The Eagle's Throne

58. NICOLÁS VALDIVIA TO EX-PRESIDENT CÉSAR LEÓN

Distinguished president and esteemed friend: I know that nobody knows the rules of national politics as well as you. Every president leaves behind a rosary of more or less famous sayings that become part of our political folklore.

“In politics, you have to swallow frogs without flinching.”

“A politician who is poor is a poor politician.”

“He who doesn’t deceive, doesn’t achieve.”

“Onward and upward.”

“We are all the solution.”

“If things are going well for the president, things are going well for Mexico.”

I remember only two of yours.

“In order to preserve customs, we must break laws.”

“Becoming president is like reaching Treasure Island. Even if they expel you from the island, you’ll never stop yearning for it. You want to return, even though everyone — including yourself — tells you no.”

Very well, Mr. President, the moment has arrived. It’s time to abandon Treasure Island. I understand your feelings. You would like to be an agent of reconciliation at a difficult time for the republic.

You’ve stated publicly, “The struggle for power destroys the one thing that gives power any meaning, which is to create wealth for the country within a framework of peace and legality.”

I couldn’t agree with you more. And I understand your dismay, Mr. President. You’re anticipating the struggle ahead. You fear that it will degenerate into riots, civil war, balkanization, dog-eat-dog, and all that. And you see yourself as an agent of unity, experience, authority, and continuity.

Mr. President: I see how you act and I think that the politician who goes around thinking he’s more than he is will never know who he is.

This confusion, this lack of self-awareness, might be interesting material for psychoanalysis but it’s fatal for the person in question and, above all, the political health of the country.

I know what’s going through your mind — some matadors will die and some will shield themselves behind the barriers, but the fierce bull will never abandon his favorite spot in the arena.

Yes, I want to eliminate them all until he and I are the only two left.

So now the question is: Who is “he”? And who am “I”?

Yes, Mr. President, power effects its own fiction, according to the distinguished Chilean philosopher Martín Hopenhayn, in a reference to Kafka. And fifty years ago, Moya Palencia, interior secretary as I am now, said that in Mexico Kafka would be considered a chronicler of local customs.

I find it amusing that Mexicans call “customs” what the rest of the world, the serious world, calls realpolitik — which is nothing less than the politics of my friend Machiavelli: “Since all men are wicked and do not keep faith with you, you also do not have to keep it with them.” The Prince’s skill lies in his ability to use this evil reality in his own interest, while seeming to be acting in the interests of the people.

The crack in Machiavelli’s system, Mr. President, is the belief that the Prince’s enemies have been blinded by his glow and scared off by his power. The powerful man believes that wrongs can be righted by showering gifts.

“He’s deceiving himself,” my namesake would say.

The Prince would be better off decapitating all his enemies immediately and in one fell swoop. Doing it little by little, he would run the risk of leaving someone out.

“For injuries must be done all together. . and benefits should be done little by little, so that they may be tasted better.”

That was your mistake, President León. In your eagerness to consolidate the power you achieved through elections (questionable elections, let’s face it), you lavished the benefits, adulation, perks, lucrative deals, in one fell swoop. You wanted to gain allies who could give you legitimacy, without realizing that no matter what you give to a blood-hound, it will always want more.

And that more is power itself.

So you, Mr. President, have no cards left because you’ve dealt them all. In the process of seducing so many potential enemies you lost your chance to chop off their heads. The result? You’re loved by neither your friends, to whom you gave everything, nor your enemies, to whom you gave a little. And you know it.

“A few minutes ago, he was my friend. Half an hour was enough to make him my enemy.”

Be honest. Don’t lie. How many times have you said these words to yourself?

Believe me. I’m your friend, and I fully understand your complaint:

“Yesterday they were all cheering me! Today they’re all silent. If only they’d insult me at least! Yesterday I was indispensable. Today I’m a nuisance. If only they’d kick me out at least!”

I feel exactly the same way. And that is exactly what I am doing now, Mr. President.

My aide, Jesús Ricardo Magón, will be delivering this letter to you personally. He will then accompany you to the door of your house. From there, a military escort befitting your status and rank will escort you to the international airport, where a very comfortable seat awaits you in the first-class cabin of a Qantas Airways plane, which will take you directly to the beautiful land of the kangaroo, Australia. Once there, don’t forget to take note, please, of the marsupials who carry their young in pouches, so as to ensure the healthy growth and development of their offspring, and in turn of their descendants.

Extending you the assurance of my distinguished consideration and

wishing you a good journey,

Nicolás Valdivia