"No, I’m Not Poor — I’m Just Not in the Race"

 

“They say I’m the poorest president. No, I’m not. Poor are those who want more... because they’re in an endless race.”
— José Mujica

In my previous post, I looked into the “black mirror”: power almost always wins. The revolution becomes the regime. The wheel spins back to hierarchy.  But what if… not everyone played that game? What if—amidst the palace walls and propaganda machines—there were a few who remembered what power was meant to be? A burden, a service, a duty!

A good man recently passed away. His life gave me hope. His example inspired me to look for many others—well-known and lesser-known—who held power but chose to be servants of the people.

We’re talking about José Mujica, President of Uruguay from 2010 to 2015. He walked into the office as a poor man. He walked away a poor man.

Mujica lived on a small farm, drove a beat-up VW Beetle, and donated most of his salary. He governed with quiet resolve—legalizing marijuana, investing in the poor—not from a palace, but from principle. He didn’t want more. That was his wealth.

While in office, Mujica was often called “the world’s poorest president”—not as an insult, but a mark of honor. He gave away nearly 90% of his $12,000 monthly salary to charities that supported low-income families and small entrepreneurs.

In September 2013, he stood before the United Nations General Assembly and gave a speech unlike any other. He didn’t talk about power or policy. He talked about humanity. He urged the world to stop worshipping the market, to stop sacrificing peace, love, adventure, and family on the altar of endless economic growth. He called for a return to simplicity—lives grounded in human relationships, not consumer ambition.

That’s Mujica. Not a saint. Not perfect. But a man who remembered what power was meant to be.

Most people who rise to power eventually give in to its gravity. Bigger cars. Bigger gates. Bigger appetites. It's not always greed. Sometimes it’s fear. Sometimes it’s just the machinery of the world pulling them in. But every now and then, someone steps outside the race. Not because they have to. Because they choose to.

Here are a few who were handed the feast—and still said no.

• Manik Sarkar, who led Tripura for two decades, gave up his salary, rode the bus, and was mocked for being “too simple”—as if integrity were a disqualification.
  
  

• Thomas Sankara, who told his ministers to drive the cheapest cars and plant trees, and paid for that clarity with his life.
  
  

• Jimmy Carter, who left the White House and went back to a peanut farm, building homes and living like power had never touched him.
  
  

• Nelson Mandela, who didn’t reject the palace—but never let the palace claim his soul.

Extreme power often does corrupt extremely. But not always.

There are still a few who walk the other way. They’re not perfect. They’re not saints. But they remind us: it’s possible. And without these few—without our quiet Mujicas, our unpolished Sarkars, our assassinated Sankaras, our flawed Carters, our dignified Mandelas—we’d have no stories to tell.

Anyone old enough to remember Andy Griffith knows there probably never was a “Mayberry.”
Yet dreaming of Mayberry—of simple decency, humility, and a world governed by kindness—helps us not shrink back into that dog-eat-dog world.

Every now and then…
A Jiminy Cricket walks by, taps us on the shoulder,  sneaks into our souls, and whispers:

“It’s not all about you.
You are not an island.
There are others—there’s a world out there, waiting for your generosity, your sacrifice, your service.”

I’d genuinely welcome your thoughts — whether you agree or disagree. But if you feel like sharing, I’m especially interested in your personal reflections… how you navigate these questions, if they matter to you. And if this resonates, feel free to share it with others who think or wonder along similar lines.