José “Pepe” Mujica died on May 13, 2025 — just one week before his 90th birthday.
He did not pass away in a presidential palace or a state residence.
He died on his small flower farm outside Montevideo — the same modest property where he chose to live even while serving as president of Uruguay.
From Guerrilla Fighter to Head of State
Mujica’s life was anything but ordinary.
In the 1960s and 70s, he was a member of the Tupamaros guerrilla movement. He survived being shot six times. After Uruguay’s military dictatorship took power, he spent nearly 14 years in prison — much of it in harsh isolation, at times confined to a well and military barracks under extreme psychological pressure.
Many believed he would leave prison bitter.
Instead, he entered politics.
Decades later, he became president of Uruguay.
The “Poorest President” — By Choice
During his presidency (2010–2015), Mujica rejected many of the privileges of power:
He refused to live in the presidential mansion.
He continued driving his 1987 Volkswagen Beetle.
He donated roughly 90% of his presidential salary to charity.
The global media labeled him “the poorest president in the world.”
He disagreed with that description.
“Poor is someone who needs too much,” he once said.
For Mujica, wealth was not measured in possessions — but in freedom from excess.
A Progressive Legacy
Under his leadership, Uruguay implemented significant reforms:
Legalization of same-sex marriage
Legalization of abortion
Becoming the first country in the world to fully legalize recreational marijuana nationwide
His policies drew praise internationally and criticism domestically. He was known for blunt language, unconventional speeches, and a style that felt closer to a rural philosopher than a polished politician.
He was imperfect. Controversial. Human.
But consistent.
A Simple Final Request
In his final years, Mujica said he wanted to be buried under a tree on his farm — beside his three-legged dog, Manuela.
No monument. No grandeur.
Just earth and shade.
A Larger Question
Mujica’s life continues to spark debate:
Can personal simplicity in a leader meaningfully influence a nation’s moral direction?
Or is symbolic humility powerful only at the surface, while real change depends on institutions?
His story doesn’t offer a simple answer.
But it forces the question.