Fuera Laura 06-06-20
Speculators are taking advantage of the pandemic lockdown to clear and fill the mangrove swamp at an astonishing rate. The rogue bulldozers, which used to operate under cover of dark, now plow away in broad daylight. The plan has always been to suck as much money out of paradise as possible, and, by incorporating Puerto Morelos four years ago, the task becomes much simpler.
Laura Fernandez Piña is the pin-up poster for the ruling PRI, so it was not difficult for her municipality to obtain a grant of 19-million pesos to develop the waterfront—in a town that still does not have a public hospital. It is nevertheless puzzling to imagine what a million dollars can possibly provide a space as humble as the central plaza, yet following the flow of money is dangerous business. Elections are consistently won by allowing the ruling party to deliver wads of cash to the right people. Today, however, the only thing to show is a back hoe and a few truckloads of state cops in riot gear.
“Fuera Laura,“ reads the medical mask of the protester, “Out Laura,“ as the man is thrown to the ground by three state cops, assault rifles swinging in the scuffle. A black muzzle is pointed at his temple, off and on, again and again, by sheer kinetic chance, as the slung weapon bounces against the melon-hip of a mal-trained police officer. The victim is soon subdued on his stomach, spread upon the wet faux-brick street beside Plaza Centro. His mask is smudged and useless. The perimeter has been breached. Protection is compromised, brute force wins, cell phones blaze. In the background, El Kiosko, the central gazebo of Puerto Morelos, which served as my library for several years, lies in rubble.
“Como Ladrones en la Noche,“ says Luis. Like thieves in the night.
Citizens united against the imperious presidency of Laura Fernandez Piña arrived by foot in darkness after learning that the Plaza was under demolition. Tropical Storm Cristobal was crossing the Yucatan, water filled the streets, and the mangrove causeway to the port was abruptly closed. Despite the foul conditions, indeed to seize on them, trucks and heavy equipment arrived on the Plaza under heavy showers, metal fences hastily assembled, and Estado Quintana Roo men with blue helmets raised their plastic shields to face the deluge.
By dawn, the police riot was being transmitted among countless others during the George Floyd uprising. Perhaps the Presidente Municipal hoped that her brutality would be masked by so many simultaneous events, including violence in Mexico City, where 500 troops were called to the US Embassy, and Guadalajara, where 29 protesters were arrested and are currently missing. If she thought Don Miguel’s strategy to wrestle control would go unseen, she was wrong. Puerto Morelos is not a mask but a lens, and the rising star has just been burned. This latest focus may reignite interest in her unsavory relationship with Governor Roberto Borge, her tutor and alleged paramore, who has been in jail since he was apprehended at Panama Airport two years ago.
By the end of the day, Laura Fernandez announces a course correction. The five arrested protesters are summarily released from custody, and three officers are suspended, all women. This is an unprecedented display of accountability from this administration. Don Miguel must be livid.
“In an effort to protect the integrity of protesters, excesses and errors were made in police containment tactics that are not acceptable and that I will not tolerate.“
For once, her make-up fails. Staged photo ops and clandestine abuse become impossible thanks to the proliferation of social media. Private drones survey the destruction and report live. Cell phones capture hearts and minds, while exposing mysterious stains on an empty white dress.