On the occasion of Plinio Mendoza’s death, many tributes have been made to him. In all of them, something is remembered that young Colombians did not know: that he was the first director of Semana. Since you were the founder of the magazine, tell me why you chose him, how your relationship was, and what memories you have…
All my life I was a magazine person, and at the end of 1981, I wanted to found an opinion magazine. I was looking for a director and in Cromos there were some articles I loved, signed by Juan Cáceres. I wanted the publication to have a style like Juan Lozano y Lozano, the grandfather of our friend, who was the political writer I admired the most. Juan Cáceres seemed equally brilliant to me, and I called Cromos to meet him. It turned out he did not exist, as it was the pseudonym used by Plinio, who, as a diplomat in Paris, could not sign with his name.
That fact was not known. Fantastic. So, you discovered Plinio through a pseudonym of someone very talented… Did you know each other? How did you get him to accept leaving a diplomatic life in France for a quixotic adventure, in which few believed at the time?
I had met him in Paris under unusual circumstances. He was very well connected in intellectual and bohemian circles, and someone took me to his apartment one night when, to my great surprise, Georges Moustaki was singing. When I called him to offer him the position at Semana, I reminded him of that anecdote. It was not easy to convince him, and at first, he was very skeptical. But I insisted, and he finally accepted.
It must not have been easy, since your father, Alfonso López Michelsen, was a presidential candidate at the time and, therefore, the magazine was expected to be political and pro-López.
That was the main problem. At that time, except for Cromos, all magazines were political. Carlos Lleras had Nueva Frontera; the Pastranas, Guion; Turbay, Consigna. I was never interested in politics, and a pro-López magazine would be born dead. That is why a journalist of Plinio’s caliber was needed to neutralize prejudices. His prestige gave credibility to Semana.
That was a prejudice that indeed existed… I was always struck that Plinio managed to be neutral amid the heat of a presidential campaign and that you never appeared. It must not have been easy for him to accept being the director of a magazine of the candidate’s son.
Plinio was recognized during his life as a great writer and diplomat, but his true essence was always journalism. He always spoke of his glory days working shoulder to shoulder with García Márquez at Prensa Latina, the agency Fidel Castro had founded to defend the Cuban Revolution. Also, he had been an important leftist journalist in Colombia, Venezuela, and even France. But since he had never been a director, that challenge finally convinced him.
Plinio was recognized during his life as a great writer and diplomat, but his true essence was always journalism
Look at the twists life takes. When Semana started, you invited me to be part of the founding team. Plinio, already in charge, asked me as a kind of entry test to interview Rodrigo Lara senior. Plinio told me he did not like the interview and did not accept me at Semana. But I was always convinced he vetoed me supposedly for being goda, since I worked at El Siglo with Álvaro Gómez. Over the years, he became one of the most respected ideologists of the Latin American right… He was what was called a converted mamerto, just like Vargas Llosa. Fortunately, despite the veto for being alvarista, you later hired me at the magazine, and although Plinio and I did not get to work together, we ended up becoming very good friends with his talented wife, the painter Patricia Tavera.
Since you mentioned Álvaro Gómez, I will tell you a forgotten fact. At the same time Semana was born, he founded the magazine Al Día with Alberto Casas and Elvira Mendoza, Plinio’s sister, as director. It was a face-off between two Mendozas who were sacred cows of journalism.
I remember that rivalry. But since I was not there in those early days of Semana, tell me how it was… What I do remember is that when I joined, we worked hard and with our nails.
When Alternativa closed, I bought old desks and second-hand typewriters from Enrique Santos. Since there was no money, the first improvised office was part of a brothel that had gone bankrupt at 40th with 8th, which cost practically nothing.
I believe you because you interviewed me there to join Semana. I remember sitting at a desk missing a leg…
I know that sounds unbelievable, but I have María Elvira Samper as the only surviving witness of that novelistic episode of Semana with the improvised office in that brothel.
How things change. When I joined Semana, a group made things a bit difficult for me, as they also considered me goda, including María Elvira herself. But over time we became very good friends, and years later we created QAP, a newscast that became the highest-rated in Colombia for many years.
María Elvira was practically the co-founder with Plinio. She had studied Philosophy and had zero experience in written journalism. She was looking for work as a reporter, but he saw great potential in her and appointed her editor-in-chief against her will. It was the first appointment of the new Semana. Plinio, she, and I worked for about two months in that terrifying place while organizing new offices on 13th street, where 12 people could fit, which was the team we started with.
What discussions did you have about the type of magazine you were going to create? Who decided? You or Plinio? Who made up that first founding team?
Plinio, who came from Paris, was inspired by the magazine Le Point. I had grown up reading Time, and that was my model. Since both were opinion magazines, we took elements from each to design Semana. He brought a layout artist from Paris named Ponto and hired two veteran journalists older than him, Hernando Valencia Goelkel and Eddy Torres, the son of leftist leader María Cano. He added about seven newcomers under 30 to that.
But the veterans didn’t last long. When I joined Semana, they were no longer there.
Plinio concluded that a new medium, to succeed, had to promote a generational shift. That is why he focused on forming what he called his ‘kindergarten.’ That roster was mainly made up, besides María Elvira Samper, of María Elvira Bonilla, José Fernando López, Eduardo Arias, Eduardo McKenzie, Carlos Mauricio Vega, and Ana Mercedes Vives.
What was the day-to-day experience of working with Plinio like?
Enriching and frustrating. The first because he was the best journalism teacher that ‘kindergarten’ could have in Colombia. He taught everything: syntax, punctuation, how to shorten articles, how to title, etc. He brought a word from France that still, 45 years later, remains in the Semana newsroom: chapeau, which is the phrase that goes after the title. Everyone from that group remembers that teacher as the one who trained them.
So, what was the frustration?
That as a very strict teacher, he almost always failed them. And he was also furious and grumpy. He lost control over any small mistake and would pat or break a pencil before crumpling a rejected article into a ball and angrily throwing it in the trash. Imagine what those beginner sardines felt at that moment. But they learned, as many of them became stars in other media years later.
I was part of the second group. I remember that with María Elvira, Mauricio Vargas, and Laura Restrepo, we worked on Fridays until 3 or 4 in the morning (I was expecting my first baby at the time) and finished early Saturday to update with the latest news. There were no computers, no internet, much less artificial intelligence. We typed on electric typewriters that had a persistent leak from the ceiling of the then Semana office; today they would be museum pieces. Since Google did not exist, we had to rely on memory or call someone to get a fact.
You, who have closely witnessed Semana’s evolution over the last 45 years, should write a book about your experiences. Since you joined the magazine at 26, you have closely known all the stages, from Plinio to Vicky.
You should write that book. By the way, throughout this interview, you have spoken as if you were only the former owner of Semana. In reality, Plinio lasted less than a year at the magazine, and you were in charge of the journalistic content from when he left until the day you sold it. With you, we collectively wrote all the cover articles, but your name never appeared.
It’s just that I have never felt like the protagonist, but an observer. When you have a last name like mine, you become the symbol of what Abelardo today calls “the usual ones.” That is a liability not only in politics but also in journalism. But I believe that the unsigned journalism implemented in the magazine eliminated that problem, as in these 45 years no one has considered Semana a pro-López medium.
It’s just that I have never felt like the protagonist, but an observer. When you have a last name like mine, you become the symbol of what Abelardo today calls “the usual ones.” That is a liability not only in politics but also in journalism
You are right. Everyone who worked at Semana felt we were in an independent medium. It must not have been easy for you, since your father was an active former president until he died.
About what a political inheritance is, I will tell you an unknown anecdote. When I wanted to found Semana, I had no money and went to Jaime Michelsen, who was president of the Grancolombiano Group, to ask if he would lend me ten million pesos and if he wanted to be a 50 percent partner in the magazine. He kindly told me that project had no chance, as we would be uniting the two most controversial symbols in the country: the eagle, which was him, and the dolphin, which was me. At that time, the eagle was the emblem of the Grancolombiano Group and the most well-known advertising symbol in the country.
What is better: active journalism, staying up all night and dawn seven days a week, or voluntary retirement alongside your family and friends who love you so much?
I had been told that retiring was a very difficult process that required adjustment time. That did not happen to me. I was very happy staying up late at Semana, and now I am just as happy not having to do it. I continue to keep myself informed as before, but without the responsibility of opining, which could be overwhelming, as you experience every week.
María Isabel Rueda
Special for EL TIEMPO
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