NAIROBI, Kenya – May 14, 2025 — José “Pepe” Mujica, the former guerrilla-turned-president of Uruguay and a symbol of principled leadership in a material-obsessed world, has died at 89.
His death, announced by President Yamandú Orsi on X, comes amid ongoing admiration for a man whose authenticity and humility challenged the norms of global politics.
His exact cause of death remains unconfirmed, though Mujica had publicly battled esophageal cancer in recent years. As Uruguay and the world mourn his passing, they also remember the indelible imprint of a leader who chose principle over prestige, and simplicity over spectacle.
A Revolutionary Journey: From Rebel Tunnels to the Presidential Palace
Mujica’s life read more like a novel than a political biography. Born in Montevideo to a middle-class family, Mujica’s political spark was ignited early. But it was in the 1960s that he took a radical turn, co-founding the Tupamaros National Liberation Movement (MLN-T), a Marxist-inspired guerrilla group modeled after Fidel Castro’s revolution in Cuba.
During this time, Mujica endured four arrests, was shot six times, and pulled off two prison escapes—including one via a tunnel alongside over 100 inmates. But the worst came after Uruguay’s 1973 military coup, when Mujica was designated a “hostage” by the dictatorship and spent 14 years in prison, much of it in solitary confinement and subjected to torture.
“I talked to ants,” he once told the BBC. “Madness was real. That was the darkest time.”
Yet it was that darkness that shaped the resilience and grounded worldview of the man who would go on to lead Uruguay.
A Presidency Fueled by Purpose, Not Perks
When Mujica took office in 2010, few outside Uruguay had heard of him. By the time he left in 2015, he was a global icon of humility. While other heads of state lounged in opulence, Mujica rejected the presidential mansion, opting instead to stay in his flower farm home with his wife—activist and fellow ex-rebel Lucía Topolansky—and their three-legged dog.
He drove a 1987 Volkswagen Beetle, donated 90pc of his salary, and regularly called out the excesses of capitalism. “I’m not poor,” he told El País. “Poor are those who need too much. Because they are never satisfied.”
His presidency wasn’t just about symbolism, though. Under his leadership, Uruguay saw sustained economic growth, a dramatic reduction in poverty, and the legalization of marijuana, same-sex marriage, and abortion—social milestones that drew global admiration.
Still, Mujica wasn’t without critics. Detractors pointed to increased public spending and unmet education reforms, accusing him of “governing with charm, not change.” Yet through it all, Mujica remained untouched by scandal and fiercely democratic—a rarity in a region where political turbulence is often the norm.
The Final Years: Reflection, Legacy, and the “Salt of Life”
Even after retiring from politics in 2020, Mujica never really disappeared. He mentored new leaders, like current President Orsi, and continued sharing his earthy wisdom on stages from Montevideo to Tokyo. His blend of authenticity and political pragmatism made him a unicorn in modern politics—deeply respected even by those who disagreed with him.
In his last interview with the BBC in November 2024, Mujica spoke candidly about death. “One knows that death is inevitable,” he said. “And perhaps it’s like the salt of life.” It was a sentiment that perfectly encapsulated his outlook: philosophical, unflinching, and rooted in the soil of lived experience.
His passing closes a chapter not just in Uruguayan history but in the broader narrative of political integrity in the 21st century.
A Rebel With a Cause—and a Conscience
Mujica never wanted to be a symbol. But by living a life guided more by values than votes, he became one anyway. He didn’t just talk about justice—he bled for it. And when power was finally his, he handled it like a man who had once talked to ants in a prison cell, and learned that dignity matters more than wealth.
As the world says goodbye to José Mujica, it also confronts a profound question: What if the way to fix politics isn’t more politics—but more humanity?
