Uruguay Mourns José ‘Pepe’ Mujica, Remembered as the ‘Poorest President in the World’ and One of Latin America’s Most Influential Leaders

The announcement came from President Yamandú Orsi, but the country already knew. José Mujica (aka Pepe Mujica), former guerrilla and former president, had spoken openly about his illness, his final wishes, and his place in history. “With profound sorrow we inform you that our comrade Pepe Mujica has died. President, militant, leader, and guide. We will miss you dearly, Old Man. Thank you for everything you gave us and for your deep love for your people,” said Orsi.

He had long said that his generation was departing. In April last year, the remark shifted from wise veteran cliché to imminent truth. That month, Mujica called a surprise press conference and told Uruguay he had esophageal cancer. Thirty-two rounds of radiotherapy followed. The tumor appeared to retreat. Painful recoveries came and went. His ability to eat failed him.

Then came the interview in Búsqueda this past January. The cancer had metastasized. His farewell message was short. “This is as far as I go,” he said. He asked to be left alone. No more interviews. Let him spend his final days on his farm, driving his tractor and walking his land.

That wish would go unanswered. Even weakened, Mujica remained in Uruguay’s political current. Heads of state, journalists, artists came to his land. He found the strength to attend rallies and to appear for the inauguration of the new parliament and president.

In that final interview, Mujica reflected: “My life was a bit like a novel.” He dismissed the presidency as “a trivial thing.”

He died Tuesday on his farm in Rincón del Cerro, just outside Montevideo. On Sunday, the day of Uruguay’s departmental elections, he had been too ill to vote. “He’s plateaued, he’s at the end,” his wife Lucía Topolansky told Radio Sarandí. “I’ve been with him for more than 40 years and I’ll stay until the end. That’s what I promised him,” she said.

His last request was to be buried on his land, beside one of the loves that made him unforgettable: Manuela, his three-legged dog.

The Tupamaro Years: Bullets and Prison Cells

His father died when he was seven. His mother, Lucy Cordano, raised him and his younger sister alone in Paso de la Arena, a working-class neighborhood near the semi-rural edge of Montevideo.

He entered prison for the first time in 1964 after stealing from a Montevideo warehouse. Mujica did not hide the reason. He was a Tupamaro, a fighter with Uruguay’s main armed movement in the 1960s. The money was for the cause. He served more than eight months.

He was caught again in 1970, again in 1972. He escaped, got shot six times, nearly died, then escaped again. His final capture came in August 1972. He remained imprisoned until March 1985. Uruguay’s military dictatorship began in 1973 and ended with Julio María Sanguinetti’s presidency.

For nearly 13 years, Mujica was held in isolation. No ventilation. No mattress. He went mad. He spoke to ants. Hallucinated. Was taken to the Military Hospital. “In the early 80s they brought me to the Military Hospital. I was totally paranoid, couldn’t stop having visions and stuff like that. A psychiatrist came to see me. She gave me a handful of pills and I never took a single one,” he said in A Black Sheep in Power. The psychiatrist suggested he be allowed to read and write. That changed his life.

His mother would bring books to his cell. In silence, she believed: “Pepe is going to become president.” She never said it aloud. Years later, she would be right.

“That Shit’s Not for Me” to the Presidency

When Sanguinetti took office, Mujica began rebuilding the Movement of National Liberation. His words drew in young people. He spoke of forgiveness, moving forward, embracing differences.

“I don’t walk the path of hatred, not even toward those who were vile with us. Hatred builds nothing. This is not a populist act, not about showing a pretty face: it’s a matter of principle,” he said in his first address, according to Danza and Tulbovitz.

He traded rebellion for democracy. He served four legislative terms, led the most voted political force, and became president.

He arrived at Parliament in 1995 on a Yamaha motorbike, wearing jeans and a denim shirt. Parked in front of the cars. That’s where the myth began. In 1999, the Movement of Popular Participation became the most voted political group. It would remain so in the next five elections.

In 2005, under Tabaré Vázquez’s first government, Mujica became Minister of Livestock. He denied interest in the presidency. He called himself too old. Said he wasn’t “a good administrator,” “not a Mason, not a university man,” “a toad from another pond.”

“That shit’s not for me,” he told reporters.

While he disavowed, his candidacy advanced. He eventually ran and won. He beat Danilo Astori, the economy minister and symbol of financial calm.

Promises, Failures, and Structural Shifts

He took office with talk of six provinces instead of nineteen departments. That never happened. He vowed “education, education, and once again, education.” His presidency did not shake the system, but it gave technical education greater prominence. He founded the Technological University.

He reshaped Uruguay’s electric matrix with wind, solar, and biofuels. His gas terminal plan collapsed, costing the state millions. He pushed for a new energy interconnection with Brazil. Public companies increased investment. The economy surged. The deficit grew.

During his term, social laws passed. After a high-profile murder, he proposed the legalization of marijuana. It became law in 2013. Legal sales began in 2017 under Vázquez’s second government. He also supported abortion decriminalization and equal marriage.

He left office at 80. Considered another run. He remained one of the most popular figures in Uruguay. But governing again at 85 felt unlikely. Before the 2019 elections, candidate Luis Lacalle Pou met Mujica in a bathroom at Parliament and asked him directly. He declined.

The Final Campaign and the Myth of Pepe Mujica

Before the runoff, Martínez declared: “He’s the last of the Mohicans.” Mujica’s support was visible. He toured the country, offered speeches from hay bales and folding chairs. His voice, hoarse and heavy with age, still carried weight. Martínez lost, but Mujica remained.

Luis Lacalle Pou took office in 2020. Mujica returned to the Senate. Months later, in October, he resigned. He cited age. He cited illness. He gave a short speech. “I love politics. I would not be able to live without it. But I love life more.”

He stayed on his land. Slept in the same room as his dog. Grew lettuce. Wrote letters. Gave few interviews. Sometimes Lucía would interrupt with the truth. “If he speaks to you, it’s because he wants to,” she told journalists.

His car was a battered blue Beetle. He refused to move to the presidential mansion. When asked why he lived as he did, he said: “It’s not poverty, it’s sobriety. I live with little to have time to live.”

He spoke to the UN in sandals. Turned down retirement benefits. Called Donald Trump a “madman.” Smoked on camera. Slept through official meetings. Told the Pope he was an atheist. Wore no suit at summits. Hugged farmers. Cursed at ministers. Planted trees at dawn. Apologized when he failed.

A myth formed. Some believed in it. Some questioned it. Most loved the story.

Uruguay called him Pepe. The continent called him the poorest president in the world. He called himself a farmer.

The state will honor him. The world will mourn him. His land will hold him.

But he never asked for monuments.

Just to rest next to Manuela.