Novedades Novelties April 30, 2017
Considered the best and bravest of independent newspapers in Cancun, Novedades stands alone. Its editors are the only ones Lydia Cacho trusts with her investigative stories. More than any other print source, and at great risk, this paper keeps alight the torch of press freedom, while giving me something to work with.
Today Novedades reveals fresh information about the Puerto Morelos (PM) police officer, codename El Roble, whose family was assaulted yesterday on the way to school with a hail of bullets, killing the man’s wife and critically injuring a child. Any speculation that this guy was a clean cop is washed away with evidence that he was a payroll distributor for the cartel; that is, at least he was until the PRI state government fell in last year’s election. Now, like his fellow displaced compadres in our young police department, El Roble is suddenly on the wrong side of the lawless, soldier to rogue, and manifestly a target for elimination. Plata o Plomo.
Novedades lists the other codenames in the operation, some of whom are dead, some of whom are missing, and others who still wear a uniform in our midst: Chispa (spark), Perro Loco, Chemo, Dahlia, Mini, and, most chillingly, Kenny. A few are likely female. All of them are dangerous, accepting the Plata and packing the Plomo. I am sure I have seen some of them on the Plaza, and some of them have undoubtedly seen me—an eerie feature of small-town living, which seems less charming today than it did when I first moved here from the big city.
Novedades-Flash: Earlier today, the alleged PM-head of Los Pelones—a decidedly non-Mexican-sounding Joseph Allen—was seized in the Hotel Zone of Cancun with almost one million pesos (about 50,000 USD), as well as a plane ticket to an undisclosed location. He is only 25 years old. No one else was captured in the raid, belying the sense of relief some feel in town about the arrest. Someone must have given him up to the Federales—those camo-clad, fully-loaded soldiers, considered to be the least susceptible to corruption. For the most part, the Feds are just too pricey to purchase. They are a luxury item, which the PM-head of Los Pelones obviously could not afford.
On Calle Rojo Gomez, I grab a coffee at D’Amancia and head over to the Plaza to consider the options, both for me and for my adopted paisanos—whether to stay and play, or whether to go far away. A group of oblivious Falun Gong gather under the tiled gazebo to stretch their minds and bodies, lost in blissful trance following the consumption of copious amounts of star fruit. One zealot senses that I am not with the team, remarking that I look Triste, and she invites me to join the lotus flower ritual. I inform her that I always look this way.
The peculiarity of the lotus flower, she says, is that it is born of dirty water and slime. It emerges from the muddy bottom of ponds, opening its green sepals and exposing the blossom within, but only upon reaching the surface and making first contact with the sun—without carrying a single stain on any of its immaculate petals. It is an exquisite metaphor for the state of a subjugated people, offering a path to transcendence, beauty, righteousness, liberty. All that is required is the unfiltered light of day.
Just as my thoughts turn to the garden, I am startled by the sound of a low voice coming from the direction of the church:
“Kenny!“
It was only a matter of time.