Mario Vargas Llosa : Los Angeles Times Interview

Question: You moved much earlier than most intellectuals away from socialism. Why?

Answer: I began to distance myself publicly when the Soviet Bloc countries invaded Czechoslovakia (in 1968) . . . . There had been an earlier process, for the most part within myself, of disenchantment with Socialism because of the evolution that took place in Cuba, and through experiences of my own in getting to know the real socialism, getting to know the socialist countries. It was a great disillusionment--in travels to the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe and getting to know Czechoslovakia during the Prague Spring--which for me was a very exciting experience. To see a movement of internal democratization within socialism itself, and to see it interrupted in such a brutal manner, in a certain way destroyed a large part of the socialist myth.

But perhaps the case of Cuba was for me more instructive, because Cuba has a socialism that I could get to know in my own language, intimately, because I had friends there, because I went to Cuba nearly five years in a row. I could live close up with what was, let’s call it the socialist truth, a truth that was very different from the myth, from the illusion . . . . Since then, while there have no doubt been some variations in my position, I have been very critical of socialism, of all forms of statism, of collectivism, and I have defended a democratic option.

Q. You were attacked by the left. You said you had suitcases full of diatribes against you. Did it leave you bitter?

A. Look, I discovered the absolutely efficient, extraordinary and worldwide apparatus with which a person could be satanized if the Communist parties said it should be so . . . . It was really impressive because I saw the communiques, they repeated the same articles (against me) in different countries. It was a very hard experience, very painful. Even people who I thought were close friends . . . .

Q. Do you feel vindicated now, given the changes in the world?

A. Totally. It was something that was painful, but that had an extraordinary compensation. I recovered my freedom! Since then, I have only said what I think. I may have been wrong, I may have been correct, but all I have said reflects what I believed at the moment I said it--something that didn’t happen in the earlier years. I had been saying the things I thought were necessary to say, even though many times they were not in absolute accordance with what I thought. That is a mentality that now horrifies me.

This is one of the things that I most criticize in the totalitarian culture. In our era it is principally the Marxist culture, earlier it was the fascist culture, but mainly the Marxist. So it was a great liberation to be a totally independent person, who said what he thought, and who answered entirely for himself.

Now, all that has happened since then in these years, well, it is a marvelous compensation. Because now, the things that I said are being said by the Polish workers, the Hungarian workers, the Soviet workers, the workers of East Germany. But what is extraordinary is that there are many intellectuals, of a high level, Latin Americans, North Americans, who still have not understood, and who still are repeating the old stereotypes. It is extraordinary.

Q. Speaking your mind, not being afraid to say what you want, the way you fought back against those who criticized you--is that effective for a politician? Politics is supposed to be the art of the possible--compromise, instead of confrontation.

A. With the characteristics of the Peruvian situation, so far this approach has yielded good results. Given the magnitude of the crisis, and such a great disenchantment with politicians, to say what one thinks, to show a lot of clarity in one’s political proposals, has a rather healthy effect . . . . If one gets involved in politics for ethical reasons, it is the appropriate form of behavior.

Q. Are there other differences between the calling of a writer and a politician?

A. There are many. A writer works alone, depends exclusively on himself. A man in politics works on a team, he depends on many people and he must be very conscious that he is just one piece in a mechanism. Only if he accepts that role will he have success. Also, in politics one must make a constant effort to keep on the rational plane, the sensible plane.

But when one writes, no. When one paints, when one composes, one has no cause to move only in the plane of reason, of common sense. One can appeal to his instincts, to his obsessions, to his madness, to the darkest, uncontrollable part of the personality. And many times that is the source of the great creations.

In politics, this is extremely dangerous. In politics, one must never appeal to the instincts, to passions, to obsessions, because this always leads to crime, to violence. Always. One must repress all that is instinctive, purely passionate. It is very difficult, especially for us, with our Latin, passionate, irrational tradition. But if we want to create a modern country, a genuine democracy, then politics must be rational and sensible. Literature and art have no reason to be exclusively rational and sensible.

Q. I thought you had said recently that the language of politics is different, that it conveys emotions rather than ideas?

A. This is also true. For me that is perhaps the most depressing aspect of being a politician. The language that one uses in politics tends irresistibly to be conventional, and to fix itself in stereotypes and cliches . . . .

Do you know what I also think is a great danger? That when one enters politics, he thinks he is doing it for the great ideas, for the great projects, the great visions. But in practice, politics is much more down to earth, much more pedestrian. It is speculation, little intrigues, maneuvers, at times gossiping. At times it moves on a very low plane, very sordid. So you have to make an effort to distance yourself, to remember you are not in politics for this, but for the great ideas, the great values. This distance is very important if you don’t want to convert yourself into a professional politician. I think it’s a very mediocre way to be a politician.

Q. Isn’t this a loss for you as a writer?

A. It is a sacrifice to leave literature aside for a while. My vocation, which is something I love very much, is the best I have. In that sense, yes, I feel it as a loss. But there are circumstances where this kind of sacrifice is perfectly justified. The case of my country seems to be an extreme example. I believe there is an obligation of a moral, ethical nature that has to prevail over any other consideration, if one believes in the necessity to save democracy, to modernize a country that is destroying itself. My case is not unique. There are many Peruvians who also have little appetite for political power, but who nevertheless are getting involved in politics, who have decided to support, to help, to make a contribution.

Q. Why do you go to these little dusty towns and make these campaign trips rather than rely on television, which is safer and much more important in terms of reaching people

A. But the personal contact is very important. To arrive in these small places, where politicians rarely come, has repercussions in many sectors, and it is a way to establish contact with the popular base, which is profoundly affected by the crisis in Peru . . . . The personal contact in a country like Peru, where television and radio don’t reach all areas, is essential.

Q. I wonder, though, if it’s also something within you. The other candidates are not doing it as extensively. You once said that to be a writer you had to decide you were going to pour your whole soul into it. Is there some of that here as well, to go through all the rituals of politics?

A. I think so. I think it is indispensable. Exactly. Just as you cannot do literature halfway, you can’t do politics halfway. Especially not in a situation like the one we have now. Perhaps in the more developed democracies, a politician can carry out activities more or less within hours, only committing a part of his life. But here politics is an activity of life or death. Life is at stake, death is at stake. How can you commit yourself to hours of writing when everything is being turned upside down? So you have to commit yourself, all your will, all your energy. If not, there is not a chance of the slightest success.

Q. Some say this campaign is a competition not between you and the other candidates, but between you and Abimael Guzman (the leader of Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path, Peru’s fanatical Maoist guerrilla movement), as representatives of two world views of Peru: communism and what you call people’s capitalism. Do you agree?

A. Yes, I think there is something quite convincing in that notion. Because they are two absolutely opposite models, clearly in conflict. Without doubt. What is curious is that the communist model of Abimael Guzman is a model that almost belongs already to the realm of fantastical literature. There is no other historical representation of this model. There isn’t--including Pol Pot, whom the members of Sendero Luminoso still admire . . . . It is only Sendero Luminoso that still believes in these fundamentalist forms of the most dogmatic communism, and for this they are killing people.

Q. How are you going to fight Sendero Luminoso? You have proposed arming the people.

A. It is very important that there be an awareness that this is a war not against the soldiers but against all of us, against all of us who want a democratic system, who want a peaceful coexistence in Peru . . . . Furthermore, the participation of the civil society is going to give the forces of order all the information, the intelligence that is fundamental for the struggle against the terrorists. And finally, perhaps the most important, this is the way to reduce the abuses of human rights. If the forces of order work with civilians, then they are going to be much more prudent . . . . The abuses of human rights are counterproductive. They are not only unacceptable for moral and juridical reasons, but for practical reasons. Because the abuses create hostility in the civil population toward the forces of order.

Q. (Peruvian writer) Hernando de Soto, who agrees with you on many ideas, has criticized you for being too visceral in your anti-communism. Isn’t there a danger for you that when you take office, it will be harder to turn around and work with the democratic left?

A. My anti-communism is not visceral, it is rational. It is an anti-communism in the name of ideas, in the name of a model for society. It is not any less rational than the anti-communism of the Poles, of the Czechs, of the East Germans . . . . It is a worldwide reality today that communism doesn’t resolve problems . . . . We are in an election campaign, and I am asking for a popular mandate for a liberal model. Where is the dogmatism? The people are going to decide whether they prefer the liberal model to the communist model . . . . These are the mechanisms of democracy. There is neither passion nor intransigence nor dogmatism. To plant the roots of a liberal model in a democratic system means that however much conviction you have, always there will have to be certain transactions, certain concessions . . . .

Q. Peruvians often say, “We need a Pinochet.” A diplomat told me, only half-joking, that people think Vargas Llosa is going to be a literary Pinochet.

A. Look, if there is anything that is clear in all I have written, it is an enormous mistrust toward all forms of power . . . . My ideal is the democratic system. It can have room for people who have, let’s say, more energy, or more contagious convictions, but caudillos (Latin strongmen) are incompatible with the democratic system. And furthermore, I have been a radical critic of Pinochet from the first moment.

I don’t want for Peru only a free economic policy, but also an economic freedom that complements the political freedom we already have. I want Peru to create, in democracy, the economic progress achieved in Chile--as was done in the United States, and England, France, the Western democracies . . . . This is the model we want to follow.

Q. Are you a neo-conservative? What label should people apply to you?

A. A liberal. I am a liberal in the classical sense of the term. In the United States, a liberal is rather a radical, no? A conservative is for the Establishment, for the status quo. A liberal wants change, wants reform, wants the continual reform of society . . . . He believes in the market economy, he believes absolutely that economic freedom is the best tool for progress, and also the most important road toward social justice . . . .

We in Latin America have never had this. We have had mercantilism. This is a bastardized form, a very corrupt form of capitalism. Therefore there is such a black, hostile vision toward capitalism. It is a question of, finally, creating a capitalism of our era, that is to say humanized, with all that implies, the return of human rights, the idea of equality of opportunities, which is a modern and fundamental principle of democracy.

Q. This campaign is obviously rich in images and anecdotes. Do you plan to write about it?

A. All that I have written was based on personal experience. Without doubt, this is the most important, most diverse, the richest and the most dangerous experience I have lived through. So if I survive this, I will certainly have material to write a very good book.

Q. You laugh when you talk about the danger, but there is serious physical danger in this campaign.

A. There is danger in Peru. Today, to be Peruvian is to live dangerously.

Q. Are you keeping a diary?

A. No. I take notes, I always want to manage to have an intellectual life, even if it is just an hour or two a day, so that the politics doesn’t destroy my intellectual activity.

Q. The book that you will write--will it be serious or a comedy?

A. I hope it won’t be a horror story.