Lying in Wait

All the survival literature I had read on Mexico, and in particular Mexico City indicated that violent crime was a problem. However, walking around the streets of the Zocola in the early evening, it felt like, as long as I kept my wits about me – no wandering down completely empty and dark side streets – this should not be a problem. I came to this opinion after making a mental note of the myriad of different law enforcement agencies that mingled with each other on most street corners.

In navy blue, there were the Seguridad Police; in royal blue, the Centro Historico Police; looking a bit more menacing in both their stride and green khaki attire, the Military Police; and then at the top of the scale in terms of nastiness, the Riot Police, with tear gas, shields and helmets with visors. Many of these officers were wearing  lengthy fire arms, strapped horizontally across their mid rift and when walking past them along narrow busy footpaths, it really did feel like giving them a wide berth was the best policy.

These police agencies did not exactly strut around the place in platoons, but intermingled quite nonchalantly, getting involved in mundane activities; giving the less nimble people a hand up and down kerbs; helping staff the ticket booths and exits at underground stations; pointing people in the right directions inside museums; a case of helping their municipal colleagues out when they were busy.

However, it was quite easy to delude oneself into thinking that these officers of the law were really quite a sedate bunch. For another perspective, you only needed to walk across the Plaza Mayor and observe the nightly public protests that were conducted between the arches of the City Hall, the Adjuntament.

A different protest was held on each of the five evenings that I wandered over to observe (tonight, as I jot these notes it’s the turn of the Confederación de Trabajadores de México  – Confederation of Mexican Workers; last night it was a campaign for the release of Mexican political prisoners); hundreds of people with banners, stopping passers by to sign petitions, vans with loud speakers addressing the crowd in front of the arches. Freedom of speech might have mushroomed since the last Mexican dictatorship. But, at both ends of the Adjuntament, on horseback and sat in vans, the riot police lay in wait. It was all very good-natured. But of course the riot police would not stand for any real nonsense. I had no doubt that a fair few would have experience of quelling serious dissent ruthlessly and in quite an effective manner, and had served under previous Mexican dictatorships.