Tourist in Residence October 27, 2021
“One-way ticket in my hand,
Heading for the chosen land,
My troubles will all turn to sand
When I get to the border.”
Richard Thompson
My tourist visa expires next month. The paper card is issued when you enter the country, and, depending on the border agent, can be good for 6 months. You just tuck that little card into your passport for safekeeping (you must present it when leaving), and you dance free under Mexican skies. To renew your visa requires that you leave the country, but only for as little as 72 hours, then return and continue dancing. The renewal process can happen at any airport or land border. For many expats, Estamos Bailando Siempre.
180 days, however, is merely the maximum allowance. If you were to announce plans to stay in country for one week only, then you would be issued a 7-day visa. If you come with a one-way ticket and you plan to stay for 6 months, you must be careful to say that you are not actually living here, just visiting. Otherwise, you are not considered a tourist and must apply for residence, which can be painstaking and expensive.
Technically speaking, people like me are breaking immigration laws by essentially posing as tourists when we are actually residents. However, this has never been much of a problem for North Americans, especially in tourist areas like the Riviera Maya, where American dollars drive the economy. In Puerto Morelos, for instance, it is common for retirees to return to their home country twice a year, or to drive 5 hours south to Belize for a long weekend. Here in Chiapas, Guatemala is the destination. For years the system worked smoothly.
Then came Donald Fucking Trump, the ugliest American, who insisted that Mexico militarize its southern border against migrants. AMLO is acutely aware of the hypocrisy that allows Yanquis to travel so freely across national boundaries, while Mexicans and others are treated like fugitives, so he is keen to correct the imbalance. If Haitians and Guatemalans should worry about their immigration status, then so should the northerners, he says, which has made many Canadian snowbirds apoplectic over the possibility of deportation.
Applying for lawful resident status is the natural remedy for these anxieties, but for some this is not so easy, and thus the scene is set for resourceful coyotes to entice the unsuspecting. One business is to arrange for a meeting at the border in which, for 600 pesos, one can receive a new tourist visa without actually having to leave the country. When this illicit service was advertised last month on facebook’s expat-page, the exposure caused a crackdown at border crossings.
The repercussions have produced scary stories, like one Irish tourist who recently spent a week in a migrant detention camp while his passport information was being verified. Apparently, he drew suspicion for his West Indian appearance and his newly issued passport. Fortunately, the man was something of a journalist. He wrote his story and sold it to the Mexico Daily News, the paper of record for expats and AMLO-haters. I suspect this lad represents the exception, not the rule.
Closer to home, my local friend Trinh has a challenging accent, due at least in part to a southeast-asian heritage, but he also quite deaf and close to blindness, so I take pains to face him when speaking. He makes himself an open-book during introductions. Accordingly, we quickly learn that all the money he has in the world is in his pocket, so he must be careful about what he purchases. He also seems to be facing some kind of trouble back in the United States, which makes him wary about crossing national borders. It may have something to do with his clandestine birthplace, evidently at a secret American military instillation in Malaysia. Because he was born in a place that should not exist, he has no birth certificate, and the Kuala Lumpur stamped on his passport is a lie. He shudders at the thought of another exile.
The facebook ad placed earlier this month seemed too good to be true—a Mexico permanent-residency card for only 650 USD. Such a document would allow one to work, as well as solving any other number of problems for someone scraping by on a limited budget. Trinh is just such a person, and he joined untold others in falling for the scam. The cards were not forthcoming for most who paid, and those who did receive one found they were required to impersonate a Haitian political refugee from hereon.
It is shameful enough that I impersonate a journalist. I will not also impersonate a Haitian refugee. No, I will follow a true and righteous path when I cross that border into Guatemala, complete with my new passport, a parade of plausible explanations, and my dancing shoes.
“The dusty road will smell so sweet,
Paved with gold beneath my feet,
And I’ll be dancing down the street
When I get to the border.”