Lima’s Chinatown. If one is going to engage in the high-stakes betrayal of national interests, one might at least choose a setting with more gravitas than a district known for its excellent dim sum and vibrant street life. But then, the modern politician lacks even the basic aesthetic sense for a proper conspiracy. They are increasingly just middle-managers of a collapsing enterprise, haggling over the price of the future while the present crumbles beneath their feet. Jerí, the latest victim of his own lack of discretion, now finds himself in the familiar crosshairs of an impeachment-happy congress.

Jerí’s defense, delivered with the practiced earnestness of a man who knows he is being watched by ghosts, is the standard liturgy of the disgraced. He told a congressional oversight committee that he is the target of a “smear campaign” designed to “destabilize” the country ahead of the April elections. It is a delightful bit of irony to suggest that one could further destabilize a nation that has seen presidents exit the Palacio de Gobierno with the frequency of customers in a revolving door. To claim a plot is afoot to ruin the country’s stability is to imply that stability exists in the first place—an assertion that requires a degree of imagination usually reserved for authors of speculative fiction.

The tragedy of Peru is not that its leaders are exceptionally corrupt—corruption is, after all, the global baseline—but that they are so profoundly uninspired. Jerí’s predecessor, Dina Boluarte, was forced out, continuing the tradition of the poisoned chalice. Now, Jerí faces the same Sisyphean fate. He insists he has not lied to the country, a statement that is technically true only if one defines “the country” as the select few individuals who actually benefit from these secretive luncheons. For the rest of the populace, the lie is the system itself, the grand illusion that an interim leader is anything more than a decorative napkin placed over a spill.

The presence of Chinese businessmen in this narrative adds a layer of geopolitical banality that is almost soothing. While the West wrings its hands over “influence” and “strategic encroachment,” local leaders see it as a simple buffet. Why bother with the complexities of democratic accountability when you can have a quiet meeting in Barrio Chino and ignore the pesky oversight committees? The lawmakers seeking to impeach Jerí are not motivated by some sudden surge of civic virtue; they are merely the rival troupe waiting for their turn on the stage. They smell blood in the water, but in Lima, the water is mostly blood at this point.

As the April elections loom, we are treated to the spectacle of a man fighting for a job that carries the life expectancy of a Mayfly. Jerí claims to be a victim, but in the theater of the absurd, there are no victims, only actors who have forgotten their lines. The bureaucratic incompetence on display is surgical in its precision; it takes real effort to be this consistently chaotic. We are watching the slow-motion collapse of a state structure that has been hollowed out by its own theatricality.

Ultimately, whether Jerí survives until April or is cast out into the cold before the next dim sum service is irrelevant. The script remains the same. The meetings in Chinatown, the indignant denials before committees, the claims of destabilization—it is a ritual as old as the hills and twice as dusty. We, the weary observers of this continental farce, can only watch with a sense of grim recognition. I told you so, of course, but saying it has lost its flavor. In the end, Peru doesn’t need a president; it needs an exorcist, or perhaps just a better class of secret meetings.