As you may have heard. I went to Mejico for some much needed R&R from all the hard ass shit I have to deal with in my life like….making sure I don’t run out of clean shams and underwear….??? I take it back. My life is not hard at all. My life is so devoid of unnecessary responsibility, and I take great pains to make sure it stays that way. For now. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.
As I type the news/po’lice helicopters are circling above the Jortz HQ in the San Francisco’s most hip Mission District, swirlin around looking for mass brawls and break-out vandalism on the streets since our dear red and gold, the Niners just lost the SuperBowl via some punkass move by the Ravens. Now I’m not really a football (american) fan but I know when someone is pulling a nasty trick to preserve the win. Kind of like sandbagging in my opinion. Please don’t comment or debate on the merits of this assessment, I really don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about when it comes to the ole pigskin.
Anyways, it sounds like a warzone outside. But you know what’s weirder, being in an actual warzone. Called Mexico, where the ‘war on drugs’ is in full operation. Where a group of four cyclotourists are riding through Michoacan on the highway and a convoy full of armed military men with fingers on semi-automatic triggers pass us in the opposite direction and both our groups rubberneck the hell out of each other, mouths agape in disbelief. “What the FUCK was that?!” A billboard read “It’s for your safety, Michoacan.” With a militaryman in full costume staring blankly and meanly out of the peeling-off paper. Another billboard had mugshots of wanted men, with rewards and stats, reading “peligroso…” Not all faces were visible though, as some were charred black by a fire that didn’t want everyone to know whose face was who.
Now, I shouldn’t exaggerate. Not all of Mexico is occupied by the federales, but Michoacan and Jalisco sure as hell are. Guanajuato to a lesser extent.
Chapala Seguridad, making sure you’re safe and sound.
Now don’t get me wrong. Drogas and the people who control them are no joke. Mexico takes this shit way serious as the things that go on in here also affect neighboring countries and continents. I wondered as I bought my plane ticket to Guadalajara what if any aspect of Mexico’s war on drugs would we see. I wondered if we’d be safe. If someone was gonna steal our shit. Or maybe kidnap us and drop us in a well somewhere. All things that were reported on right as we came back–but it was for naught that I pondered. We enjoyed complete safety and hospitality from Mexico.
Though we did pretty much tour through some crazy sureno club houses. Think huge ass compounds on top of hills, in the middle of nowhere with gang signs and names scrawled on massive metal gates. But then I thought back to the Mission, living in the neighborhood and seeing/hearing/reading about the gang violence that happens on the daily, weekly, monthly. I thought that these gangsters maybe had it a little bit better, livin in compounds on hilltops next to large freshwater lakes with chayote farms and pueblitos lining the road, sometimes pavement, sometimes cobblestones, sometimes dirt.
I also understood that the things I see and hear on the daily, is so huge, so far reaching, so beyond my comprehension–that I stopped trying to judge it, understand it or critique it. It just was. And I bore witness to it…
to be continued.