Just as spring break commences, with wary but excited residents of the United States descending upon the beaches of Mexico, the Trans-Border Institute at the University of San Diego has released its third annual report on drug violence in the country.
The bottom line: Mexico is more dangerous than ever, at least it was last year, but the carnage is slacking off.
You can read the entire 29-page report here, or you can just mull over these gleanings:
- Since President Felipe Calderon took office on Dec. 1, 2006, some 50,000 killings in Mexico have been linked to his war on organized drug-related crime. At the start of his administration, one drug-related homicide was recorded every four hours. Last year, one drug-related homicide occurred every 30 minutes.
- This past year alone, around 16,000 persons were killed in drug-related showdowns, up 1,650 from 2010. That's an 11 percent increase, but down sharply from a jump of nearly 60 percent the year before.
- About half of all homicides in Mexico last year were tied to drug violence. Two of every five killings occurred in just three states - Chihuahua, Sinaloa and Nuevo Leon.
- On average, some 40 people were killed daily in Mexico this past year, three of whom were tortured, one of whom was decapitated, two of whom were women, and 10 of whom were "young people" (undefined in this section of the report, though the document elsewhere suggests "young people" are between 15 and 29).
- Mexico's overall homicide rate is 18 per 100,000 inhabitants. As the report notes, however, that's not so bad when compared with other Latin American countries, like Honduras (82), Guatemala (41), Brazil (22) and Puerto Rico (26). The homicide rate in the U.S., incidentally, is about 5 per 100,000 residents.
- An estimated 2,000 persons were killed last year in each of just two cities, Ciudad Juarez and Monterrey, compared with 613 in Los Angeles, 441 in Chicago, 318 in Philadelphia, 209 in New York City, and 133 in Dallas.
- Nevertheless, of all the killings in Mexico the proportion in border towns fell from 29.5 percent in 2010 to 17 percent in 2011. The killings in Tijuana, for example, slipped from 349 in 2010 to 166 in 2011.
- Increasingly, women have been the victims of killings related to organized crime, up from 194 in 2008 to 904 in 2011.
- The drug wars are the leading cause of death for "young people," who in this section of the report are defined as persons between 15 and 29. Their death toll has jumped from 366 in 2007 to 3,741 in 2010. They generally are called "ni-nis," for "ni trabajan" and "ni estudian," meaning they neither work nor study.
- Last year, eight reporters were killed n Mexico, at least three of them for reporting on the drug trade. That's down from the 10 journalists killed in Mexico the year before.
The report is long on methodology and statistics, but doesn't shy from analysis and advocacy. The killings clearly stem from government efforts to curtail the drug trade and from conflict among cartels competing to produce and deliver narcotics, the authors conclude. Efforts to show that the rise in drug-related homicides reflect domestic insurgency or narcoterrorism, a view that looks to be gaining currency in the United States, "seriously misdiagnose the problem," say the authors.
Mexico's inept and corrupt criminal-justice system complicates the issue, indicates the report, which more than once calls for more transparency, efficiency and fairness in law enforcement. As a measure of the population's lack of confidence in police, more than 75 percent of all crimes go unreported, the authors say. And of those reported, only "one or two of every 100" results in a sentence.
Though the report urges politicians to consider more seriously alternatives to Mexico's current drug policy, it also notes that little evidence has been accumulated to support decriminalization or legalization of the kinds of drugs involved in the crackdown on trafficking. Nonetheless, the researchers criticize politicians for dragging their feet in discussing frankly liberalized options to current drug laws.
The Trans-Border Institute, based at the Joan B. Kroc School of Peace Studies at the University of San Diego, aims to promote understanding a cooperation between the United States and Mexico. The authors of the report are Cory Molzhan, Viridiana Rios and David A. Shirk.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Fresno Boy Basks In The Mexican Sun
At 8, Frank Arnold discovered his artistic talent.
At 8, he also learned that he was adopted.
Those twin realizations immediately inspired him. Emboldened by the first, stung by the second, he vowed that henceforth he'd be his own person, independent and self-reliant. "I made a deal with myself. I'd take no money from them," he says of his quiet rebellion with his parents.
He sold newspapers. He mowed lawns. He ran a gas station. To pay his way through college, he started a sign business, which he later parlayed into an advertising and marketing agency. On weekends, he painted and sculpted.
Today, Frank Arnold is an established abstract expressionist whose paintings can command five figures. Summers, he lives and works in Fresno in central California's San Joaquin Valley, where he's president of Ashford Advertising. From fall until spring, he's in San Jose del Cabo at the southern reaches of the Baja peninsula. In the heart of San Jose del Cabo's thriving downtown art district he's built a blocky stone-and-concrete 8,000-square-foot compound that houses studio, gallery and residence. It's in the city's old red-light district, just a block from the mission church. He shares it with his wife of five years, Carmen Capshew Arnold, and their feisty bichon, Picasso, which he walks daily through the scraggly arroyo just to the north of the complex.
At 8, Arnold and his family were living at Bakersfield in the southern San Joaquin Valley. One event of the local fair was a flower-arranging contest. He entered it, and his arrangement won a blue ribbon. "I just liked color a lot. I couldn't believe how beautiful colors could be," he recalls.
At around that time he learned rather off-handedly that he'd been adopted. "I was reading a newspaper, and an article had the word 'adoption.' I asked my mother, 'What's adoption mean?' She said that that's what happens when someone can't take care of you. I asked her if I knew anyone who'd been adopted. She said, 'You are.' I thought the way she told me was really rude," Arnold says. "My (adoptive) mother often was sick. She didn't care for me. My father was a truck driver who wasn't home a lot. We were semi-poor, so I was kind of on my own already when I made that deal with myself to be self-sufficient."
Since then, the number "8" has stood for his signature on many of his pieces. "That's me," he says of the number. "It's a loving number for me."
He's never met his biological father, who was in the U.S. Coast Guard when he was conceived. He met his biological mother when he was in his 30s, and they're grown close.
Today, Arnold is a thick and cheery guy. His hair stands upright in a spray of waves that mimic the surf of the nearby Sea of Cortez. His soul patch is the tip of a small paint brush dipped in platinum. He favors glasses tinted blue, unless he's in the mood for the pair whose lenses are gold. He's down to earth, practical and relaxed. His gallery is a popular spot on San Jose del Cabo's Art Walk, each Thursday evening from fall into spring, and not just for the tequilas he pours.
The walls of the gallery are hung with his large canvases, most of which feature a tall, lean and solitary figure, their faces sketchy. They can be ghostly, yet also taut, conveying tension and power. His colors can range from muted to luminous, and at times the oils are applied so thickly that ridges emerge in relief from the flat panels. His paintings have been likened to the figurative works of the late Stanford University abstract expressionist Nathan Oliveira, and in Arnold's takes on guitars and dogs can be sensed the hand of Pablo Picasso, but he says he hasn't drawn inspiration from anyone but himself. "I never paid attention to anyone. I did my own thing," Arnold says.
As abstract as they are, virtually each painting is autobiographical. He refers to them as an entry in a diary, a chapter from his past or present. "They're stories about my life. I daydream while I paint, and go with that. They can be whimsical, painful, ironic," Arnold says. Family members will figure in this or that painting, sometimes via secret codes he etches here and there. He figures he's gone through four periods so far. One dwelled on mother and child. Another sprung from past incidents in his life. Nowadays he's focused on current events. "They're my stories," he says of his paintings, "but other people often bring their own stories to the paintings. The paintings trigger something in their own lives. Women especially break down and start to cry. They've lost something or someone, a love or a spouse."
But Arnold also occasionally indulges an impulse to be playful, allowing his colors to be bolder and brighter, his strokes broader, his figures more accessible. The dog and bird of "Spotty" could be straight out of a children's book, "Chair Fish" is more amusing than unsettling, and "Cabo Bird" - purchased by members of Seattle's Nordstrom family - looks as friendly as something that just flew in from San Jose del Cabo's nearby estuary. "I'm not often in a silly mood," says Arnold when asked why he doesn't show his lighter side more often. "I'm happy, but I don't feel very whimsical very often. And it's hard to pull off the whimsical as serious art."
The more carefree paintings tend to spring from his time in San Jose del Cabo. Paintings completed in Fresno are more structured, he says. "Life in America is more structured, more regimented, tighter," Arnold says. "You can mark every day in America by something stressful that happens to you. Here, the days float away, life disappears faster here; there are no stress points."
Born in Long Beach, Arnold spent his formative years in Visalia and Bakersfield before his family settled in Fresno. He graduated from McLane High School in Fresno in 1969. Five years later he earned an associate of arts degree in art at Fresno City College. He continued to study art at Fresno State College, but dropped out to teach art at night school in nearby Clovis. When he discovered that he both didn't like teaching and wasn't particularly good at it, he went into marketing. On weekends, away from his ad agency, he sculpted and painted "for fun." Before long, his artwork had made him "semi-successful."
About a decade ago, Arnold began to scout Mexico for a spot where he could build a combination gallery, studio and home, the kind of complex for which he doubted he could get a permit in the United States. Also, it had to be someplace where he could work outdoors whenever he wanted, in part to avoid the intake of paint fumes. The prosperous art communities of Mexico City and Puerto Vallarta were tantalizing, but more intimate San Jose del Cabo also was attracting an influx of artists. On top of that, San Jose del Cabo, with its international airport, was easy for him to get to, and the region's growing number of posh retreats, resort hotels and gated communities looked as if it would draw the sort of clientele that could appreciate and afford his paintings and sculptures. He finished the compound four years ago, and as he'd hoped his work now hangs and stands in homes throughout the United States and Canada. He figures that most of his sales in San Jose del Cabo are to collectors visiting from New York City, Chicago, Vancouver, Toronto, Aspen and San Francisco.
He will stay in San Jose del Cabo a little longer than usual this spring, primarily to see what develops when the G20 summit convenes in the town's new conference center in June. The gathering is to draw hundreds of finance ministers, presidents, diplomats and other dignitaries from the world's most prosperous economies. He doesn't know or even care whether he will sell any art during the conclave, but he has a hunch that he will get at least some beneficial exposure.
Aside from that, the compound he's built and the lifestyle he's created have worked out just as he envisioned when he thought of them more as fantasy than realistic goal. "I wanted a studio where I could work and a gallery where I could sell. I wanted a pretty simple life, and I think it has happened. I didn't expect to be a Fresno boy selling paintings to people from New York and Chicago in San Jose del Cabo. I've been blessed."
At 8, he also learned that he was adopted.
Those twin realizations immediately inspired him. Emboldened by the first, stung by the second, he vowed that henceforth he'd be his own person, independent and self-reliant. "I made a deal with myself. I'd take no money from them," he says of his quiet rebellion with his parents.
He sold newspapers. He mowed lawns. He ran a gas station. To pay his way through college, he started a sign business, which he later parlayed into an advertising and marketing agency. On weekends, he painted and sculpted.
 |
| Frank Arnold, framed by ancient wood door from Guadalajara |
At 8, Arnold and his family were living at Bakersfield in the southern San Joaquin Valley. One event of the local fair was a flower-arranging contest. He entered it, and his arrangement won a blue ribbon. "I just liked color a lot. I couldn't believe how beautiful colors could be," he recalls.
At around that time he learned rather off-handedly that he'd been adopted. "I was reading a newspaper, and an article had the word 'adoption.' I asked my mother, 'What's adoption mean?' She said that that's what happens when someone can't take care of you. I asked her if I knew anyone who'd been adopted. She said, 'You are.' I thought the way she told me was really rude," Arnold says. "My (adoptive) mother often was sick. She didn't care for me. My father was a truck driver who wasn't home a lot. We were semi-poor, so I was kind of on my own already when I made that deal with myself to be self-sufficient."
Since then, the number "8" has stood for his signature on many of his pieces. "That's me," he says of the number. "It's a loving number for me."
He's never met his biological father, who was in the U.S. Coast Guard when he was conceived. He met his biological mother when he was in his 30s, and they're grown close.
 |
| Frank Arnold with his painting "The Wiz" |
The walls of the gallery are hung with his large canvases, most of which feature a tall, lean and solitary figure, their faces sketchy. They can be ghostly, yet also taut, conveying tension and power. His colors can range from muted to luminous, and at times the oils are applied so thickly that ridges emerge in relief from the flat panels. His paintings have been likened to the figurative works of the late Stanford University abstract expressionist Nathan Oliveira, and in Arnold's takes on guitars and dogs can be sensed the hand of Pablo Picasso, but he says he hasn't drawn inspiration from anyone but himself. "I never paid attention to anyone. I did my own thing," Arnold says.
As abstract as they are, virtually each painting is autobiographical. He refers to them as an entry in a diary, a chapter from his past or present. "They're stories about my life. I daydream while I paint, and go with that. They can be whimsical, painful, ironic," Arnold says. Family members will figure in this or that painting, sometimes via secret codes he etches here and there. He figures he's gone through four periods so far. One dwelled on mother and child. Another sprung from past incidents in his life. Nowadays he's focused on current events. "They're my stories," he says of his paintings, "but other people often bring their own stories to the paintings. The paintings trigger something in their own lives. Women especially break down and start to cry. They've lost something or someone, a love or a spouse."
 |
| Frank Arnold's "Cabo Bird" |
The more carefree paintings tend to spring from his time in San Jose del Cabo. Paintings completed in Fresno are more structured, he says. "Life in America is more structured, more regimented, tighter," Arnold says. "You can mark every day in America by something stressful that happens to you. Here, the days float away, life disappears faster here; there are no stress points."
Born in Long Beach, Arnold spent his formative years in Visalia and Bakersfield before his family settled in Fresno. He graduated from McLane High School in Fresno in 1969. Five years later he earned an associate of arts degree in art at Fresno City College. He continued to study art at Fresno State College, but dropped out to teach art at night school in nearby Clovis. When he discovered that he both didn't like teaching and wasn't particularly good at it, he went into marketing. On weekends, away from his ad agency, he sculpted and painted "for fun." Before long, his artwork had made him "semi-successful."
 |
| Decanters of tequila await guests at Frank Arnold's gallery |
He will stay in San Jose del Cabo a little longer than usual this spring, primarily to see what develops when the G20 summit convenes in the town's new conference center in June. The gathering is to draw hundreds of finance ministers, presidents, diplomats and other dignitaries from the world's most prosperous economies. He doesn't know or even care whether he will sell any art during the conclave, but he has a hunch that he will get at least some beneficial exposure.
Aside from that, the compound he's built and the lifestyle he's created have worked out just as he envisioned when he thought of them more as fantasy than realistic goal. "I wanted a studio where I could work and a gallery where I could sell. I wanted a pretty simple life, and I think it has happened. I didn't expect to be a Fresno boy selling paintings to people from New York and Chicago in San Jose del Cabo. I've been blessed."
 |
| Frank Arnold's gallery, San Jose del Cabo |
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
A Papal Prayer Could Help
As his term winds down, Mexican President Felipe Calderon is banking on a glorious spring to assure that memories of his administration aren't limited to a brutal drug war. In March, for one, Pope Benedict XVI is to visit the Mexican state of Guanajuato, where rival drug gangs already are trying to outdo each other in calling for a truce during the papal tour.
Then, in June, President Calderon is to chair the next gathering of the G20, the finance ministers and often the presidents of the world's more powerful economies, including the European Union, the United States, South Africa, South Korea, India, Brazil, Russia, Japan and France. The intent of the annual meeting is to discuss and resolve issues jeopardizing the stability of the global economy.
In five steps from the laptop on which I'm typing I can stand on the second-floor landing of our residence in San Jose del Cabo. When I look west I see the bright red top of a massive crane poking above a hill dense with prickly cactus that hasn't yet been cleared for fairways and homes. When I stroll up there, I can look down at a sprawling and dusty site where construction crews appear to be working 24/7. This is the future home of the Los Cabos Convention Center, where the finance ministers and heads of state of the G20 are to meet in four months.
The website that either Mexico or the G20 created to help showcase the gathering claims that "Los Cabos has all of the necessary facilities...to hold this important international event." That's a stretch, given the frantic efforts to create virtually overnight the region's first substantial and secure convention center. Work on the project began just this fall. Will it be ready for the summit? Local residents are speculating about that, with most seeming confident that it will be. (However, today's Los Angeles Times feature, about Mexico City's controversial bicentennial monument, the Pillar of Light, which was unveiled 16 months late, isn't encouraging.) Even if the convention center isn't ready for the summit, locals are excited about what it will mean for the area when it is finished: A place big enough and plush enough to draw even more foreign visitors to the region's golf courses, resorts, pangas and beaches.
Why hold the G20 summit here at all, when Mexico City, among other cities, already has the infrastructure to support such a meeting? Proximity to Los Cabos International Airport no doubt played into the decision. But more significantly, some observers speculate, the Calderon administration wants the conclave in one of the country's more remote and isolated states for two reasons: For one, Baja California Sur generally has been free of bloodshed stemming from the administration's pursuit of drug cartels; secondly, protestors who habitually show up at G20 conclaves aren't as likely to go this far out of their way to demonstrate.
A local English-language newspaper, the biweekly Gringo Gazette, puts the cost of the nearly 60,000-square-foot facility at $91 million in U.S. currency. As I look at the scale of the construction, however, that seems low. At the least, I doubt that that figure includes the cost to build an access bridge over the highway that dignitaries will use en route from and to the airport. That's nearly complete.
Then, in June, President Calderon is to chair the next gathering of the G20, the finance ministers and often the presidents of the world's more powerful economies, including the European Union, the United States, South Africa, South Korea, India, Brazil, Russia, Japan and France. The intent of the annual meeting is to discuss and resolve issues jeopardizing the stability of the global economy.
 |
| Los Cabos Convention Center, three weeks ago... |
The website that either Mexico or the G20 created to help showcase the gathering claims that "Los Cabos has all of the necessary facilities...to hold this important international event." That's a stretch, given the frantic efforts to create virtually overnight the region's first substantial and secure convention center. Work on the project began just this fall. Will it be ready for the summit? Local residents are speculating about that, with most seeming confident that it will be. (However, today's Los Angeles Times feature, about Mexico City's controversial bicentennial monument, the Pillar of Light, which was unveiled 16 months late, isn't encouraging.) Even if the convention center isn't ready for the summit, locals are excited about what it will mean for the area when it is finished: A place big enough and plush enough to draw even more foreign visitors to the region's golf courses, resorts, pangas and beaches.
 |
| ...and yesterday |
A local English-language newspaper, the biweekly Gringo Gazette, puts the cost of the nearly 60,000-square-foot facility at $91 million in U.S. currency. As I look at the scale of the construction, however, that seems low. At the least, I doubt that that figure includes the cost to build an access bridge over the highway that dignitaries will use en route from and to the airport. That's nearly complete.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Surprise: Small Businesses Surviving Walmart
When I last posted here, a Walmart Supermercado just had opened in our neighborhood of San Jose del Cabo. I fretted about the impact that the massive emporium would have on the small grocery stores, panaderias, tortillerias, viveros and other independently owned businesses in the vicinity. That was in April. Then we returned to California and pretty much forgot about San Jose del Cabo.
Now we're back in Los Cabos. I haven't yet strolled about our entire neighborhood in San Jose del Cabo, but I have walked down and about Calle Valerio Gonzalez Canseco, the long street topped by the new Walmart. This much seems clear: Walmart has had little negative impact on businesses along the strip. Quite the contrary. I can't recall ever seeing so much industry along the street. Sure, much of it is traffic drawn by Walmart. And granted, at least one small grocery store is gone, and one cafe looks like it just closed for good. On the other hand, one grocery store is new. A couple of cafes have been added to the street. I saw three boutiques I don't recall from before, two dealing in fashions, one in furniture. A new nursery has opened just off the street. A small panaderia looks to still be flourishing, despite Walmart's close and expansive in-house bakery.
And Papeleria Maya still is open. This long has been our favored outlet for basic office supplies. I suspected it might be one of the early businesses to fold once Walmart unveiled its sprawling departments catering to school and office needs. Why is Papeleria Maya still around? Its proximity to three schools helps, but, again, Walmart isn't far removed from those schools, either. Here could be another reason: When we arrived back in San Jose del Cabo, one of our first needs was for an ink cartridge for the printer. Ordinarily, that would have meant a trip to Papeleria Maya. I had to go to the south edge of town on another matter, however, so I stopped in at OfficeMax to pick up a cartridge. It cost me 269 pesos, about $21 at the current exchange rate. Later, I discovered that Walmart charges the same price. Earlier today, I stopped in at Papeleria Maya to find out about the price of the cartridge; it's 196 pesos, or around $15. I should have stocked up; given the buying and marketing power of Walmart and OfficeMax, who knows how long Papereria Maya can hang in there.
Now we're back in Los Cabos. I haven't yet strolled about our entire neighborhood in San Jose del Cabo, but I have walked down and about Calle Valerio Gonzalez Canseco, the long street topped by the new Walmart. This much seems clear: Walmart has had little negative impact on businesses along the strip. Quite the contrary. I can't recall ever seeing so much industry along the street. Sure, much of it is traffic drawn by Walmart. And granted, at least one small grocery store is gone, and one cafe looks like it just closed for good. On the other hand, one grocery store is new. A couple of cafes have been added to the street. I saw three boutiques I don't recall from before, two dealing in fashions, one in furniture. A new nursery has opened just off the street. A small panaderia looks to still be flourishing, despite Walmart's close and expansive in-house bakery.
And Papeleria Maya still is open. This long has been our favored outlet for basic office supplies. I suspected it might be one of the early businesses to fold once Walmart unveiled its sprawling departments catering to school and office needs. Why is Papeleria Maya still around? Its proximity to three schools helps, but, again, Walmart isn't far removed from those schools, either. Here could be another reason: When we arrived back in San Jose del Cabo, one of our first needs was for an ink cartridge for the printer. Ordinarily, that would have meant a trip to Papeleria Maya. I had to go to the south edge of town on another matter, however, so I stopped in at OfficeMax to pick up a cartridge. It cost me 269 pesos, about $21 at the current exchange rate. Later, I discovered that Walmart charges the same price. Earlier today, I stopped in at Papeleria Maya to find out about the price of the cartridge; it's 196 pesos, or around $15. I should have stocked up; given the buying and marketing power of Walmart and OfficeMax, who knows how long Papereria Maya can hang in there.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Walmart: Fine Wine, If You Can Get To It
In a way, it's gratifying to see a corporation like Walmart tackle this sort of in-fill project right in the middle of town rather than building on the outskirts, thereby again contributing to urban sprawl. The lot that the massive structure now occupies previously was an eyesore, which to judge by the stentch that arose from it had been used in large part as a dump for abandoned pets. Any business on the site would have been an improvement, but the scale of the Walmart is laughable, which it is as long as you don't have to put up with the congestion, either as motorist or pedestrian.
Given the size and popularity of Walmart, why couldn't city authorities see this coming, or did they and just not care? Even without Walmart on that corner, traffic congestion had been intensifying. Calle Valerio Gonzalez Canseco long has been one busy street, thus the six topes that try to slow drivers heading up or down the slope. As construction of the Walmart progressed several new businesses joined the numerous schools, restaurants and cafes already lining the street, providing a glimpse of what was coming. San Jose del Cabo residents are grumbling about the placement of the Walmart and the additional traffic it is drawing, but it's pretty late in the game for any kind of effective opposition to develop.
By the time we return to San Jose del Cabo next fall or winter I suspect that Walmart will have wiped out several of the grocery stores, tortillerias, panaderias, viveros and other small businesses that exist in virtually every neighborhood of the town. On the other hand, a large Office Max on the south edge of town so far hasn't seemed to put out of business any of the papelerias alongside virtually every school in the community, so Walmart's impact might not be as severe as anticipated.
As I strolled about the new Walmart I was struck by the caliber and depth of its wine department. I can't recall a Walmart in the United States stocked so extensively, especially with such prized and pricey releases as the House of Morande 2004 Maipo Valley Bordeaux Blend (about $65 in U.S. currency), the De Martino 2004 Maipo Valley Cabernet Sauvignon ($43), the Adobe Guadalupe 2006 Miguel ($33) and the Baron de Chivel 2001 Reserva Rioja ($137). Clearly, Walmart is taking on the town's few fine-wine shops, which will be another endangered species in the area. Good luck; we'll be hoping they all are surviving when we return to San Jose del Cabo.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
For Our Next Stay, Please Beef Up Your Coverage
An open letter to Fernando Gonzalez Corona (publisher) and Ruben Valdes (editor) of the Los Cabos Daily News:
Since returning to San Jose del Cabo three months ago, we've subscribed to the Daily News, looking forward each morning to its mix of international, financial, lifestyle and sports news, as well as the crossword puzzle.
We're now starting to pack up for our return to Northern California. When we come back to San Jose this fall or winter, I'd like to see some changes in the paper if we are to resume our subscription:
Mostly, I'd like to see more local news. This shouldn't be too difficult. I believe you also publish Spanish-language newspapers with a heavy focus on Baja California Sur generally and Los Cabos specifically. How difficult would it be to translate and include in the Daily News some of those articles? Not difficult at all, I suspect. I believe your ex-pat audience would be more interested in compelling local stories than articles on international events about which they already have been well briefed by CNN and other sources of televised news. By continuing to focus on news out of Washington, D.C., and New York City you are missing an opportunity to close a gap within Los Cabos, and that is the division between the local fulltime native population and the community of residents from elsewhere who live here perhaps only part of the year, but who nonetheless want to be active and positive members of the region. Every time there's a fire or some other incident at the estuary, for example, my wife and I want to know about it, but we never find any sort of report in the Daily News.
If nothing else, add a comprehensive and accurate calendar of local events. Residents who live in Los Cabos just part time but who would like to be a part of the local culture while they are here have no consistent and reliable source that I am aware of to become aware of and to participate in the terrific range of cultural events that occur in and about Los Cabos. Where can I find a schedule of soccer matches at that outstanding stadium in Cabo San Lucas? How do I learn of races at the magnificent velodrome in San Jose del Cabo? That's a goal you should recognize and capitalize on.
OK, I recognize that this sort of additional local coverage can be costly - more expensive than ripping and pasting feeds from The Washington Post and Bloomberg News - but you are missing a potentially lucrative revenue stream by ignoring restaurant news and restaurant advertising. By my experience, when family and friends come to Los Cabos they first want to know about the local culinary scene - where to eat, where to find values, who is doing the most exciting cooking, what's the story behind that cafe or that food stall at the municipal market? You don't have to publish restaurant reviews, just a column of news items about what's new, what you've discovered, and what's inspired this chef or that restaurateur. I'm a longtime journalist, now largely retired, who spent many years reviewing restaurants. I'm not looking for work, just passing on what I consider a valid observation from my experience, and that is that people love to eat out, especially when they are on holiday, and welcome informed and fair guidance.
Finally, I'd like to see more news in the Daily News from the western U.S. I sense that if you were to canvass your readership you would find that it consists mostly of people from California, the Pacific Northwest and Canada. Your current news sources only occasionally cover the issues and personalities of those regions, however. While I admire The Washington Post and the breadth and depth of its coverage, I think you would better serve your readership if you also subscribed to such syndicates as the Los Angeles Times and McClatchy News Service, the latter of which I have had a longterm relationship, though in a modest role.
Please take my suggestions in the spirit in which they are intended: I enjoy the feel of newsprint in my hands each morning, and just want the contents of the paper I'm holding, in this instance the Daily News, to be more compelling, more successful and more influential among local residents, whether they live here fulltime or part-time.
Since returning to San Jose del Cabo three months ago, we've subscribed to the Daily News, looking forward each morning to its mix of international, financial, lifestyle and sports news, as well as the crossword puzzle.
We're now starting to pack up for our return to Northern California. When we come back to San Jose this fall or winter, I'd like to see some changes in the paper if we are to resume our subscription:
Mostly, I'd like to see more local news. This shouldn't be too difficult. I believe you also publish Spanish-language newspapers with a heavy focus on Baja California Sur generally and Los Cabos specifically. How difficult would it be to translate and include in the Daily News some of those articles? Not difficult at all, I suspect. I believe your ex-pat audience would be more interested in compelling local stories than articles on international events about which they already have been well briefed by CNN and other sources of televised news. By continuing to focus on news out of Washington, D.C., and New York City you are missing an opportunity to close a gap within Los Cabos, and that is the division between the local fulltime native population and the community of residents from elsewhere who live here perhaps only part of the year, but who nonetheless want to be active and positive members of the region. Every time there's a fire or some other incident at the estuary, for example, my wife and I want to know about it, but we never find any sort of report in the Daily News.
If nothing else, add a comprehensive and accurate calendar of local events. Residents who live in Los Cabos just part time but who would like to be a part of the local culture while they are here have no consistent and reliable source that I am aware of to become aware of and to participate in the terrific range of cultural events that occur in and about Los Cabos. Where can I find a schedule of soccer matches at that outstanding stadium in Cabo San Lucas? How do I learn of races at the magnificent velodrome in San Jose del Cabo? That's a goal you should recognize and capitalize on.
OK, I recognize that this sort of additional local coverage can be costly - more expensive than ripping and pasting feeds from The Washington Post and Bloomberg News - but you are missing a potentially lucrative revenue stream by ignoring restaurant news and restaurant advertising. By my experience, when family and friends come to Los Cabos they first want to know about the local culinary scene - where to eat, where to find values, who is doing the most exciting cooking, what's the story behind that cafe or that food stall at the municipal market? You don't have to publish restaurant reviews, just a column of news items about what's new, what you've discovered, and what's inspired this chef or that restaurateur. I'm a longtime journalist, now largely retired, who spent many years reviewing restaurants. I'm not looking for work, just passing on what I consider a valid observation from my experience, and that is that people love to eat out, especially when they are on holiday, and welcome informed and fair guidance.
Finally, I'd like to see more news in the Daily News from the western U.S. I sense that if you were to canvass your readership you would find that it consists mostly of people from California, the Pacific Northwest and Canada. Your current news sources only occasionally cover the issues and personalities of those regions, however. While I admire The Washington Post and the breadth and depth of its coverage, I think you would better serve your readership if you also subscribed to such syndicates as the Los Angeles Times and McClatchy News Service, the latter of which I have had a longterm relationship, though in a modest role.
Please take my suggestions in the spirit in which they are intended: I enjoy the feel of newsprint in my hands each morning, and just want the contents of the paper I'm holding, in this instance the Daily News, to be more compelling, more successful and more influential among local residents, whether they live here fulltime or part-time.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Halfway There, We Hope
I've got it, a solution to the immigration issues poisoning what could be a mutually beneficial relationship between the United States and Mexico. I saw the light almost by accident, and, ironically, in Mexico itself. In short, all United States authorities need to do to resolve today's acrimonious debates over immigration is to adopt the same sort of measures that Mexico imposes on immigrants who want to work in the country, stay longer than six months, take advantage of medical services and own property: Compel them to get an FM2 or FM3 visa.
I'm not sure what FM2 and FM3 means, though wags in Mexico glibly refer to them as Foreign Moron Second Class and Foreign Moron Third Class. Whatever, one or the other is supposed to facilitate ordinary life in Mexico for expats, from getting through the airport to transferring property. We were told this a few years ago by various people who long have lived in Mexico. At that time we were starting to entertain thoughts of residing part-time in Baja California Sur. We bought their advice, and soon after we bought our casa we applied for our FM3 visas. Since getting them, I haven't realized any advantages, but I also haven't tried to find a job.
Instead, our FM3s have become a source of frustration, confusion and anger, but only on the day when we begin the annual renewal process, precisely one month before they are to expire. You have to do this in person in Mexico. The ritual starts with a trek to immigration headquarters in Cabo San Lucas. There, you first stand in line outside, then you and a dozen or so others dash upstairs to queue up again. (You should see the wheelchair ramp in this place. I've never seen anyone in a wheelchair actually attempt to go up or down it, but skateboarders practically droll at the steep, narrow and frightening challenge it offers; I tried to take a photo but the security officer stationed at the foot of the ramp grabbed me as if I were from Sinaloa, packing heat. He pointed to a sign indicating that no cellphones or cameras are to be used in the building. Meanwhile, at the top of the ramp, many of the people waiting to process their papers are on their cellphones.)
But back to renewing our FM3s. Here's what this year's exercise entailed, starting this past Thursday:
- A two-hour wait in the immigration office. There's a TV overhead, but it wasn't on. Every sign in the place is in Spanish. All the clerks speak almost solely Spanish, with little English. That's OK, it's Mexico, where Spanish is the dominant language, and anyone who lives there even part time probably should know enough to get by. Still, it is an immigration office, with most of the clients English speaking.
- After two hours, we're called up. We've been through this before. We know what to expect. We're ready. We've come with everything we've been directed to bring in the past: Copies of our three most recent bank statements to verify that we're more or less solvent and won't become a burden on the state's welfare services; our passports; our FM3s; copies of our most recent electricity bill to confirm that we're property owners. All this paperwork is enclosed in the required vanilla folders. (The people with blue folders are attorneys or agents who expats can hire for a fee of generally around $150 per FM3. They get to line up separately, though I'm not sure the service they get is any faster. A lot of them are Mexican women in tight pants and amazingly high platform shoes with spiked heels. The speed with which they can dash across the room in those shoes when their name is called is about the only entertainment you'll get if you didn't bring a good book.)
- The clerk flips through our paperwork quickly. He sighs, then tells us we don't have the new forms that have been required since late January. One of them has to be completed online. He points to a desk with a computer in the corner. He says if we have any questions about operating the computer ask the person in the information kiosk next to the desk. Neither then nor any time subsequently did we ever see anyone manning the information kiosk. We log on and find that all the questions are in tortured bureaucratic Spanish. A woman in line waiting to use the computer offers to help us maneuver through this minefield so she can get on with her own business. That task finished, we turn to the second form, to be answered by hand. The questions are surprisingly personal and dubiously relevant, but we proceed to fill in the blanks that ask about our race, education, complexion, height, weight, tattoos or scars, children, occupation, monthly income and religion (if I put down "Catholic" might that expedite the process, I wonder).
- Back to the counter, where the clerk notes that our names on the printout from the computer don't precisely match our names on our passports. We point out that the computer form asks for our names as they appear on our passports or on some other official identification. Because we are renewing our FM3s, we figure that our names on the form should be as they appear on the FM3s. We've figured wrong. The clerk insists that our names should be exactly on the form as they are on our passports. He directs us back to the computer to redo and reprint the forms.
- Back to the counter. He asks where our photos are. In the FM3s, we indicate. Nope, we need new ones, in color. By this time it's 1 p.m. We've been in the office four hours. The office is open weekdays only from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. (I thought the same thing: Who handles their collective bargaining?) By this time we're thoroughly beaten down. We leave, find a small nearby photo shop whose only business is taking photos for visas. It's fast and relatively cheap - 120 pesos each, about $10. Next, we find a bank where we can pay our annual renewal fee, precisely 1,294 pesos each (about $110), and it must be paid in pesos only, no credit cards, no checks, no Unites States currency.
- We return to the immigration office first thing next morning, again joining the lines. The night before I've reviewed every possible contingency, and made backup copies of even backup copies. Nonetheless, I'm not confident that every base has been covered. The contradictions and delays of the day before were rattling, and I remind myself to adopt the attitude of the woman who'd stepped up to help us. She said she continually tells herself well before she gets to the office that "this is immigration day." She doesn't plan to get anything else done this day; she exercises her upmost patience; and she tries to keep smiling. I kept repeating that mantra, especially when the clerk asks the whereabouts of the two additional copies we were to have of our payment at the bank the day before. Yikes, I hadn't known we were to do that. But just as we were about to head out of the office in search of a copy shop, we ask if he might just make the required copies on the copy machine behind him. I feel uneasy about this, figuring we've already gone through a ream of paper and a printer cartridge, but he agrees, so I get over it.
- With that, he flips through the papers in one folder, then the other, shuffling, stacking, stamping and stappling. He then gives us a "very important paper," basically our receipt, which we are to bring to the office to pick up our new FM3 visas, anticipated in about a month. He points to a website address on the form and says we could go there anytime to check on the progress of our application. I've tried, following the directions over and over, but get a message that the page doesn't exist. We'll wait a week or two, then start calling the immigration office to find if our new FM3s are in.
I know what you're thinking: If only the immigration process in the U.S. were this onerous all those immigrants would beat a hasty retreat home. I'm not suggesting that at all. I've no idea what immigrants in the U.S. face if they hope to stay in the country for an extended time and perhaps find a job, go to school and buy property. The system in the States could be so daunting that it alone explains why some immigrants ignore it, but I doubt that. At the least, every direction will be in Spanish as well as English.
The Mexican bureaucracy is legendary for its finicky and rigid ways. The unprecedented computer station at the immigration office on our most recent visits, however, is an encouraging sign. Maybe the process gradually will become more logical and less irksome. (Oddly, not once on any of the forms we filled out were we asked an email address so immigration officials could keep us abreast of changes in their standards, which seem to happen annually.) Despite the computer, however, we went through more paperwork than usual, and clerks looked to be using no fewer rubber stamps, paper clips and glue sticks than ever. The clerks, incidentally, were never obtuse or mean-spirited, just equally unprepared in the details of the new procedures.
For sure, the Mexican system is inefficient, awkward and costly, yet we feel compelled to abide by it so we can be seen and treated as good neighbors. I wouldn't want to wish it on anyone, but I've a hunch the comparable means to allow immigrants to buy property, pay taxes and the like in the U.S. is more streamlined. Nonetheless, it apparently isn't perceived as being as necessary to live by as the visa procedure in Mexico, or it wouldn't be shrugged off as casually as it is. What I'd like to see is some sort of reciprocity between the two nations, so that immigrants from one country to the other can know beforehand what's expected of them and can comply with minimum hassle.
Given the traditions, history and proximity of Mexico and the United States, you'd think there could be more understanding and cooperation between the two countries. But relations appear to be nearly as strained as ever, with that grim fence snaking along the border a depressing symbol of political and diplomatic ineptitude in both countries. With leadership and imagination, politicians and diplomats should be able to come up with a relatively easy and encouraging way for citizens of both countries to cross the border and pursue their dreams in a manner beneficial to all concerned. That day seems far off, given the acrimony and fear generated by overheated differences concerning guns, drugs and illegal immigration. Nevertheless, we can hope.
I'm not sure what FM2 and FM3 means, though wags in Mexico glibly refer to them as Foreign Moron Second Class and Foreign Moron Third Class. Whatever, one or the other is supposed to facilitate ordinary life in Mexico for expats, from getting through the airport to transferring property. We were told this a few years ago by various people who long have lived in Mexico. At that time we were starting to entertain thoughts of residing part-time in Baja California Sur. We bought their advice, and soon after we bought our casa we applied for our FM3 visas. Since getting them, I haven't realized any advantages, but I also haven't tried to find a job.
Instead, our FM3s have become a source of frustration, confusion and anger, but only on the day when we begin the annual renewal process, precisely one month before they are to expire. You have to do this in person in Mexico. The ritual starts with a trek to immigration headquarters in Cabo San Lucas. There, you first stand in line outside, then you and a dozen or so others dash upstairs to queue up again. (You should see the wheelchair ramp in this place. I've never seen anyone in a wheelchair actually attempt to go up or down it, but skateboarders practically droll at the steep, narrow and frightening challenge it offers; I tried to take a photo but the security officer stationed at the foot of the ramp grabbed me as if I were from Sinaloa, packing heat. He pointed to a sign indicating that no cellphones or cameras are to be used in the building. Meanwhile, at the top of the ramp, many of the people waiting to process their papers are on their cellphones.)
But back to renewing our FM3s. Here's what this year's exercise entailed, starting this past Thursday:
- A two-hour wait in the immigration office. There's a TV overhead, but it wasn't on. Every sign in the place is in Spanish. All the clerks speak almost solely Spanish, with little English. That's OK, it's Mexico, where Spanish is the dominant language, and anyone who lives there even part time probably should know enough to get by. Still, it is an immigration office, with most of the clients English speaking.
- After two hours, we're called up. We've been through this before. We know what to expect. We're ready. We've come with everything we've been directed to bring in the past: Copies of our three most recent bank statements to verify that we're more or less solvent and won't become a burden on the state's welfare services; our passports; our FM3s; copies of our most recent electricity bill to confirm that we're property owners. All this paperwork is enclosed in the required vanilla folders. (The people with blue folders are attorneys or agents who expats can hire for a fee of generally around $150 per FM3. They get to line up separately, though I'm not sure the service they get is any faster. A lot of them are Mexican women in tight pants and amazingly high platform shoes with spiked heels. The speed with which they can dash across the room in those shoes when their name is called is about the only entertainment you'll get if you didn't bring a good book.)
- The clerk flips through our paperwork quickly. He sighs, then tells us we don't have the new forms that have been required since late January. One of them has to be completed online. He points to a desk with a computer in the corner. He says if we have any questions about operating the computer ask the person in the information kiosk next to the desk. Neither then nor any time subsequently did we ever see anyone manning the information kiosk. We log on and find that all the questions are in tortured bureaucratic Spanish. A woman in line waiting to use the computer offers to help us maneuver through this minefield so she can get on with her own business. That task finished, we turn to the second form, to be answered by hand. The questions are surprisingly personal and dubiously relevant, but we proceed to fill in the blanks that ask about our race, education, complexion, height, weight, tattoos or scars, children, occupation, monthly income and religion (if I put down "Catholic" might that expedite the process, I wonder).
- Back to the counter, where the clerk notes that our names on the printout from the computer don't precisely match our names on our passports. We point out that the computer form asks for our names as they appear on our passports or on some other official identification. Because we are renewing our FM3s, we figure that our names on the form should be as they appear on the FM3s. We've figured wrong. The clerk insists that our names should be exactly on the form as they are on our passports. He directs us back to the computer to redo and reprint the forms.
- Back to the counter. He asks where our photos are. In the FM3s, we indicate. Nope, we need new ones, in color. By this time it's 1 p.m. We've been in the office four hours. The office is open weekdays only from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. (I thought the same thing: Who handles their collective bargaining?) By this time we're thoroughly beaten down. We leave, find a small nearby photo shop whose only business is taking photos for visas. It's fast and relatively cheap - 120 pesos each, about $10. Next, we find a bank where we can pay our annual renewal fee, precisely 1,294 pesos each (about $110), and it must be paid in pesos only, no credit cards, no checks, no Unites States currency.
- We return to the immigration office first thing next morning, again joining the lines. The night before I've reviewed every possible contingency, and made backup copies of even backup copies. Nonetheless, I'm not confident that every base has been covered. The contradictions and delays of the day before were rattling, and I remind myself to adopt the attitude of the woman who'd stepped up to help us. She said she continually tells herself well before she gets to the office that "this is immigration day." She doesn't plan to get anything else done this day; she exercises her upmost patience; and she tries to keep smiling. I kept repeating that mantra, especially when the clerk asks the whereabouts of the two additional copies we were to have of our payment at the bank the day before. Yikes, I hadn't known we were to do that. But just as we were about to head out of the office in search of a copy shop, we ask if he might just make the required copies on the copy machine behind him. I feel uneasy about this, figuring we've already gone through a ream of paper and a printer cartridge, but he agrees, so I get over it.
- With that, he flips through the papers in one folder, then the other, shuffling, stacking, stamping and stappling. He then gives us a "very important paper," basically our receipt, which we are to bring to the office to pick up our new FM3 visas, anticipated in about a month. He points to a website address on the form and says we could go there anytime to check on the progress of our application. I've tried, following the directions over and over, but get a message that the page doesn't exist. We'll wait a week or two, then start calling the immigration office to find if our new FM3s are in.
I know what you're thinking: If only the immigration process in the U.S. were this onerous all those immigrants would beat a hasty retreat home. I'm not suggesting that at all. I've no idea what immigrants in the U.S. face if they hope to stay in the country for an extended time and perhaps find a job, go to school and buy property. The system in the States could be so daunting that it alone explains why some immigrants ignore it, but I doubt that. At the least, every direction will be in Spanish as well as English.
The Mexican bureaucracy is legendary for its finicky and rigid ways. The unprecedented computer station at the immigration office on our most recent visits, however, is an encouraging sign. Maybe the process gradually will become more logical and less irksome. (Oddly, not once on any of the forms we filled out were we asked an email address so immigration officials could keep us abreast of changes in their standards, which seem to happen annually.) Despite the computer, however, we went through more paperwork than usual, and clerks looked to be using no fewer rubber stamps, paper clips and glue sticks than ever. The clerks, incidentally, were never obtuse or mean-spirited, just equally unprepared in the details of the new procedures.
For sure, the Mexican system is inefficient, awkward and costly, yet we feel compelled to abide by it so we can be seen and treated as good neighbors. I wouldn't want to wish it on anyone, but I've a hunch the comparable means to allow immigrants to buy property, pay taxes and the like in the U.S. is more streamlined. Nonetheless, it apparently isn't perceived as being as necessary to live by as the visa procedure in Mexico, or it wouldn't be shrugged off as casually as it is. What I'd like to see is some sort of reciprocity between the two nations, so that immigrants from one country to the other can know beforehand what's expected of them and can comply with minimum hassle.
Given the traditions, history and proximity of Mexico and the United States, you'd think there could be more understanding and cooperation between the two countries. But relations appear to be nearly as strained as ever, with that grim fence snaking along the border a depressing symbol of political and diplomatic ineptitude in both countries. With leadership and imagination, politicians and diplomats should be able to come up with a relatively easy and encouraging way for citizens of both countries to cross the border and pursue their dreams in a manner beneficial to all concerned. That day seems far off, given the acrimony and fear generated by overheated differences concerning guns, drugs and illegal immigration. Nevertheless, we can hope.
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