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President Pacheco, who succeeded to office from the vice-presidency in 1967 after President Oscar Gestido died, has ruled with almost dictatorial powers since early 1968, when he declared a state of emergency after a series of student and worker strikes. He instituted unlimited search and seizure, froze wages and prices (violators face summary arrest) and imposed press censorship. Motorists are routinely stopped at roadblocks and a Montevidean out for a stroll may be stopped several times with demands that he show his documents. Last July, Congress voted to lift the siege; Pacheco reimposed it a few hours later.
Uphill Battle. Though the constitution prohibits a President from succeeding himself, Pacheco hopes to get around the law by including on the ballot a constitutional amendment that would allow him to have another term. Thus voters will not only be asked to choose from among eleven candidates for President, including Pacheco, they will at the same time have to decide whether Pacheco, by being allowed to succeed himself, should be a candidate at all. If the amendment fails, the President has promised to turn over his votes to his alternate, Juan Maria Bordaberry, 43, his Minister of Agriculture.
Whoever wins the election will face an uphill battle to turn the nation's sluggish economy around. In the mid-1950s, world demands for Uruguay's two major exports, wool and beef, fell off sharply. Since then, inflation has soared 9,000%. Between 1956 and 1968, the country's gross national product fell 15%. Its social welfare programs, once a model for the world (by 1915, Uruguay had instituted the eight-hour day, free medical service and compulsory education), have bogged down in a lumbering bureaucracy. A quarter of Uruguay's 1,000,000-member work force is employed by the government, and another 400,000 are on pensions. Though the standard of living is still comparatively high for Latin America, Uruguayans are experiencing the disillusionment that comes from having known better times.
One result of their frustration has been a growing political polarization. Two weeks ago, Seregni narrowly escaped serious injury when an assassin lunged at him with a knife at a campaign rally. On the same day, a twelve-year-old boy was shot and killed in a campaign fracas. At a pro-Pacheco rally, someone tossed a live but harmless green snake at the speaker, who pitched it back onto the heads of his listeners. Such political turmoil was once almost unknown in the little land that was frequently called the "Switzerland of South America" and was noted for its hospitality to political refugees.