The Nobel for Freedom

Mario Vargas Llosa and my wife, Graciela,
during one of the SIP meetings in 2015.

     I pay tribute to the writer who has always honored freedom. I wrote this column in October 2010 when Mario Vargas Llosa received his Nobel Prize, surpassing his literary side. It is still valid. I titled it: "The Nobel Prize for Freedom".

Mario Vargas Llosa was the only one surprised by the Nobel Prize in Literature. For the rest of us mortals, it was a prize that had been announced or, better said, expected; not even a hint of controversy as last year when Barack Obama received the Peace Prize, but joy and celebration because the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences had been indebted to the author for years.

It was a prize that "did enormous justice," as Peruvian President Alan Garcia said, thinking, like many, that Vargas Llosa had just evaded the list of writers to whom the Nobel Prize was unjustly elusive, such as Juan Rulfo and Jorge Luis Borges.

Those of us who, in addition to his prolific literary work, delight in his libertarian positions, which abound in his novels and essays, are grateful that, above all, the intellectual has been recognized as the one who generously opens his mouth to condemn nationalism, which he considers "the worst construction of man" and calls for freedom of the press as a synonym of democracy.

The Nobel Prize puts Vargas Llosa in the highest echelon of world literature. Still, the Academy's political justification - "for his cartography of the structures of power and his acerbic images of individual resistance, revolt, and defeat" - also places him as a champion par excellence of democratic values, one who is not afraid to confront the diatribe of populists and left-wing despots that now abound in Latin America or to fight against dictators and right-wing authoritarians. Vargas Llosa is a Nobel Prize for Literature and a "Nobel Prize for Freedom."

Many intellectuals and literati are said to be ahead of their time to justify that they are superior to the rest. But Vargas Llosa's superiority breaks with these canons, given by the fidelity and critical capacity with which he portrays reality.

During the meeting of the Inter-American Press Association in October 2008 in Madrid, I had the opportunity to listen to his first approach to "The Civilization of the Spectacle," an essay that is still being shaped and in the future will surely contain harsh criticism of Facebook, which in that year was not yet popular, and Twitter, which did not even exist.

In 50 minutes of caustic talk, with a critique similar to Enrique Santos Discépolo's biting and eternal verses in the tango Cambalache, Vargas Llosa spoke out against the trivialization of culture, with a deep analysis of politics, journalism, literature, literature, cinema, plastic arts, drugs and sex.

He condemned that culture is dominated by "light," by consumption and public demand, which ultimately conditions creation and the market. He was terrified that fashion designers and artists have supplanted as the axis of thought the philosophers and scientists of yesterday and the ephemeral literature of today's best sellers. "We have reached the eclipse of the intellectual."

He complained about advertising manipulation and that politicians supplanted their ideas with gestures and images. "Frivolity - he said - is to have an inverted table of values. Everything is appearance, theater, play, amusement". There, he grouped together the magazines of the heart and sensationalist journalism, detached from their traditional values: truth, rigor, and respect for privacy.

On the subject of visual and plastic arts, confronting Bergman or Buñuel with Woody Allen and Vincent Van Gogh with Duchamp or Damien Hirst, he charged that "civilization has reached alarming extremes where there is minimal consensus on aesthetics... one cannot define what is talent from what is not".

Vargas Llosa's literary and political work is the antithesis of this "Civilization of the spectacle." It is impregnated with pages and characters that embrace freedom and the emancipation of the individual, transcending the author himself and all times. It is classic.  

Hence, the Academy did not judge only the literature of a Latin American as before with Gabriela Mistral, Miguel Angel Asturias, Pablo Neruda, Octavio Paz, or Gabriel García Márquez. This time, it rewarded Vargas Llosa's sustained and lucid song to freedom. Trottiart@gmail.com