If only Bapu knew, the Indian poet Sarojini Naidu is said to have remarked with reference to Mahatma Gandhi, how much it costs us to keep him in poverty. It is highly unlikely that anyone would be tempted to make a comparable remark about José Mujica, the outgoing President of the South American republic of Uruguay.
Mujica’s austerity was legendary even before he was elected President in 2009. He lived in a small farmhouse often described as a shack and, as a legislator, rode to work on a motorbike. He declined to move into the presidential palace and chose to donate almost 90 per cent of his salary to the needy. This attitude puts Mujica in a league of his own. And it’s not just because it would be hard to find another President or Prime Minister — let alone a potentate — who abides by a similar set of rules. It’s also because it would be almost equally difficult to find anyone who considers the Uruguayan leader’s stance to be a pose or a posture.
Uruguayans will choose his successor next Sunday in the second round of the nation’s presidential election, after Mujica’s predecessor Tabaré Vazquez came within a whisker of a first-round triumph last month. Vazquez, who belongs to the same Left-leaning Broad Front as Mujica, wasn’t by any means unpopular among his compatriots, but he failed to attract half as much attention on the international front.
This was partly because by the time he became President in 2005, a progressive tendency in Latin America was more or less taken for granted, thanks in part to Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez. What’s particularly interesting about Mujica is that he offers a refreshing contrast not just to leaders in other parts of the world, but also to broadly like-minded leaders within the region. Why that should be something of a surprise is because once Mujica was among the more notorious Tupamaros, an ostensibly Marxist bunch of urban guerrillas described in the 1960s as Robin Hood revolutionaries.
Back then, South America was awash in similar movements, most of which derived their inspiration from Che Guevara. A large portrait of Che hangs in the official residence of Evo Morales, who was re-elected this year in a landslide to serve a third term as President of Bolivia, the country where Che was murdered by the CIA-associated military in 1967. A bust of Guevara also sits in Mujica’s humble home. It was a meeting with Che that turned him on to the prospect of effecting change by force; Mujica still holds Che in high esteem, and claims to be the only serving head of state to have met Mao Zedong.
Mujica’s Uruguay has hit the headlines chiefly on account of measures seen by many as socially progressive — legalising abortion, the sale and consumption of marijuana (in an attempt to shut down drug trafficking) and same-sex marriage. Despite a liberal predisposition that earned Uruguay the sobriquet of South America’s Switzerland early in the 20th century, by the time Mujica entered maturity the scenario was somewhat different. The President has not by any means abandoned the conviction he acquired back then, to the effect that class distinctions are a curse that can and should be overcome.
He just decided, some 30 years ago, that sporadic violence wasn’t the ideal means of accomplishing this goal. He has been well aware of his limitations, reluctantly acknowledging the need to operate within the limits of neoliberal capitalism, but never hesitating to publicly express his true views. El Pepe, as he is popularly known, will formally bow out next March, but will resume his previous status as a senator. And if Vazquez wins on Sunday, chances are that many of the reforms enacted under Mujica will remain intact. These extend to policies that have sharply reduced poverty, as well as moves whereby the nation will soon be meeting 30 per cent of its energy needs from renewable resources.
Mujica spent 13 years in captivity in the 1970s and 1980s, many of them in appalling conditions. He emerged from prison in 1985, after Uruguay’s military regime made way for civilian rule, proudly holding a potty that he had struggled to obtain after six bullet wounds left him unable to conform to the average expectations of bowel movements. By the time he got out, it was a marigold garden.
That serves as a suitable metaphor for Mujica’s inclinations. He is capable of growing flowers in the unlikeliest places. At least some of them, hopefully, will continue to bear testament to his enviable presidency after he bows out. Whether the precious seeds he has nonchalantly sowed will, in time, bloom in tiny Uruguay or elsewhere remains to be seen. Posterity, though, ought to recall him with much affection, as a template that could do the world much good but, sadly, is unlikely to be replicated in a hurry anywhere around the globe.
By arrangement with Dawn
