A Way of Life
Abstraction today is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the map, nor survives it. Henceforth, it is the map that precedes the territory - precession of simulacra - it is the map that engenders the territory and if we were to revive the fable today, it would be the territory whose shreds are slowly rotting across the map. It is the real, and not the map, whose vestiges subsist here and there, in the deserts which are no longer those of the Empire, but our own. The desert of the real itself.
Jean Baudrillard, Selected Writings
I was talking to someone recently about how I felt the Mexican environment had become aside from violent, somewhat broken. A strong word that is, broken. But how can you not think about it when all signs seem to point at the fact, we are no longer able to grasp the dimension of impunity we are surrounded with.
We have all gone through some parts of a town that might have a certain foul smell. If you get to stay a few minutes around the same zone, you no longer have the perception of that putrid aroma. Well... I sometimes think, Mexico hasn't noticed that the smell comes from all the corpses that have been buried underneath.
My mother was driving towards her house, late last night after a funeral. The "Alcoholímetro" or Alcoholimeter (a set of random prevention check-points where alcohol is measured by Mexican authorities) signalled her to come forward at the same time they did for another vehicle. The result was a collision of both cars by the side of the operative. Nothing major, both of them were just signalled to pass so, the speed must have been minimum.
My mother called her insurance company and after 10 minutes, around 10 cops came by both, her car and the cab driver who was on the other unit. One of them knocked on her window and informed her, the situation she was in had just gotten worse. "What do you mean? The insurance company is coming..." my mother asked. Well, since the car you hit (signalled the cab), managed to hurt one of our officers, you will have to be taken to the public PM.
The cab driver who was on the street looked at my mom and asked the officer: "My car you mean? What officer did I hit? I never hit anyone... What are you talking about?"
The officer kept talking... "We took him to the hospital right away, we still don't know how bad he was hurt, so we needed to send him off as fast as we could. In any case, I will need both of you to come with us..."
The insurance guy had already arrived at the scene and told my mom they would call their lawyer to help her out. At 1 a.m. I got into her car as they let her pick me up on the way to the public prosecutor's ministry and she set me up to date on her "case". First thing I asked was, "where's the alleged hurt policeman?" "Oh", she said casually, "they took him to the hospital". "Wait", I said, "just let me get something straight... You never saw this policeman? Never? And, even worse, the cab driver either? How could he not see someone he just hit?"
"Nope", she replied, "but don't worry, the lawyer of the insurance company will take care of this." I thought about it for some minutes. I managed to utter a not very convincing "Oh-keyy..."
My mother's car got locked by a police car in front of her, the cab driver on the back and another police car on the cab's back. While I waited, I kept looking at the new, shiny patrols the Mexican government had just bought for our police forces.
"You will have to wait here until we get information regarding the seriousness of our injured fellow officer..." Insurance guy agreed, "no worries, our lawyer is on the way, she'll be here in no time at all..."
Two-thirty a.m., the insurance lawyer arrived but still no notice of the injured policeman. Temperature started to drop down. My mother started to show signs of exhaustion after a long, emotional day of loss. She dozed of a little while I kept looking at the back of the glossy, dark blue patrol.
Three-thirty and my mouth began to show signs of volcanic eruption as the insurance lawyer came by to inform that we were still waiting on the officer's health status. "You mean, the allegedly injured policeman, correct?" I said angrily. The officer behind her, stared coldly at me. "Well, there is a policeman at the hospital..." the lawyer said. "Yes I know, at the hospital the public ministry works with, you mean..." The insurance lawyer was not comfortable with my line of questioning. I charged back again, "what you mean is, we have to stay here until this allegedly hurt officer, who could have, for all I care, fell this morning because he didn't tie his shoelaces and who's now dozing off at the hospital, to wake up and wait for him to come here, so we could get to know his "real" status? Or is this just a game where we get tired and then pay-off the whole situation to make it go away?"
"Well all we know is, there is an officer that "seems" to be not badly injured but if he is so, your mother will get to spend at least 48 hours inside the PM on an open area until this case gets solved..."
I grinned and said, "Ohhh, ok, thank you". The lawyer went away and we closed the window. I looked at my mother. "Not in my lifetime," I said. "You will not sit in there, ever." We started to work on a plan of action. Credit cards, lawyer numbers, who did we know? At 5 a.m. my mother was napping inside the coldness of her car. I was so angry I couldn't sleep. The little lights of the patrol seemed so insulting as they shone amidst the breaking dawn. Why were we sitting there? Why was my mother, a honest and decent 69 year-old woman being wronged this way? She had followed the instructions of an officer who had produced the collision with another car. She acted as a normal person in any other country would have acted: called her insurance, waited happily for things to be settled out. When urged to face the possible responsibility of an act she could have produced, she diligent, polite and confidently followed orders of the officers.
What "seems" to be a normal legal procedure in any country, I thought, can very easily, become a mouse trap in Mexico. How was Mireles taken to jail? How were the people in Tlatlaya shot? Everything in these acts, start when we agree to be a part of a simulacra machinery. A machinery we keep expecting will work, will move like a Swiss watch, will balance in our favour, towards justice, towards the people the police is supposed to protect?
Finally, the "hurt" policeman appeared around 6:30 a.m. with a bandage and a brand new splint on his foot. One officer said it was not bad, that he had been given 5 days of rest while other said 14. The insurance lawyer handled everything. Around 8 a.m. we left the public ministry. And here's the summary: they wanted 2.000 pesos for the ordeal (they fabricated), an amount the insurance company paid them.
Ok. So the immediate problem was "solved" for a type-2 diabetes woman that needed rest, pills and food but what does this little action on the Mexican police force denotes? To me it signals a rupture. Small independent units of simulacra working within a city, a whole desert of the real where human imagination is used in perverse ways. Should I shudder? Cry? Keep silent? Become the target of a bored cop that gave me a cold look?
The worst part I believe, is acting our part in the simulacra under the delusion that if we play our part well, we will be spared, thrown roses and handed Oscars for our convincing roles. Even worse, that we will get some kind of mercy if we behave as we should, pay what they require, smile while we get abused as expected. But... students are missing or probably not coming back home anymore; our mothers, friends, sons are found dead, reported as lost, becoming silent casualties. Maybe if we behaved as a solidary, educated and organized society we could be able to create a larger fantasy than the one we're living in. A massive trojan strategy that could be able to beat the impunity from within, maybe even safeguard the power from itself?
We have all gone through some parts of a town that might have a certain foul smell. If you get to stay a few minutes around the same zone, you no longer have the perception of that putrid aroma. Well... I sometimes think, Mexico hasn't noticed that the smell comes from all the corpses that have been buried underneath.
My mother was driving towards her house, late last night after a funeral. The "Alcoholímetro" or Alcoholimeter (a set of random prevention check-points where alcohol is measured by Mexican authorities) signalled her to come forward at the same time they did for another vehicle. The result was a collision of both cars by the side of the operative. Nothing major, both of them were just signalled to pass so, the speed must have been minimum.
My mother called her insurance company and after 10 minutes, around 10 cops came by both, her car and the cab driver who was on the other unit. One of them knocked on her window and informed her, the situation she was in had just gotten worse. "What do you mean? The insurance company is coming..." my mother asked. Well, since the car you hit (signalled the cab), managed to hurt one of our officers, you will have to be taken to the public PM.
The cab driver who was on the street looked at my mom and asked the officer: "My car you mean? What officer did I hit? I never hit anyone... What are you talking about?"
The officer kept talking... "We took him to the hospital right away, we still don't know how bad he was hurt, so we needed to send him off as fast as we could. In any case, I will need both of you to come with us..."
The insurance guy had already arrived at the scene and told my mom they would call their lawyer to help her out. At 1 a.m. I got into her car as they let her pick me up on the way to the public prosecutor's ministry and she set me up to date on her "case". First thing I asked was, "where's the alleged hurt policeman?" "Oh", she said casually, "they took him to the hospital". "Wait", I said, "just let me get something straight... You never saw this policeman? Never? And, even worse, the cab driver either? How could he not see someone he just hit?"
"Nope", she replied, "but don't worry, the lawyer of the insurance company will take care of this." I thought about it for some minutes. I managed to utter a not very convincing "Oh-keyy..."
My mother's car got locked by a police car in front of her, the cab driver on the back and another police car on the cab's back. While I waited, I kept looking at the new, shiny patrols the Mexican government had just bought for our police forces.
"You will have to wait here until we get information regarding the seriousness of our injured fellow officer..." Insurance guy agreed, "no worries, our lawyer is on the way, she'll be here in no time at all..."
Two-thirty a.m., the insurance lawyer arrived but still no notice of the injured policeman. Temperature started to drop down. My mother started to show signs of exhaustion after a long, emotional day of loss. She dozed of a little while I kept looking at the back of the glossy, dark blue patrol.
Three-thirty and my mouth began to show signs of volcanic eruption as the insurance lawyer came by to inform that we were still waiting on the officer's health status. "You mean, the allegedly injured policeman, correct?" I said angrily. The officer behind her, stared coldly at me. "Well, there is a policeman at the hospital..." the lawyer said. "Yes I know, at the hospital the public ministry works with, you mean..." The insurance lawyer was not comfortable with my line of questioning. I charged back again, "what you mean is, we have to stay here until this allegedly hurt officer, who could have, for all I care, fell this morning because he didn't tie his shoelaces and who's now dozing off at the hospital, to wake up and wait for him to come here, so we could get to know his "real" status? Or is this just a game where we get tired and then pay-off the whole situation to make it go away?"
"Well all we know is, there is an officer that "seems" to be not badly injured but if he is so, your mother will get to spend at least 48 hours inside the PM on an open area until this case gets solved..."
I grinned and said, "Ohhh, ok, thank you". The lawyer went away and we closed the window. I looked at my mother. "Not in my lifetime," I said. "You will not sit in there, ever." We started to work on a plan of action. Credit cards, lawyer numbers, who did we know? At 5 a.m. my mother was napping inside the coldness of her car. I was so angry I couldn't sleep. The little lights of the patrol seemed so insulting as they shone amidst the breaking dawn. Why were we sitting there? Why was my mother, a honest and decent 69 year-old woman being wronged this way? She had followed the instructions of an officer who had produced the collision with another car. She acted as a normal person in any other country would have acted: called her insurance, waited happily for things to be settled out. When urged to face the possible responsibility of an act she could have produced, she diligent, polite and confidently followed orders of the officers.
What "seems" to be a normal legal procedure in any country, I thought, can very easily, become a mouse trap in Mexico. How was Mireles taken to jail? How were the people in Tlatlaya shot? Everything in these acts, start when we agree to be a part of a simulacra machinery. A machinery we keep expecting will work, will move like a Swiss watch, will balance in our favour, towards justice, towards the people the police is supposed to protect?
Finally, the "hurt" policeman appeared around 6:30 a.m. with a bandage and a brand new splint on his foot. One officer said it was not bad, that he had been given 5 days of rest while other said 14. The insurance lawyer handled everything. Around 8 a.m. we left the public ministry. And here's the summary: they wanted 2.000 pesos for the ordeal (they fabricated), an amount the insurance company paid them.
Ok. So the immediate problem was "solved" for a type-2 diabetes woman that needed rest, pills and food but what does this little action on the Mexican police force denotes? To me it signals a rupture. Small independent units of simulacra working within a city, a whole desert of the real where human imagination is used in perverse ways. Should I shudder? Cry? Keep silent? Become the target of a bored cop that gave me a cold look?
The worst part I believe, is acting our part in the simulacra under the delusion that if we play our part well, we will be spared, thrown roses and handed Oscars for our convincing roles. Even worse, that we will get some kind of mercy if we behave as we should, pay what they require, smile while we get abused as expected. But... students are missing or probably not coming back home anymore; our mothers, friends, sons are found dead, reported as lost, becoming silent casualties. Maybe if we behaved as a solidary, educated and organized society we could be able to create a larger fantasy than the one we're living in. A massive trojan strategy that could be able to beat the impunity from within, maybe even safeguard the power from itself?
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