Chile’s La Moneda Reopens as Presidential Home After Six Decades as Kast Moves In

On March 11, José Antonio Kast will reside in Chile’s La Moneda, reviving a practice abandoned since 1958. Supporters view this as symbolic and economical, while critics note increased security. Architects highlight the palace’s long conversion to office space after decades of change.

A Palace Reclaimed Without Major Renovations

At night, the neoclassical palace remains a historic centerpiece in Santiago, though the city and its role have evolved. Now, it is being prepared to serve as a home again. On March 11, Kast will be the first president since 1958 to reside in La Moneda.

Kast presents the decision as practical: he lives over an hour and a half from La Moneda and wants to avoid additional state expenses by renting a separate home. However, in Chile, practical choices often become symbolic quickly, especially when involving the seat of government.

The last leader to live in the palace designed in the late eighteenth century by the Italian architect Joaquín Toesca, the same figure behind Santiago’s cathedral, was Carlos Ibáñez del Campo, who governed from 1952 to 1958. Since then, presidents have stayed in their own residences or rented other homes. The outgoing president, the progressive Gabriel Boric, did not own a home when he took office in 2022 and moved into an old house in the bohemian, multicultural neighborhood of Yungay.

Kast, a former ultra-Catholic deputy and the first far-right president elected democratically, will move in with his wife, Pía Adriasola. They live on the city’s outskirts and have nine children. This transforms the palace from an abstract symbol into a family home, involving more than security and schedules—it includes everyday moments like coffee, late nights, and a child asking for a blanket.

Since 1951, La Moneda has been protected, requiring approval from the National Monuments Council for major work. Kast’s team told EFE that only superficial modifications are planned, describing the move as a relocation without construction within the building, which has long been used as office space.

Why Presidents Left La Moneda Behind

There is a reason La Moneda stopped being used as a residence, and it is less romantic than people might think. Pablo Allard, dean of the Faculty of Architecture at Universidad del Desarrollo, said the palace ceased functioning as a home almost seven decades ago for “practical and functional reasons,” he told EFE.

As the state expanded, the building’s private quarters were repurposed. “Given the growth of the state apparatus, the sectors of the palace that previously functioned as private apartments were converted into offices to house ministries and dependencies of the executive power,” Allard told EFE. It is a simple yet decisive transformation. A home becomes a workplace not with one dramatic reform, but with the steady encroachment of desks, files, meeting rooms, and the assumption that the building belongs to the day, not the night.

Then there is the other rupture, the one that no architecture conversation in Chile can avoid. In the 1973 coup d’état, the palace was heavily bombed, and the reconstruction carried out under Augusto Pinochet’s regime accelerated its shift into a fully administrative building. Rodrigo Guendelman, founder of the media outlet Santiago Adicto, said that reconstruction helped seal La Moneda’s transformation, “leaving it without the necessary comfort for someone to live there,” he told EFE.

That history remains embedded in the walls, even if unspoken. Kast’s decision is more than a housing choice; it asserts normalcy, continuity, and a sense of belonging. Yet, Chileans have grown skeptical of such claims.

La Moneda has undergone other renovations, and a project is underway to replace the climate system and lighting, and to build accessible bathrooms and lactation rooms. The building is not frozen in time. It is being updated, slowly, as an institution. Allard argues that the palace is not as unlivable as some imagine. “The palace today has several kitchens, enough space to house several people comfortably, and it is even equipped with a complete gym, so I imagine the adjustments will be minor,” he told EFE.

Minor adjustments can carry significant meaning. Adding a bed changes how a building is perceived. A family living there alters how power is presented. It is not just where decisions are made but where someone rests after making them.

Downtown Santiago’s Recovery and the Risk of Fences

The timing of Kast’s move lands inside another story Santiago has been trying to tell itself, one about recovery. The center has been showing signs of an incipient comeback after years of deterioration, high crime rates, and the departure of many businesses. The problems go back a long way, but they worsened with the 2019 protests and the pandemic. Now, street life ends almost when the sun goes down. That is the everyday observation you hear in the center and feel in your own steps: a quickening pace, shutters closing, a thinning of crowds.

In that context, a president choosing to live downtown can read like a vote of confidence. Guendelman, whose outlet celebrates the center’s strengths, called it symbolically important for the recovery process that a president would want to live there, he told EFE. Symbolism matters in cities. It can pull people back, make investments feel less risky, and make the center seem inhabited again.

However, symbolism can bring barriers in politics. Guendelman warned that restricting access to public spaces, such as Plaza de la Ciudadanía, could have negative effects. This tension reflects who controls the city center. A resident president increases security, which may lead to the installation of fences that alter the city’s emotional landscape.

Allard is cautious about expecting immediate benefits. He notes such decisions do not automatically improve neighborhoods, citing Boric’s 2019 move to Yungay, which did not boost investment or security. The hope is that visibility sparks momentum, but visibility alone is not policy, and momentum can stall.

Still, Allard insists the center holds potential. “In any case, Santiago’s center has all the potential to become the best place to work, shop, be entertained, and live,” he told EFE. That sentence carries an invitation and a challenge. It suggests that the center’s decline is not destiny. It also implies that the center’s recovery will take more than a president moving into a palace.

Ultimately, Kast’s move to La Moneda is about more than residence; it reflects the kind of state Chile wants to project at the heart of its capital. A palace as office tells one story; as home, another. A recovering city needs vitality, not emptiness, but also must avoid exclusion. The lights can return—the question is who stands beneath them.

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