All Kings and One Queen 2020
“Tu Tienes?“
“Yo Tengo!“
“La Buena Vida?“
“Claro Que Si.“
This is a routine that has gone on between me and Orlando for years, in which each explains exactly what the other may or may not need at the moment. You got it? I got it! It might have been a Havana cigar, or a Panama hat, or a sea-worthy Panga to reach the reef, or some communicable disease—Dios Mio, No Eso!—but we would inevitably settle on some approximation of the good life. Orlando flashes his toothless smile, like always, but time has not been good to him. Even the good life takes a beating on the beach, and Orlando has clearly suffered from hardship and self-abuse. He has lost weight in the last two years, though he was never a big man. His salty stubble exposes new creases in his wrinkling skin, which now has less frame to cover.
We talk about Rudy’s spiraling descent, about consoling him in the drunk tank, about dreams of Cuba. Out of ideas, our mutual friend fell off the end of the pier and swam off for good last year, and his loss is keenly felt on the Malecón. I still wonder if he was wearing my clothes at the time, but I don’t dare share such a morbid thought with poor Orlando. Instead we marvel at the scene before us, as we celebrate the biggest event of the year: Aniversario Numero Cuatro de Puerto Morelos! Con Laura Fernandez Piña! Una Gobierna Comedia Extravaganza!
For insights on politics, I turn to Ivette, who has just announced her resignation from DIF, a sort of government-assistance program largely ignored by the present administration. Ivette was once a fan of Lady Pineapple but no more. Too much cosmetic, too little substance, and so many dirty secrets. I too have grown disillusioned, upon learning that the Presidente Municipal is in fact a happily married woman; but Ivette reminds me not to lose hope, that God works in mysterious ways, and that my new plastic baby Jesus is good luck. I don’t know, it seemed that every slice of her Rosca had one, surely to demonstrate that God is a Catholic—so many babies.
Mexico Daily News reports that investigations will not proceed against former President Felipe de Jesus Calderon, the country’s most vilified former leader, despite the recent prosecution of his secretary of security in a Brooklyn courtroom, who stands accused of accepting more than three-million dollars to permit Sinaloa drug trafficking to the northern border. In his inaugural year, 2006, Calderon famously launched a “war on drugs“ which was the exact opposite. During the 6-year tenure of Felipe de Jesus, the narco-cartels achieved unprecedented financial and military superiority over the state. Corruption during this period became institutionalized. This is what Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, AMLO, has vowed to change.
His attempts so far have been feckless. As a member of the Morena opposition party, he refrains from pursuing his corrupt PRI predecessors for fear of being accused of political retribution. Pretty boy Enrique Peña Nieto, who served himself from 2012-18, allegedly left office with millions of El Chapo’s money, yet he walks free. So too does Calderon, who is still a political player and has amassed a fortune approaching a half billion USD. Meanwhile, the Yanquis indict every politico they can get their hands on. Security Secretary Genaro Garcia Luna thought he had avoided their net until he applied last year for US citizenship and received an arrest warrant instead.
AMLO’s modest reforms seem to backfire. He promotes transparency by opening Los Pinos, the presidential mansion in Chapultepec, to the public, but press access remains closed. He downsizes his footprint to cut costs by grounding his new presidential Air Force One, but the big jet turns out to be just as expensive NOT to fly. He promises to mobilize national security forces to fight the cartels, but they are outgunned in every battle. When AMLO insisted in October that Guzman’s son be captured, the Sinaloans surrounded the homes of every cop and soldier involved and threatened to kill the families. El Presidente blinked. Many say the problem is constitutional. Mexico deliberately relegates military authority to state command so as to prevent a military coup. Thus, in order to fight the cartels and recapture civil order, there is not one but 32 armies to muster, and each can be purchased separately. Meanwhile, thanks to enterprising Yanquis, most of the guns belong to the bad guys.
After sunset, the Malecon is still filling with people, and traffic has halted on the mangrove causeway. A thousand revelers are expected. This sand spit of a pueblo might just sink. The boatman Felipe stumbles about in search of a drink and a partner, in that order. Orlando’s nephew shows up and asks me if I got it, and I say I do. “Tu Tienes Tambien.“ Afro-Cuban salsa sizzles into the air and through the ground: 4 drummers, 4 horns, standup bass, keyboard, and 4 smoking salsa couples. On the plaza, citizens dance off an evening chill, Para Bailar La Salsa, all while facing a wall of security officers with oversize weapons, in a familiar display of overwhelming force.
And there she is! Laura Fernandez Piña! She steps out of a gigantic SUV and into a canvas pavilion, with audience seats covered in white linen, an elevated music section, a panel of city dignitaries chaired by Don Miguel, the man who once insisted I drink his tequila at Habanera Cantina. Behind them all is the facsimile of our leaning lighthouse, freshly painted in white and blue. Several people walk around with blue paint on their butts because the plaza benches were painted too late. La Prensa adjusts the lamps and captures the snapshot of some kind of great moment. Of course, Laura is wearing all white. She is a bride after all. And Saldo Blanco is what she promised. Y Nosotros Lo Tenemos.