A Test for the Frente

When the outdoor Central Market in downtown Montevideo opened one Sunday earlier this month, two nurses dressed in crisp white uniforms and carrying medical kits arrived with the first shoppers. The nurses installed themselves behind a table and proceeded to take the blood pressure of all shoppers who desired a free test. At the same time, squads of teen-agers fanned out to the beaches and rundown sections of the city and began cleaning up garbage and debris. "This is how the Frente Amplio will govern," proclaimed pamphlets distributed by the young people.

A year ago the Frente Amplio (Broad Front) did not even exist in the Uruguayan political picture. Today there is scarcely anyone in the tiny South American nation (pop. 2,900,000) who has not heard of the new leftist coalition. It has picked up so much popular steam since it was formed last February that some observers go so far as to give it a fair chance of winning next week's presidential elections. The latest Gallup poll, released last week, shows the Broad Front running a close second among Montevideo's voters to the ruling Colorado party and well ahead of the Blancos, the other party of long standing.

Populist Alliance. Should the Broad Front succeed in selecting its candidate, retired General Liber Seregni, 54, that will mark the first time in 136 years that Uruguay's President will have been chosen from neither the Colorados nor the Blancos, whose platforms as conservative Establishment parties are virtually indistinguishable from each other. The Front was formed by dissidents who feared that President Jorge Pacheco Areco's repressive response to workers' demands and to the activities of the youthful urban terrorists, the Tu-pamaros, would lead to civil war. It is composed of half a dozen small parties, including the Christian Democrats, the Communists and the Socialists, as well as renegades from the Colorados and the Blancos.

At first glance, the coalition looks much like the populist alliance of Socialists, Communists and Radicals that brought Chile's President Salvador Allende Gossens to office last year. But while the Broad Front's platform calls for agrarian reforms, nationalization of private banks and foreign trade, and the bolstering of state industry, it covers a much broader political spectrum than the Chilean alliance. Nor is Seregni, a disaffected Colorado, a Marxist like Allende.

The Tupamaros, who have been quiet since the spectacular tunnel escape that freed 106 of their number from prison last September, have given qualified support to the Broad Front, though Seregni has been careful to dissociate himself from their espousal of violence. One of his most popular promises has been to convert into much-needed ambulances the police vans that Montevideans call "chanchitas" (little pigs), and that have become a symbol of Pacheco's abridgement of civil liberties.

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.

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