| Pages:
1
2
3 |
Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
Member Is Offline
|
|
Baja Law
Baja Law for Beginners
I’m an American citizen living legally in Mexico. You need to know that so I can set the stage for a little primer on the profound differences in
The Law of The Land in the U.S. and Mexico.
I’ll assume you all know the U.S. system so I’ll just explain what I’ve observed way down here in Old Mexico.
One
Traffic
At the end of the peninsula known as Baja California is the well known tourist resort of Cabo San Lucas. My wife and I took my 1996 Ford pickup
there on vacation and we had an accident. I was in line waiting for the stop light to change. There was only one small car in front of me. Just as
the signal light turned green, as all the cars in both lanes began to move forward, two small children broke free from their mother’s position on the
curb, ran in front of the cars. The breathtaking sequence of events that could have maimed or killed the children took less than two seconds. The
little red car in front of me jammed on its breaks, screeched to a sickening stop just a few feet from the two kids – almost simultaneously I hit my
breaks, skidded forward, smacked the rear fender of the small car causing it to lurch forward stopping mere inches from the youngsters. Close call.
Close call for everyone.
For a few seconds time stood still. The mother snatched up the crying children and hustled them across the busy street – the family was shaken and
embarrassed but unharmed. The mother threw a scowl at the line of cars as though they had some fault in the matter. Before my wife Jill and I had a
chance to recover, the driver of the little red car I had hit got out of the vehicle, came to my door to complain. He looked shaken and angry. Out
of nowhere two police officers appeared, directed traffic around us, took our driver’s licenses and ordered both of us to follow their vehicle to the
police station.
At the station I barely had time to grab my papers from the glove box before I was hustled into the small office. The driver of the red car was
joined by his passenger, his wife, and four small children all in a state of stress.
The station was more like a nursery or day care center than a police precinct. The two plastic chairs were being overused by two women and four small
children. All the kids were crying and fidgeting while the mothers fanned themselves with pieces of discarded wanted notices that littered the floor
near the chairs. The heat was unbearable – the only fan in the place was on a desk at the back of the large concrete room. One of the officers asked
if I spoke Spanish and when I said “no” another cop took off to find an interpreter and we were all made to wait. Before too long a smiling, chubby
little Mexican woman joined us.
In perfect English she said “Señor, my name is Maria Sanchez. I will speak for you. My fee is 100 pesos.”
After I paid her she explained that a repair vendor was on the way to the station, that he would appraise the damage to the cars and, after speaking
to the cops, she said I would have to pay for the damage to the other vehicle. Somewhere in the back I could hear a typewriter clacking away – my
report and traffic ticket were obviously being processed. The damage was minor, nobody was hurt so I fought off my anger at the thought of the woman
with the reckless kids sitting in the cool comfort of an air-conditioned room somewhere scott free, guilt free and oblivious to our plight.
The body shop guy was thin with a little waxed moustache. He was all business. Clipboard in hand he had both estimates ready in no time. My heart
took a leap when I saw the figures but it settled back to its steady beat when I realized the amounts were in pesos and the peso that particular day
was about 11 pesos to one dollar.
The interpreter lady told me I must pay 2,025 pesos for damage to the other man’s car and another 240 pesos for the infraction. A little under $225
U.S. I handed her my Mexican Auto Insurance policy and asked her to tell the police the insurance company would handle it.
She said “Señor, you must pay the repair man and the police now. The insurance is for later. Perhaps you can get the money back from them. This is
the procedure in Mexico. Believe me, I have handled hundreds of these accidents for tourists like you and the police will not allow you to leave
unless you pay the repairs and the multa, the fine.”
As much as I wanted to complain I wanted more to get out of that sweatbox -- Jill looked like she was going to collapse. I paid the repair bill for
the other car and the fine and we were back in realityland – the air-conditioned comfort of a dinged up truck, finally on the way to our hotel.
After a shower, a swim and two big Margaritas by the pool I was feeling a little less victimized. I felt even better about it after I mentioned it
to the bartender at the little bar by our cabana. He said they are even rougher on the local Mexicans.
He said “it could have been the other way around and without the police you would never get money for your repairs.”
Most poor Mexicans, like the little guy in the red car, probably don’t have insurance or enough money to cover an accident like that. The bartender
is right – it makes perfect sense -- make the wrongdoer pay up or stay in jail. No insurance red tape or mumbo jumbo, no excuses – pay up or stay in
the steaming sweatbox of a jail.
Justice; pure, swift and sweaty.
Two
Guard Dog
The Mexican family at the end of my little dirt street got a new puppy. Sam, my home-grown Mexican field Spaniel spent most of his days playing,
roughhousing with his new pal, a black lab mongrel mix. Negro was soon twice Sam’s size and weight and when the play got too rough the friendship
ended. Sam stayed near the house and avoided that corner. The family who owned the dog was all women and children. I never saw a man anywhere near
the house and when the family unit walked up the hill past my little house on their way to the store the dog walked with them. When they reached our
house Negro would often attack Sam --- the mother and her daughters did nothing to break up the fights. It was clearly no contest and over time I
feared for Sam’s life. We couldn’t keep him in the house all day and our fence would not hold dogs in or out.
Things came to a critical mass one sweltering afternoon when Negro attacked Sam as the little dog was sleeping in the dirt outside our make-shift
gate. The lab had our smaller dog by the throat and was shaking him like a rag doll. I bolted through the gate screaming and shouting at the lab,
kicking it with my bare feet, oblivious to any personal danger. In the midst of the melee one of the daughters grabbed my arm from behind, tried to
pull me away, cried out “no pega, no pega”, don’t kick, don’t kick. Sam was screaming in pain with blood running from puncture wounds. My instincts
kicked in and I pulled loose from the girl’s grasp – she was thrown off balance from the move and fell hard in the dirt. Only then did the mother and
daughter move in to capture their dog and end the fight. They went on their way cursing me and gesticulating. I took Sam in the house and began to
clean his wounds, check his condition. He had a skin-deep gash in his stomach, a big tear in his ear and a bloody paw. We would make the decision to
see the vet in San Jose over the next few days while we helped the little guy try to mend on his own.
Two days after the dog fight the police showed up at my gate, gave we a warrant to appear before the judge the following day in Santiago. The local
court was nothing more than a barren little office in the local water company building. The mother and the girls were already there and had taken up
three of the four plastic chairs. This time the interpreter had already been arranged for – a slight man named Sergio shook my hand and said he would
speak for me. When I asked him the price he seemed put off, said he worked for the municipio, that I would pay him nothing.
A couple of old wooden desks were the only other furniture in the place. A clerk sat ready with her ancient typewriter at one of the desks. Now all
that was missing was the judge. The girls whispered incessantly while they glared at me and smiled at the interpreter and chatted with the clerk.
The mother was subdued and tight jawed. By the time the judge showed, we were all sitting in our own foul sweat, edgy and uncomfortable.
The judge, Hernan Acevedo, was short, fat, about 45 years old with khaki pants and a western shirt, cowboy hat. He seemed nervous and kept primping
his thin moustache as he talked in almost a whisper to the clerk and Sergio, the interpreter. He got out of the chair just long enough to find a
switch on the wall, turn on the big overhead fan that none of us had noticed – the fan began to push the stale air around but gave little comfort.
Sergio told all of us to give our names and addresses to the clerk. She typed with lightning speed on the ancient typewriter and within a couple of
minutes we were ready to proceed. The judge asked the woman and the daughters what caused them to make the assault filing with the court. They
remained seated and told the tale – one at a time painting a picture of a berserk gringo kicking and screaming and causing mayhem and great bodily
injury to them and their dog. I got a word here and there but their gestures and body language was enough to let me know I was in trouble.
Finally it was my turn. I stood up and began to speak to the judge. Sergio stepped forward, asked me to take my chair and speak to him. I began my
testimony and every few sentences Sergio would hold up his hand, stop me long enough to repeat my words to the judge in Spanish. Scowls and sighs and
lots of head shaking from the “dog” family.
Sergio asked us to step outside for a few minutes. He went back inside and we could hear the Sergio, the judge and the clerk doing their work. We
were called back in for the verdict.
Sergio explained to the women the judge’s verdict. They were not happy. After voicing their misgivings the judge shook his head. He made it clear
the verdict was set in steel. Then Sergio gave me the bad news. I was to “forever give free passage to any citizen (or animal) on streets adjacent
to my property and refrain from abuse, menace or molestation.” I was to pay the sum of 1,623 pesos to Marina, the girl who fell down, and 500 pesos
to the mother for her aggravation and injury to the dog.
I stood up, began to show my displeasure but Sergio again held up his hand, the judge shook his head and that, my fellow Americans, was that.
We gathered around the clerk who took the money, gave it over to the family, gave us copies of the proceedings including my receipt. I captured
Sergio outside and thanked him. Then I asked him to explain how the judge reached his verdict, set the fine.
“Marina’s last job was as a maid. The judge uses the salary of a maid in Distrito Federal, Mexico City, to set the fine. The salary today is 54.1
pesos per day – he gave her 30 days of salary or 1,623 pesos. The other 500 pesos for the mother was for her aggravation – and also because her
sister’s mother is a cousin of the judge and he didn’t want her spreading bad words about him or the court all over Santiago.”
Justice; simple, quick, calculable.
Three
Ley Privada
Bob Morantz and I got a late start back from Los Cabos. We had spent the day looking for parts for his new (used) boat, motor and trailer. Neither
one of us likes to drive at night – drunks, cows, burros and goats can get ya at night but dusk came and went as we passed Caduaño on the way back to
Los Barriles on Mexico Highway One. About half way between Mira Flores and Santiago we were stopped by police car lights. Four or five police trucks
and cars were pulled off the highway and lots of cops were directing traffic.
Bob said “There’s Pollo, he’s a friend of mine. I’m gonna pull over, find out about the accident. You mind?” I shook my head “no”. We pulled
over.
A short, fat cop started yelling and waving his red flashlight wand for us to keep going, don’t stop. Then he recognized Bob’s pickup, came over
with an open hand, a hello and a big smile. All I heard was Bob asking the man about an accident. Suddenly Bob opened the door, leaned back in and
told me to wait. He and cop walked off into the brush beside the road. I thanked God that Bob had not turned off the engine; the bugs were murder so
I rolled up the windows, turned on the air just as the ambulance roared up with lights flashing Bob and the cop returned. They said their goodbyes
and we went on our way.
“Was it a rollover? In the dark I couldn’t see any cars except all the police cars.”
“No, no accident. A body. A murder. A man from Santiago was murdered and somebody dumped the body here, alongside the road. I’ll tell you what
Pollo told me but you gotta promise to keep it to yourself, not spread it around. It’s kinda touchy.”
I agreed and Bob turned the fan down a little, laid it out.
“Pretty gruesome stuff. Somebody had a problem with the guy, brought him up here, slit his throat. Took his money, if he had any on him, his
clothes, left him to bleed out.”
“Wow, that is gruesome. Do they know who it is? Do they know who did it?”
“They know who it is. They don’t know who did it. I haven’t told you the gruesome part yet. He’s got a great big limb from a tree stickin’ out of
his butt. They shoved that way up there so you know they really must have had it in for this guy. I don’t think this was a simple robbery-murder. I
think it went a lot deeper than that. The guy was a Juez, a judge, in Santiago. Name of Acevedo. Hernan Acevedo.”
I said “I know him, I met him, in court, he was my judge. I’ll tell you all about it later over a few beers. I got in a jackpot over a dog fight
two years ago.”
“Pollo said the cops think there might have been a child involved. The rumor is that the judge liked children, if you know what I mean, and this was
some kind of payback.”
“Man o man. Judge Acevedo. Do you think they’ll find the guys who did it?”
“Nope. Never will.”
Justice; poetic, raw, tribal.
|
|
|
Diver
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 4729
Registered: 11-15-2004
Member Is Offline
|
|
I love it ! Great tales !!
Your writing is wonderful; so pleasing and easy to read.
THANK YOU AGAIN 
.
|
|
|
longlegsinlapaz
Super Nomad
Posts: 1685
Registered: 11-18-2005
Location: La Paz
Member Is Offline
|
|
Sad.....but true! Not to mention well written as always!
|
|
|
vandenberg
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5118
Registered: 6-21-2005
Location: Nopolo
Member Is Offline
Mood: mellow
|
|
Osprey,
In the States they would, maybe, come looking for you. Still, maybe better have an alibi handy
|
|
|
vandenberg
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5118
Registered: 6-21-2005
Location: Nopolo
Member Is Offline
Mood: mellow
|
|
Forgot to mention that you're a fantastic story teller. Would have been in the courts ( royal that is ) in the middelages
|
|
|
Baja Bernie
`Normal` Nomad Correspondent
Posts: 2962
Registered: 8-31-2003
Location: Sunset Beach
Member Is Offline
Mood: Just dancing through life
|
|
George
You can't see nor hear it............ but............... there IS a bow enclosed herein along with a great deal of applause.
My smidgen of a claim to fame is that I have had so many really good friends. By Bernie Swaim December 2007
|
|
|
woody with a view
PITA Nomad
Posts: 15940
Registered: 11-8-2004
Location: Looking at the Coronado Islands
Member Is Offline
Mood: Everchangin'
|
|
Bravo
once again, the first read of the day is usually the best!
|
|
|
Baja Bernie
`Normal` Nomad Correspondent
Posts: 2962
Registered: 8-31-2003
Location: Sunset Beach
Member Is Offline
Mood: Just dancing through life
|
|
Woody
Do you realize how early he must get up to provide that to all of us?
My smidgen of a claim to fame is that I have had so many really good friends. By Bernie Swaim December 2007
|
|
|
Natalie Ann
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 2819
Registered: 8-22-2003
Location: Berkeley
Member Is Offline
|
|
Thank you, amigo... a most enjoyable read.
Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.
.....Oscar Wilde
|
|
|
woody with a view
PITA Nomad
Posts: 15940
Registered: 11-8-2004
Location: Looking at the Coronado Islands
Member Is Offline
Mood: Everchangin'
|
|
no Bernie, i never even considered it! but isn't Osprey a couple of hours early down there anyway?
|
|
|
bajaandy
Senior Nomad
Posts: 769
Registered: 2-7-2004
Location: North County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Adventurous
|
|
Ahhhhh Baja.
You've a wonderful way with words Osprey. Thanks for sharing. There is no getting around it, the "law of the land" in Baja is not what we gringos in
the states are used to!
subvert the dominant paradigm
"If you travel with a man, you must either fall out with him or make him your good friend."
JBL Noel
|
|
|
Cypress
Elite Nomad
Posts: 7641
Registered: 3-12-2006
Location: on the bayou
Member Is Offline
Mood: undecided
|
|
Osprey, If you haven't written a book, you ought to. Enjoy your
stories. Thanks for taking the time to share 'em with us.
|
|
|
Bruce R Leech
Elite Nomad
Posts: 6796
Registered: 9-20-2004
Location: Ensenada formerly Mulege
Member Is Offline
Mood: A lot cooler than Mulege
|
|
Osprey you have done it again this time 3 times . the stories are so typical that you no it is not fiction but the way you write it just puts me
there.
thanks
Bruce R Leech
Ensenada
 |
|
|
fdt
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 4059
Registered: 9-7-2003
Location: Tijuana, Baja California
Member Is Offline
Mood: Yeah, what if it all goes right
|
|
Your stories are great
A well informed Baja California traveler is a smart Baja California traveler!
|
|
|
amir
Senior Nomad
Posts: 559
Registered: 5-4-2007
Location: Todos Santos, BCS
Member Is Offline
Mood: chiropractic
|
|
Good stories. Good writing. Osprey's signatures.
|
|
|
David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65303
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Have Baja Fever
|
|
Thank you Osprey... The truth often is stranger than fiction! At least more interesting because one of us (a Baja Nomad) experienced it!!!
|
|
|
Iflyfish
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3747
Registered: 10-17-2006
Member Is Offline
|
|
Man can you write!
I could almost feel my blood boil, and then, some cosmic justice in it all.
It is true that there is magic in Mexico and in your writing too.
Iflyfish
|
|
|
capt. mike
Elite Nomad
Posts: 8085
Registered: 11-26-2002
Location: Bat Cave
Member Is Offline
Mood: Sling time!
|
|
hey - at least you got free translating on the 2nd court deal! what a bar gain!
in USA we have kangaroo courts - i have 2 cases going now.
in mexico what are they - ? Chubracaba?
french frog law system for sure.
formerly Ordained in Rev. Ewing\'s Church by Mail - busted on tax fraud.......
Now joined L. Ron Hoover\'s church of Appliantology
\"Remember there is a big difference between kneeling down and bending over....\"
www.facebook.com/michael.l.goering |
|
|
Cap
Nomad
Posts: 202
Registered: 4-20-2007
Member Is Offline
|
|
I can't help feeling like you got off easy in the first two instances, and the judge got what he deserved, just as obviously. Try rear ending someone
in the states, and having the entire matter resolved so quickly, and inexpensively. Or having an un-leashed animal and yourself involved in an
altercation, and things not get misrepresented in a US court.
I find a lot of foreigners are quick to blame the locals, and use the lack of infrastructure to support their claims of mistreatment. The author's
keen powers of observation displayed in writing the story, might have been put to better use recognizing his glaring lack of judgment in both
instances.
Fly low, land on roads.
|
|
|
Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
Member Is Offline
|
|
Cap, Let me help you rephase that last sentence "The author's keen powers of observation displayed in writing the story might have been put to better
use by recognizing the glaring lack of judgement on the part of the imaginary characters in this fictional work (in both instances).
Wasn't me. No accidents, never been to court. I was trying to show that these kinds of local laws, the system, works well, is balanced, swift and
effective.
|
|
|
| Pages:
1
2
3 |
![[*]](images/xmbforum/default_icon.gif){kind=icon}
