He had his mother flogged when she was seventy years old, hundreds of his officers were killed at his command, he led his country into a war which, by some estimates, killed 60% of its population - such is the legacy of Paraguay’s great hero.
The back-story, then. Francisco Solano López was born in 1827, spent his twenties in Europe, bummed around Paris for a while, then got himself involved with an Irish courtesan. Once all that travel was out of his system, he came home to rule his country, like you might come home from your gap year to grudgingly start uni. Within two years, his country was embroiled in what would become, proportional to population size, the most deadly conflict in history. His fate was sealed: to be remembered as a decadent and foolish strongman.
But! Mother troubles aside, there are plenty who claim López as a national hero, and it’s not as silly as it sounds. It’s easy to paint the man as a narcissist: he had his tailors fix him a copy of Napoleon’s military kit, and make no mistake, if he’d had Instagram, we’d see him posing in the bathroom mirror. A coward, though: he wasn’t that. His last words, spoken to Brazilian military commanders at the climax of the war, now serve as a rallying cry for Paraguayan nationalism. ‘¡Muero por mi patria!’ speaks of a man who, for all those who would accuse him of inconstancy, held to ideas of the fatherland: refusing surrender, even if too weak to walk.
That said, taking on the combined strength of Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay seems - ahem - headstrong. But the Paraguayan War is more complicated than the team-sheet makes it look. Beginning in 1864, it had the potential to remain a cup-tie between Uruguayan factions, before spiralling into a conflict that spanned the Plata basin. Initially, it seemed that López could count on Argentinean support, and early bullishness towards Uruguay maybe isn’t as stupid as it looks.
And so the Paraguayan holiday ‘Día de los héroes’ marks not only the end of the War, but the death of Francisco Solano López. Second only to ‘Día de la Independencia’ in its importance, it is by no means a recrimination. On 1st March, beatings and disappearances are sidelined, and while López is remembered as a flawed character, he keeps his hero’s laurel. ‘¡Muero por mi patria!’, as well as the romanticism that goes with, ensures the continued popularity of López, even in the countries he fought against - most notably Argentina, who in 2009, named a battalion in his honour. Not so clear-cut, after all. Even if he did flog his mum.
