The End of my Graduate Studies
it was the first weeks of December 2004, i was sitting in my office in the Brain Simulation Lab, when I noticed an email from my Ph.D. advisor, Dr. Michael Arbib. Normally, in such cases, my body temperature would raise, as an email from him would generally mean he was asking for a progress report. But, in scientific research, progress does not usually go directly proportional with the amount of work and effort devoted. As I started reading his message, I quickly realized this time there were stronger reasons to become seriously worried; My advisor was informing me, next Spring 2005 semester was going to be my last semester in graduate school. In other words, I had five more months, until May 2005 to finish my Ph.D. If I was able to finish my thesis and successfully defend it before then, I would be able to take pride of leaving USC (University of Southern California) with a Ph.D. degree. However, if I could not finish my thesis in the next five months, I would still have to leave USC accepting that the previous eight years working on my Ph.D. had gone to nothing. As I was trying to get a full grasp of what I had just read, it became very quickly clear to me I was now in a very tough situation. I started thinking of all the tests and simulations I still had to run to complete my thesis, and I could not see how was i going to be able to get all that done in just five months. The time-frame I had was really very short. Wishful thinking aside, the scenario whereby, after eight years in graduate school, I would have to leave USC, without a Ph.D. degree, objectively looked like the most likely outcome. Well, after all that thought, the conclusion was clear: one way or another, I just had to do it. Like we say in Spanish, be it through a civil or a criminal procedure; I just had to do it.
That in all felt so very unfair. I guess my advisor would say I have already had more than eight years to get my thesis ready. However, the full story is quite more complicated than that. The truth is my advisor had never been of any help. He actually had not been honest with me. When I first arrived to USC I went talk to him, to see if his research interests were a good match with mine. At that time, we agreed my Ph.D. thesis would be in visual neuroscience. It was an easy decision for my advisor to accept me in his lab, since I was not asking for any financial compensation: I was free labor, so who would say 'No' to that. My advisor had been involved with some visual neuroscience research in the past; but the truth is he was no longer interested in that field. from the very beginning, he had a clear plan he will slowly shift my thesis topic towards something that will serve and contribute to his current research line better. I therefore spent the following five years defining and researching a topic in visual neuroscience. I was slow to realize my advisor will always remain indifferent to any visual neuroscience research I will present to him. Instead, he kept making suggestions I took a look at brain models of spatial processing and navigation. I had even come up with a really good idea and model of visual attention. Laurent Itti, the biggest expert in visual attention in the program, was greatly impressed with it. However, that was not enough to get me passed my first attempt at the Qualifying Examination. Even if I was successful on my second attempt, I had become clear I would never get awarded a Ph.D. on visual neuroscience. Actually, I felt like I had to do two Ph.D. theses: my thesis on visual neuroscience and my advisor's on spatial processing and navigation.
Needless to say, the next five months were really stressful: particularly the last couple of weeks were the closest thing to hell. I said i will remember for the rest of my life the number of hours I went without sleep. Within a week, I had to critical deadlines; the submission of my research document for the defense, and the defense itself. My defense had been scheduled for May 3rd and I was supposed to submit my document one week earlier to allow my Ph.D. committee enough time to review it.
I will always remember taking my bike to go to the lab on Monday, April 25: it was the final push. My office was a horrible rat hole buried in the basement of the Hedco Neuroscience Building at uSc. There were no windows and it was really noise with all the fans used to keep the enormous mass of equipment cool. I did not come out of that hole until the morning of the following Thursday. For the sake of accuracy, I cannot say I did not get any sleep at all during those days. But I could not lay down for a single minute. I worked and continued working non-stop, but eventually the immense mental fatigue would defeat me. I kept sitting on my office chair and, for a couple of times during those days, I went blank and was 'gone' for 1-2 hours. For the rest of the time, after the first day, there were times where my eyes will go blank again and I will be gone for a few seconds. I have always thought I was setting a record of how much time a human being could work without rest. In terms of food, it was equally as disappointing and tough. Obviously, I just did not have time to get off my chair and go for a meal. I just ate cookies and whatever food I could find in my office, that I had stored over the last months for a time of emergency like that. On Thursday, very early in the morning, I was finally ready to submit my document. I was a bit worried it was less than a week prior to my defense; but I thought, at that point, if they had not said anything, it should be fine. On the other hand, I was feeling happy of the work well done. Despite all the rush, I really thought it was a good document and a really strong piece of research.
However, there were not yet any grounds to celebrate. I still had the big, real test ahead of me: the defense. The days until then were equally tough and exhausting. But this time I was starting from an already exhausted state. It is reasonable to think, i did not have that much work left: strictly speaking, I just needed to prepare some slides for the defense oral presentation. however, those are supposed to be the most awesome slides you will ever prepare. I went through that weekend with very little sleep. I remember, for Friday night, i rolled down a mat and slept on the floor in my office for about 7 hours. As many hours I spent working, the accumulated fatigue did not allowed me to make a whole lot of progress. I woke up Tuesday morning, just after midnight, to prepare and get dressed for my defense. Unfortunately, I still had a lot of slides to make. The clock kept ticking, 1pm (the time scheduled for my presentation) kept getting closer, and I started fearing I would not be able to finish them all. That was a disaster: I was appearing for my Ph.D. defense and I did not even have my slides ready. It was finally 1pm and, indeed, I still had not finished with all my slides. But it was my Ph.D. defense, so I could not afford being late: it had looked equally as bad as showing some incomplete slides. So, I wrapped up and hoped my slide' deficiencies would not be that noticeable to the committee. It is weird to think, however, if I look today at those slides, I will have to say they were really a good set of slides. I guess I spent some really little time and - more importantly - thought, writing some crucially important times like the thesis' conclusions: I got that done in just a few minutes, as I was wrapping up.
The presentation went as I could have expected: I made my point and I think I was able to support it and defend it really well. In all honesty, I really believe I had done a great work and I was presenting some really good, strong and valuable piece of research. As I expected, I got the critic and adverse questions from Dr. Irving Biederman and Dr. Bartlett Mel, the two committee members I knew were, from the very beginning, against me; and I got the kind, sweet and easy questions from Dr. Stefan Schaal and Dr. Laurent Itti, the two committee members I knew were, from the very beginning, in my favor. My advisor barely asked anything; he just listened and kept taking notes as usual. In all, I do not think the committee was ever able to notice the rush under which I had finished up my defense preparation. In fact, I thought I could feel how, even the two critic committee members were finding it difficult to trash my work (like they had done during my Qualifying Examination, four years earlier) and hesitated to openly contradict me. I think everybody in the room was ready to agree I had completed a really thorough study and analysis of the topic's literature and I knew very well what I was talking about. Therefore, even the critic committee members hesitated to get into an argument with me. instead, they focused their attack on my approach and proposed solution. After all, the approach I had followed was exactly the opposite those two members had kept on their research line, so that was the simple reason for their opposition.
After an hour or so, time was up. I was instructed to leave the room, as it was now time for the committee to deliberate. As I was slowly exiting the room, I could hear how Laurent was the first to take the word. I knew he was going to argue in my favor. I thought I could understand how he was pointing out the model I had presented four years earlier for my Qualifying exam, was already of quite some value. I have never could help believing that model, with a few bells and whistles, was worth a Ph.D. Laurent was the biggest expert there in visual attention, so I thought and was glad to hear he was emphasizing the value of my work.
I went to my office, sat down and waited for the decision to come. As they liked to say in ancient Rome: "Elea jacta est". Now, there was nothing else I could do. My life, at least my career, was now in the hands of the five men in my Ph.D. committee. As I waited, I kept thinking, I kept trying to guess what I could expect, based on all what had happened (my work, my document, my presentation, etc.) would be the final decision: thumbs up or ...thumbs down. I really believed my work was good. I really believed I deserved to be conferred a Ph.D. degree, but I could not forget that was exactly how I felt on my Qualifying exam and I ended up getting thumbs down. As I kept thinking, I was fully aware the possibility I would get a negative outcome was a very real one. I knew two members would vote in my favor, two other members would vote against me. It was all up to my advisor's last word. It was rather terrifying to think how would it be if I get turned down, what would it be of my life... I did not want to elaborate too much on that; it was too terrifying and was not yet worth it. I would just deal with it, if it happened. One thing, however, was clear to me: I had done everything possible. As I had promised myself five months earlier, as I was sitting on that same chair reading my advisor's email, I have done everything possible. That gave me a bit of relieve. What I did not know was if that relieve was going to be enough if I got turned down.
Finally, the door of my office opened. My advisor entered the room: he was happy to congratulate me because I was going to become a doctor.
I made it. Exhausted as I was, anesthetized as I was (in case I would get a negative decision), I just did not have energies for any kind of loud celebration. Now, as I write these lines, when I remember those moments, tears come out my eyes. I had put my whole life in that endeavor, and I had done it all alone. I did not get any kind of support from anybody. Only my mother helped me doing some work on the prepaid phone cards online store I had started to make some money to pay for my studies. However, nobody ever came visit me in Los Angeles. Nobody came for my defense. Nobody came for my commencement. As a matter of fact, nobody even knew I was that day defending my Ph.D. thesis in that room in Los Angeles. Only several days later I happened to tell them I had finally graduated. Anyhow, now everything was worth it. I had made it.
For many years, I have kept having dreams where I relived those days prior to my graduation. I would wake up in a lot of stress, very confused, really worried what had been in reality the final outcome. Did I in the end really get my Ph.D., or was it just a dream? What did really happened? As I would continue waking up, I would fear I will end up discovering it was just a dream and, in reality, I was never able to graduate. Slowly, however, I will calm myself down and, slowly, convince myself I was actually able to get my Ph.D. I would still need to reassure myself several times that everything turned out well back then, as the doubts and fears I would be unable to successfully graduate made it really deep in my mind during those last months in graduate school. For quite some time, I really thought it would be rather impossible and, still today, I sometimes wonder how the hell I did it.
The next days after my defense, I was in some sort of nirvana. The time passed rather eventlessly; I just made sure I would get some good sleep and some good food. Nothing really happened those days; I was just happy. I have made it.
Even my advisor understood I now needed and deserved some time off. My advisor hoped I would soon get to work on writing some papers to publish my thesis research. Clearly, as it was now all so fresh, that was the best time to do it and, that way, I will be in the best path to start applying and get a new position soon. he had to say, he had to admit, in the end he was really pleased with the end result of my thesis. He kept wondering how was it that I have kept all that work hidden from him for so long, that it only emerged at the very end. I explained him i never hid anything, I just had it in the pot cooking, as a lot of cooking was required to put together such a comprehensive brain model of visually guided navigation. It was also clear to me it was best for my career to start writing those papers as soon as possible. But it was even more clear to me, life was now first. For the last nine years, work had been first; now, life was first. As good as it had been for my career, I just did not have the energy for it.
I booked a flight to go back home in June and so I spent the following month on vacation in Spain. The main event during those weeks was my niece first communion. As the whole family came to celebrate it, I was proud to inform everybody I was now a doctor.
I was now fully recovered, yet there was not really that much for me to do in Spain, so I decided to fly back to the US. I thought I would make better use of my time traveling across America. I was still not ready to resume work. Over the next couple of months I backpacked and bicycled from the US East coast, to the US West coast. I first arrived in New York, went up the coast to Maine, bicycle from there to Vermont, then went down the coast to Pennsylvania and from there all the way West towards Los Angeles.
I had just started my journey, I was still in Boston. when I received an email message from my advisor: he was starting to become inpatient waiting for me to come back for work. I was still in my own nirvana: just being happy, just having a really good time, just enjoying my life, after all that good work. So, I did not feel like rushing to Los Angeles. In a way, all that reminded me to an old joke I learned in USC about graduate school:
These are a Ph.D. student, a post-doc and a faculty, walking down campus on their way to the cafeteria, where they will discuss the lab's current project over lunch. Suddenly, the graduate student spots some object on the ground. he runs closer to discover it is an old lamp; but it is very dirty. So the student proceeds to wipe the dust off. "Booom!!", a cloud of smoke comes now out of the lamp and a genie emerges. "Oh my lord! Oh my lord! 3000 years confined in that horrible lamp. I thought I was going to die. Oh my lord, I am so thankful! but... wait! you are three people. Hmm... Well, normally I would give three wishes to my saver, to express my gratitude, but... you are three people. So, I will give a wish to each of you. Does that sound OK?". "sure!", says the student who rushes his wish: "I want to be in a sunny, white-sand beach, sexy girls all around me, a bottle of ice-cold beer in my hand. Now I am surfing the biggest wave ever!". "Booom!", off the student goes to his beach. Here now comes the post-doc. He wants to be in a cute, cozy hut in the Swiss Alps, enjoying a nice dinner with his wife. They are spending a beautiful, one-week vacation in this world-class, really luxurious ski resort. As the post-doc disappears to embark on his wish, now it is the faculty's turn. "Well sir, what is your wish?", asks the genie. "Very simple, I want these two guys back in the lab after lunch".
As my advisor had never supported me financially, I had never perceived him as my boss, and I had always felt I should be free to plan my own work. However, he had always kept the one resource of power to control me: he had always kept hold of the key to my US visa. Unfortunately, my visa's expiration date was coming closer: as early as the coming month of September. I was still able to convince my advisor to endorse and authorize processing of an extension until December; but I had to promise I would be back for work soon.
Promises, promises... After I got my visa extended, I allowed myself until early September to arrive back in Los Angeles. By then, I had been celebrating already for a few months my graduation, but, as a matter of fact, I still had to complete one task before I would officially become a doctor: I still had to finish writing and submit my Ph.D. dissertation. So that was going to be my work priority for that last Fall semester in USC. I was, however, not planning on getting really stressed out about it. I, Indeed, took it easy. It was really clear to me I now needed to focus on improving my life. I was quite alone and needed to socialize much more. I also thought I should put a bit more effort in finding a girlfriend. hence, I made a plan to participate as much as possible in all the vocational and social activities available on campus. The three months I had to submit my dissertation were plenty of time, but I am a very detailed person, Microsoft Word decided to give me a real hard time, and now I was committed to improve my social life. eventually, I ended up almost running out of time. Finally, on December 14, I submitted my dissertation and officially became a doctor.
However, by then new complications have started arriving to my life. For that last Fall semester in graduate school I had not registered for classes. I had successfully passed my Ph.D. Defense the previous semester, Therefore, if I only needed time to finish writing my dissertation, I did not have to register for classes on that last semester in graduate school. In fact, it would not make any sense; why would I be forced to sign up for any class, if I had no need to acquire more knowledge to complete my degree. Registering for classes implied a payment of $2000-$3000, so the decision not to register was easy, if I did not had to. Unfortunately, mid-ways through the semester, I learned it was only USC Graduate School that did not require me to register for classes on my last semester, after I had already passed my Defense, but US Immigration did. Consequently, since I did not register for classes, my legal student immigration status was automatically terminated around beginning of October, shortly after the registration period had expired.
Losing my student immigration status had serious consequences. First, I was now 'out of status'. In other words, I was now illegally in the US. In addition, I was no longer eligible for OPT (Optional Practical Training), which had otherwise given me a 1 year visa, where I would even be allowed to work.
Since I was now out of status, I had to leave the US as soon as possible. If I wanted to come back and spend more time in the US, I would need to apply for a new visa while I was abroad. At that time, I had my apartment, all my stuff and all my life in Los Angeles. So I was not really ready to leave for good right away. I asked my advisor, if he would give me some contract on some project, that I could use to apply for a new visa. He suggested I go talk with some other faculty. That was very disappointing to me. It was clear my advisor was never going to support me financially. Even now that I had a lot of research results ready to publish. Even now that I was going to add his name to the credits of some research to which he contributed no single idea. He would still decline offering something in return to me. Since he was a world-renown researcher, just adding his name to my paper had made them quite stronger and had significantly increased the chances they would be accepted for publication. However, at this point, I was basically done with my advisor. Now that I finally had my Ph.D. degree and I did no longer strictly need him, I did not think I wanted to do anything more for him.
I went to Spain for the Christmas holidays and, while I was there, I applied for a tourist visa, as that was now my only option, if I wanted to be back in the US. My new tourist visa was valid for ten years, but upon entry, I was only allowed to stay for six consecutive months. For the new year I had two goals: it was getting about time I started writing my papers. I also wanted to realize my dream to travel all over the American West. When I first came to the US, to start my Ph.D. studies, I promised myself at the very least, I would go once to Yellowstone National Park. Among my childhood memories, I remembered the Yogi Bear cartoons and how beautiful Yellowstone looked on those pictures: the snow capped mountain, the deep blue lakes, the big, green forests, etc. Now, I knew Yellowstone was in the middle of nowhere, rally difficult to access, particularly for somebody with a visual disability like me, that does not allow me to drive. However, for my Ph.D. studies, I was sure I was going to remain in the US for at least four years. So that should have given me enough time to find at least one opportunity to go there. Well, eventually I had been in the US for as many as nine years and I had still not been able to go to Yellowstone. I had not even been in Yosemite (which is still in California): what a shame! as a matter of fact. I had been able to travel across the US East coast quite a bit, but, in the West, since there is barely any public transportation, it was quite more complicated. Now the West has always seemed to me far more interesting because of the natural wonders and breathtaking landscapes in it. I had ended up concluding, my only option for the kind of long, thorough journey I had envisioned, was to buy a bicycle and take several months bicycle touring the West. clearly, with my advisor always wishing for me to be back in the lab after lunch, that was not feasible while I was in graduate school. Now I was done with that; it was the time to do it.
In fact, it was now or never. Now, with just a fragile tourist visa, with a very complicated path to ever be able to get a work visa, i could see the days I used to live in the US were reaching their end. Soon, I would have to leave for good. I had no problem with that, but first I wanted to see the land where I lived for so many years.
I need to admit I was not very productive during that first half of 2006. I did not put much work on my papers, as I thought take advantage of those last months in the US, and travel around there as much as possible. I did make a few short trips to go ski to Utah and Northern California, but I barely made any progress preparing for my big, bicycle tour around the American West.
The end of my six-months legal tourist status was approaching and it became clear to me, I was going to need more time. I investigated how I could extend my visa, but the process did not seem it was going to work for me. I was advised to leave by the end of the six months. I decided I would go to Mexico, spend there some weeks traveling across Baja California and then come back.
Mexican Rats
I crossed the US-Mexican border at San Ysidro at midnight on July 12th. From there I had a little walk to downtown Tijuana. On the US side there were endless immigration officers watching the busiest border crossing in the world. On the Mexican side, there was as well a crowd of people; but, shockingly, no immigration officer. You open the gate entering Mexico and there is nobody there to ask any question about the purpose of your trip or requesting any paperwork or documents. Yes, there was there a huge crowd of people waiting for you, but they all were just trying to fish some tourists to feed their little businesses with.
It was after midnight and as they saw a single, young man coming near, they all could guess what was the purpose of my visit. With a grim on their faces, one by one, they all approached me explaining they knew well what I was coming for and they had exactly the right thing for me. I kept returning their smiles, clarifying I was nothing but looking for that. Needless to say, they would not believe me, but it was hopeless to insist.
Since the stuff going on in Tijuana was of no interest to me, the next morning I took the first colectivo van to Playas de Rosarito (Rosarito beach): some touristy little beach town half hour South of Tijuana. I had booked a few days in a hostel there. I would use that time to plan my journey around Baja California. I was greeted by Ramiro, the hostel's manager. He liked to be addressed by his nickname: Lobo (Wolf). At first glance, he seemed friendly. Well, like in any other hostel. I took a little time to settle down. I was tired, as I had barely had any sleep the previous night. I thought I would take a nap.
Later in the afternoon I thought I would take a nice, relaxing walk on the beach and enjoy sunset. I took my laptop with me, so I could do some writing. I sat down on the beach and wrote some letter to my niece. The sun had already set, the wind was blowing and it was getting cold. As stood up, getting ready to leave. Then I noticed I was missing my monocular. Now I was really worried, since I need my monocular to be able to read signs and see details at a far distance. It was therefore very important for me to find it. I guessed it must have slipped out of my pocket, as I was sitting writing.
I saw some guy walking around there and I thought I would ask him to help me look for my monocular. I explained to him, it was going to be difficult for me to find it, since I am visually impaired. The man accepted to help me. Given my bad sight, the best way for me to search was to get on all fours and crawl around the ground feeling with my hands. The monocular had probably got buried by the wind under the sand, so I would probably need to use my hands anyway. For that purpose I would better have to take my backpack off and put it down on the ground. I thought for a second I wanted to be careful doing that, leaving my backpack unattended sitting on the beach, but I would never go much further than a couple of meters from my backpack, so I guessed there was no reason to get paranoid.
We had been searching the monocular for some minutes already, when I noticed my new Mexican friend was making signs trying to get my attention. I came closer to find out what was what he had to say: "but... did not you see what just happened??!", asked he very perturbed. "No, what happened?", I replied. "Your backpack! a 'ratero' just took it!". "What do you mean?", I asked in disbelief. "You see? Your backpack is gone!". I turned around to look for my backpack, but it was indeed nowhere to be seen. "Yes, some guy just came on a horse, quickly got off, picked up your backpack, climbed right back on, and rode away. You see him running away over there?". without time to reply, I started running in the direction pointed by my friend. But it was stupid and hopeless. Raúl told me to stop, reminding me the thief was riding a horse, so I will never catch him. However, he tried to calm me down. He said I should not worry: he knew the thief, it was not right what had just happened and he was going to help me get my backpack back. As I was trying to calm down, he explained in more detail: he had been able to recognize the thief as "el Güero" (the blond), an old friend from childhood. He used to live a few blocks from him. In fact, the guy's mother still lived nearby. Raul really did not find right what had just happened to me. He told me he was going to take me to the crook's mother's place, so I could get my backpack back.
we left the beach and started walking inland. we went up some stairs to cross a pedestrian bridge over the highway. We had just left touristy Rosarito Beach and were now in Rosarito's red light district. We walked up the street a couple of more blocks to finally stop in front of some house. Soon some woman came out to the house's gate: it was the mother of Jaime Pimentel aka "el Güero". "Ay Jaime!, Ay Jaime!", the old woman kept repeating. "I have told him!, I have told him!". "I keep telling him to stop, because one day he is going to get in big trouble". The mother was clearly not happy to learn what his son had just done. We all spoke Spanish there (and... no, it is simply not true that Mexican Spanish is so different from Spain's Spanish), so it was easy to communicate. The mother now looked at me and tried to calm me down. She explained she did not like any of that. She promised me she was going to do everything possible to return the backpack back to me. She was going to try to find out where the backpack was. She was going to tell Jaime to bring it to the house. And, as soon as she could, she would take the backpack and gave it back to me.
Raul took me next to his place. He asked me to sit there and wait for him: he needed to go to a few places. He never said where exactly he went, but I can guess he went look for "el Güero" and tried to find out where my backpack was. He returned after a while, but did not have much to say other than giving me hope I will recover the backpack with my laptop in it. Raul also started suggesting he would appreciate if I gave him some money for all the efforts he was making to help me. I did not like hearing that. At that point, I had already all red flags raised. That could very well be a scam: how would I know I would be able to get my backpack back, after I had given away that money? I had already been robbed, I did not want to be scammed as well.
After a few hours, I finally started my walk back to the hostel. It was very late and I was really tired and starving. But, above all, I was devastated and really worried. I was without my laptop and, I tried to find some relief, thinking there were strong reasons to believe that, under normal circumstances, I should be able to get my laptop back. Certainly, it was not the ordinary case of theft. I knew the 'rat', I knew where he lived, even his mother was going to help me. But the fact of the matter was I was still without my laptop and, regardless of how common sense it seemed I would get it back, it remained uncertain it would actually happened. The thought of not recovering my laptop was terrifying. It certainly had not been a good beginning for my Mexican vacation.
The next morning I was woken up by a call. It was Raul. he explained he had information and was going to help me get my laptop back. however, he reminded me, he was hoping to get some gratitude for his help. I believe he asked me for $100. I could not help to find it annoying; I had been the victim of a crime, and this person who kept saying he wanted to help me, was insisting to get some more money from me. i had hoped I would get help, if not because he would take pity on my, at least he would think it was wrong what had happened to me. As I allowed my frustration to flow in my reply, I explained I first wanted to see my laptop back, and then I would not mind to express my gratitude.
I walked back to Rosarito 'red light district', where I met again Raul. He guided me passed the rat's mother's house, towards the end of town, into some trail, up the hill, where there was a little house to the right. Two really short men were guarding the house and were pretty upset to see us. Raul probably knew the men and was not too worried about them. I was not quite intimidated either: they really looked rather little to be able to impress anybody. Somebody opened the door to see who was coming to talk to him. The man, Chávez, stood there, with his fat, naked belly completely exposed, cursing at Raul. He was perplexed and very angry Raul had dared to bring me there. then he turned to me and, still very upset, said he did not have my stuff and I should get the hell out of there and never think to come back. Finally, the two short guards started pushing us out of there. The one that came to me, put his face next to mine and threatened to slit my throat if he ever saw me there again. I just could not help thinking, who was that guy trying to intimidate; he certainly did not scare me.
We went back to the rat's mother's house, where Raul reported what had happened at Chávez's place; what his response had been. Clearly, it was not the response that all of us were expecting and hoping for. The mother expressed her frustration threatening she knew what Chávez was
doing and she would start talking if he resisted in his position not to collaborate. I was finally realizing Chávez had now my backpack with my laptop. What I did not know yet was that Chávez had got my laptop in exchange of $200 of marihuana. What took me even longer to grasp was what the mother's threats were all about. for the most part of the story, I remained clueless about it, and it was not until the end that i learned Chávez was selling drug clandestinely: he was not part of the cartel. In other words, Chávez did not have the big capos' authorization to deal with drugs. So, it was not until the end that I realized Chávez had never really been concerned about me or my stupid laptop: rather, from the very beginning he had been really worried of the consequences and punishment he might suffer from the drug capos. In the end it became rather confusing to realize that Chávez never quite hid from me, but from the big capos. That was what the mother's threats were all about.
For some hours I sat there waiting, really bored, frustrated and worried, not knowing what was going on and what was going to happen. It seems during those hours there were quite some talks and negotiations, trying to convince Chávez it was better to surrender the laptop. But Chávez was feeling betrayed and playing the fool: he had given out $200 in marihuana for that laptop and, just a few hours later, the same people who had got his marihuana were demanding the laptop back.
I was told by the rat´s family and friends, they were giving some time to Chávez to reconsider his position. Else, they would speak with a 'judicial' (a higher law-enforcement official) friend of the family, to go talk to him and sort out the case. I found it weird that the thief's family had such a friend in the police, but, clearly, they were still a whole lot of things I was totally clueless about and I had to learn. I really had a hard time trying to understand why they will allow so much time to Chávez, before they will call their cop friend. But again, I did not know yet Chávez was equally as impressed about the rat's family's cop friend, as I was about his short guards.
Late in the afternoon, I was finally told the friend at the judicial police was going to come pick me up and take me again to Chávez's place. Hopefully then he will agree to give my backpack back. Indeed, after a short while a police officer came and asked me to get into his car. The experience was, however, very disappointing. The officer had clearly no interest in what we were doing. He did not know well where he was supposed to go. We took some wrong turn and he got very quickly frustrated. Eventually we found the trail leading to Chávez's little house, but the officer immediately concluded there was nobody home. he told me there was nothing else he could do and instead I should go report my backpack stolen the next day, at the judicial police.
That night I was ganging out in the hostel with the manager, Lobo, at his office. I was the new guy in the hostel, and he was curious to to meet me and learn some more about me. It was already my second night in the hostel, but for obvious reasons, There had not been much time to chat the day before. then, Lobo got a call, but it was for me. some man was calling in regards to my laptop. He explained, if I wanted to have my laptop back I would need to pay $200-$300. He said some very dangerous people could get involved and I would not want that to happen. He really sounded like he was trying to scare me and I did not appreciate that. I just could not understand why they would insist I pay some money for my own laptop. It just did not sound right nor acceptable; particularly if I knew all the details to get the case resolved: I knew the thief, I knew where he lived, I knew who had now my laptop and where he lived... They would just have to return my laptop or the police would get it for me. The man on the phone insisted I had no clue where I was getting myself into. This issue was so much bigger than my laptop and was going to attract very big, dangerous people from the Tijuana drug dealing business. it still seemed to me he wanted to scare me and I did not like that. All of a sudden the call cut off and it became impossible to re-establish it. Lobo recommended I reported the theft to the police. he said they would help me and get my laptop back. As I later learned more about Lobo, it became contradictory what he said that night. He did not believe the police would be of much help to me, but he thought that would keep me in the hostel significantly longer and that meant money for him.
The next day I went to the judicial police station to report my backpack and laptop as stolen and have a case opened. I was assigned agents Castillo and Rubalcaba. I mostly dealt with agent Castillo, as Rubalcaba seemed to be his assistant. Agent Angel Castillo explained to me they were going to investigate the case and try to get my laptop back. however, in order for that to happened, he hinted I would need to constantly follow up with them, by reporting myself almost every morning at 8am at their police station. Basically, if I wanted them to spend time on my case, I was going to need to show I was very interested and was ready to make myself an effort by showing up there at 8am. in any case, my initial fears were slowly getting confirmed and it was becoming clear it was not going to be that easy and straight forward to recover my laptop.
I have always been known to be a genuine night owl. so, getting up early in the morning, during my vacation time, in order to be at agent Castillo's office at 8am, was quite an effort. However, my laptop was very important to me, and I was ready to make that sacrifice. during the first days, I would follow up with agent Castillo, but not everyday: it did not make sense to me, why it had to be everyday, and I still thought I should enjoy my vacation. It became very quickly clear to me agents Catillo and Rubalcaba were not very stressed about my laptop. Once I had arrived, they will make me wait for quite a while. it was very clear they thought my time had no value and there was not the slightest concern to waste it. Eventually, they would go for a round and ask me to get in the back of their pick-up truck. They would usually have a round in the morning and, sometimes, another round in the afternoon. IT really seemed like the life of a judicial police officer was rather relaxed; they really did not seem to take on a lot of stress. As they took me for a round around town, They told me they were going to investigate my case. However, that did not seem quite obvious most of the time. I would get quite confused: if they were investigating my case, why was it that did not recognize most of the places where we were stopping at? I could not understand why they did not go talk to the main actors of my case. If some prior investigation was necessary, before they would go bother Chávez, why did not they go talk to Raul or El Güero's mother?
As I kept insisting, they finally accepted to go visit Chávez. One morning they finally drove me to Chávez' house. As they asked me to remain in the back of the pick-up, they got off to knock on the door. Probably, in order to minimize the disturbance, they used a pen for that purpose. They knock three times with the pen, but, as nobody would open the door, to my disbelief and disappointment, they gave up, turned around and came back to the truck, explaining nobody was home. I was rather outraged of what i had just witnessed. Chávez might be a crook, but that did not mean he would be stupid! Why would a crook, who is keeping a stolen laptop in his house, be willing to open the door to the police? I asked the offices if that was it, if that was all they were going to do. They looked at me rather confused, wondering what else is that I was expecting them to do. I asked them if they could not just get in. They explained they would need a court order in order to do that. So, I asked them why they would not ask for a court order. They clarified they first had to make three attempts to deliver the accusation note, before they could request a court order. So, I wondered when they will try again. They told me not to worry, they would come back.
During the next days I kept insisting we try again to speak with Chávez. Finally, agents Castillo and Rubalcaba accepted to go back, but exactly the same fiasco as the first time repeated itself this second time. They told me again to wait in the back. They used the same pen to know and they knocked again three times, before concluding nobody aws home, turning around and coming back to the truck. Among all that non sense, I could not understand, if they were willing to assume so easily nobody is at home, why would they always go there in the middle of the morning? Since those are typical working hours, I would think that is the most difficult time to find somebody home. I knew for a fact Chávez had not left the house, but was still living there, because I had gone there a few times after dark and the lights were on. I asked agents Castillo and Rubalcaba to try to go there after dark, so they could get convinced there is indeed somebody at home. That however was going to be difficult to accomplish, since the officer's daily routine ended 4-5pm, long before sunset.
The days were passing by and I was slowly loosing hope I would be able to recover my laptop. I was starting to have serious questions to what extent all that effort was worth it. The nine years I spent in graduate school tell how so very tenacious I am, but fighting for my laptop was causing me several other significant expenses in lodging and food, plus it was ruining my vacations. I was running out of money and time and could not extent that situation indefinitely.
One day, Lobo told me very excited a group of girls from Oregon were coming to spend a couple of days in the hostel. He wanted to make sure the girls had a terrific time. He had thought he would take them dance. He asked me to come along. It turned out to be a good idea, because all the other guys were too shy to start dancing. I was the only guy who was totally uninhibited. The girls loved that. Moreover, I did not need a single drop of alcohol in order to get totally wild on the dance floor! I am not sure that was also true for the girls themselves... After the dance, the girls were totally out of control and wanted to go to the beach and have some night swim. Obviously, nobody had brought a swimming suit, but that was exactly the point. Again, all the guys were too shy to get into the water with their clothes on. I, however, had not much problem playing crazy a bit more, So I took off my shoes and socks and ran into the water on my shorts: nobody was going to get deep into the water anyway. At the end of the night, the girls were totally excited. They indeed had had a terrific time. Lobo was very happy with me. Who had guessed that nerd hid such a wild party animal. I think quite some people were wondering that night if I now wanted to go one step further. But that was not really my motivation.
The next day Lobo asked me to go hang out with him at his office. I had told him I was a computer scientist, so he was wondering if I could help him get into the hostel's computer system, which had remained locked since Stefan, the previous manager, had to leave all of a sudden. While I was checking the computer, Lobo and his young American friend, Kyle, were smoking some pod. The pieces were starting to fit together and I was slowly figuring out why agent Castillo had always been so interested in learning how was life in the El Alamo Hostel. As soon as I told him I was staying at the hostel, he started asking me about Stefan and his whereabouts. According to Mr. Castillo, Stefan was a good, old friend of his, and it was so unfortunate that Stefan left all of a sudden and never told his friend how he could be contacted. Agent Castillo had asked me to make sure I tell him immediately, if I find out anything about Stefan's whereabouts, as he would love to receive news from his good, old friend. It was not difficult to guess, if Stefan had to disappear so abruptly is because he had serious legal issues involving marihuana and possibly other drugs. He had to run off just before getting arrested. I guess he did not even had time to tell his sucessor at the post, Lobo, what was the computer's password. Or, perhaps, he locked it up to conceal some compromising information.
As I was working on the computer and Lobo and Kyle were smoking pod, the Oregon girls came into the office. Lobo was so embarrassed he had been caught smoking pod. But the girls quickly clarified there was no reason to worry. They were from Oregon and "in Oregon everybody smokes wee!". In fact, some of the girls quickly accepted a joint. Now Lobo was feeling very sorry. He wished he had known before the girls were into marihuana. As he had loved to invite them to some right upon their arrival.
The town was those days preparing for 'La Pamplonada': some festival that tries to imitate the world-famous San Fermines' Running of the Bulls celebrated in Pamplona (Spain) every year from Jul 6 to July 14. Lobo was very excited with this upcoming festival and was going to have some friends over for it. Unfortunately, the girls were not going to be able to stay any longer for the festival. I was not sure myself how much longer I was going to stay. I was running out of money and was loosing faith in recovering my laptop.
I felt no progress was being made. The main problem was agent Castillo was focused on finding El Güero. whereas I thought we should focus on finding Chavéz, since he had my laptop and that was what really mattered. However, agent Castillo explained I had pointed to El Gúero as the thief who had stolen my laptop, therefore, the procedure required they first get hold of the thief. That was really frustrating for me, since I could not see how they will ever find El Güero. He was a 'rat' and as such, he was a master of figuring out places where to stay hidden. And even if they were ever going to be able to arrest him, that would still not get me my laptop back; Chávez had it!
It was, however, hopeless to argue with the Mexican police, try to explain why it was simply more useful to forget about El Güero and go after Chávez. Unavoidably, it would be necessary to first find El Güero. So, I started thinking what I could do on my end to make that possible or at least easier. I decided I would go to El Güero's mother's neighborhood and try to get some information. I drew a sign offering money for any tip which could help find El Güero. I stood there, near the mother's house, but did not attract much interest. In fact, most people, if at all, would get angry at me and tell me to get the hell out of there. If I now look back at it, it was really foolish of me to believe I would get any information that way: things just did not worked that way over there in Mexico. Nobody would ever betray a neighbor, regardless of whether he was a crook or a drug addict, to help a foreigner. Not even if they felt pity for him because he had had his laptop stolen by the local crook. I could have stood there the rest of my life, gone there thousand time, I had never got any useful information.
The sweetest moment that afternoon took place when some young woman told the little girl she was watching to approach me to hand me a few pesos (about half dollar). I was really impressed and confused when I realized that little girl, that young woman, which both looked much poorer than me, had just given me some money. I was a bit embarassed as well, so I asked the young woman to wait and gave her back the money after saying: "thank you".
The sun had set, it was getting dark and it was getting cold. The streets were getting empty, and I knew nothing was going to happen and my attempt to get information had been a total failure. However, I did not have anything to do that evening, so I decided to wait until it was completely dark. Then some other woman to check me out and read my sign. After she read it, her reaction could not be more compassionate: "Oh no my child, what are you doing? that is not going to work. What you are doing is very dangerous; you are going to be robbed again. You should go back home. Do you have a place to stay? Have you eaten? Are not you cold? Oh, I am sorry this has happened to you. Ana Maria explained to me she was a police officer, of some sort... That is, she worked as a police woman but had no contract. She offered help with food and money. She told me would be happy to help me. That neighborhood was her district, so I should come look for her there if I needed help. She told me to go back home before I get robbed again.
It was the weekend of 'La Pamplonada' and the town was getting busy. the hostel itself was getting crowded too. As I arrived back in the hostel on Saturday evening, Lobo told me I had to surrender my bed, because he needed it for somebody else. Apparently he was overbooked, because he had thought I would be gone for the weekend. I clarified I had only said i might be leaving, but had never given any certainty about it. As a matter of fact, I was not ready or prepared to leave: I just did not have any other place to stay. Lobo insisted I could not stay there and he was going to put me somewhere else. However, when I asked what other place he was thinking to move me into, it did not seem he had any plan at all. I had learned Lobo was not the kind of person you could trust. I had seen him multiple times trashing behind their backs those that he would otherwise call best friends or brothers. Ramiro, aka Lobo, was the kind of person who would start calling you 'best friend' five minutes after he has first met you. I have long learnt, you should never trust those sort of people, those sort of friendships.
I went quickly to my dorm room, before they would start throwing my stuff out. I grabbed my big backpack and put it on my bunker bed. I climbed to my bed and decided I was not going to move out of there for the rest of the night. It was a bit early to go to bed, but I might otherwise have no bed for the night. I did not feel like going partying anyway. There were other people, mostly girls, in my dorm room, so Lobo decided to let it go and not make a number.
It was a rather bad night at the hostel. Lobo had some friends over and they were quite stupid. They were partying all through the night and got stupid drunk. Screaming and making noise until sunrise. One of Lobo's friends started banging on the dorm's windows, screaming 'vivas' to his native state of Michoacan. I could not believe nobody will say anything to him. Finally, I decided to get up and ask him very politely to make less noise and there were a lot of people trying to get some sleep. The idiot asked me if I knew Michoacan, because he was from there and he thought it was the most awesome place on the face of the planet. I replied I had no doubt about that, but kindly asked him to let us sleep.
My attempt did not achieve much success. So, soon afterwards I got up to get ready for the day. I went to the hostel's kitchen to eat something for breakfast. Lobo found me there. He remained very upset with me, because I had locked myself in my dorm the night before and I had been so rude to his friend earlier that morning. He said he wanted to meet me privately in his office. I knew if there was anything I did not want to do was to have a private meeting with him. If he had anything to say to me, he better did so there where I could find some protection among the crowd.
Somewhat later Lobo found me walking back to my room. He ordered I came with him to his office. I repeated I would not do so. then he attacked me and tried to drag me to his office. I started screaming hoping I would cause some alarm among the guests, that would persuade Lobo to stop. Or, simply, somebody would come in my help. Unfortunately, Lobo's friends were quicker coming in his help, push me to the ground and drag me to the office. Once there, Lobo made clear he was sick of me. He had no space for his friends, because I refused to give up my bed. I had been so rude to his friend earlier that morning and, worst of all, he really did not like I had been bringing the police to the hostel. I complained it had been him who recommended I reported my stolen laptop to the police, and they were only coming to pick me up to take me for a round. Lobo told me he was going to grab my stuff from my room, bring it to me and I would be then out of the hostel,
As I left the hostel, walking among the people partying and celebrating 'La Pamplonada', I directed myself to the police station to report I had been beaten up. I was asked if I had a broken bone or had otherwise a medical report detailing my injuries. I said 'No'. The officer explained to me, in such case, he would not do anything.
I thought I would go to the rat's mother's neighborhood to look for Ana Maria. She found me again around sunset. I told her I did not have a place to stay anymore. She explained she was going to take me to have some dinner. Afterwards, she had her night round. She would be on her round until 4am, so I could come in the car with her. After her round, we would go to her place, where I could stay for the night.
So, we first went to have some dinner, where Ana Maria introduced me to her friends. After dinner, he got into the car for her night round. I had been before on rounds with agents Castillo and Rubalcaba. But I found it so much more cool to witness a night round in a Mexican police car! Before heading home, we stopped at a house to pick up Abraham, Ana Maria's six years old son. She paid a little money to some young woman to babysit him while she was working. Finally, he drove to Los Panchos, some little suburb, 4km North of Rosarito. Ana Maria rented a little room there from Mariana. It was a completely unfurnished room: only some blankets and a pile of clothes.
Ana Maria explained to me she would get up around 1pm, to get ready to go 'cobrar' (collecting). I got confused by her use of that term. What did she mean she was going to collect? Collect what? I thought it would be better not to ask too many questions.
I stayed with Ana Maria a couple of more days. but my situation was obviously becoming more and more difficult and a was getting really worn out. I went for another visit to agent Castillo, but it was again the same old story. I made a last desperate attempt to convince him that all I wanted is to have my backpack back and I knew it was at Chávez place. All what I needed from him is that he would get into Chávez little house and grab the backpack for me. But Castillo repeated he needed a court order before he could break into a private home. So I told him to get that court order. Agent Castillo then explained he would need to write and submit his investigation report, in order to request that court order. So I asked him, why did not he write his report? He answered he was not yet ready, as there was still a lot of work and investigation to do. I just could not understand what else, what more, what on Earth did agent Castillo need to resolve the case!!
But one thing was clear, it was hopeless to argue. I just had to accept, even in the best case scenario that I would recover my laptop, it was going to be a long process before it would happen. Making an effort to be sensible, I just had to give it up, call it a failure and go back to Los Angeles.
U.S. Immigration: the icing of the cake.
As I sat all depressed in the bus back to Tijuana, I kept going through all what had happened in the previous couple of weeks. The end result showed very clearly I had made many mistakes and there was a lot for me to learn. In the beginning, I feared I may not be able to recover my laptop, but had quite some hopes everything will turn out well. Unfortunately, a couple of weeks later, my fears were being proven right. I tried to find some relief to all those tormenting thoughts, leaving some option to staying in touch with agent Castillo and possibly coming back to Rosarito, whenever he would be ready to submit his report. I knew however, those thoughts were not quite realistic.
From the Tijuana bus stop, I had a little walk to the border. The feeling there was overwhelming. the place is quite dramatic. For some people, the U.S. citizens, there is no issue at all. But for many others is quite a nightmare to cross the border. You can feel in the air the stress all those people go through, as they hope they will finally able to get to 'the other side'. It is really difficult to fully grasp the sort of impact an adverse decision from an immigration officer may have on their lives. It is really fair to say, at that point, the lives of those people is literally in the hands of the immigration officers.
there are usually long lines leading to the border. It is so much so, that the radios stations in the Tijuana / san Diego area constantly report on the length of those lines. obviously, I also had to wait in line. And mine was the long, slow moving line: the one for the non-U.S. citizens. There were a lot of officers there, watching and controlling the people in the line. They were not friendly at all. There were many strict rules and they were not going to tolerate any noncompliance. It did not matter, if the reason why a person did not follow directions was simply, because he or she did not understand correctly. The misbehavior was reprimanded equally as harsh.
I was able to stay out of trouble until it was finally my turn to have my 'application for entry' processed by an immigration officer. As it is the usual procedure, the officer interviewed me with a few questions: "what is the purpose of your trip?". "I want to travel around the West. I would like to go to Yellowstone, Yosemite, Glacier NP, etc.". "Well, I see you have a tourist visa". "Yes, that is correct". "Where are you going tonight?". "I am going to L.A.". "Where will you be staying in L.A.?". "I will stay at my apartment". 'At your apartment??, since when a tourist has an apartment in a foreign country?". "Well, since I have been a student living in Los Angeles for the last ten years, under various student visas which you can still see in my passport". "That is alright; you will explain all that to my supervisor on special processing". With than, he handed me my little paperwork and directed me to a different counter to talk to his supervisor.
The point of 'special processing' is that they now thoroughly check everything, all their records, to see if they kind find any inconsistency. If by any chance they find anything that is not in agreement with what you have said is the purpose of your trip, or what appears on your paperwork and supporting material (visa, endorsement letters, etc.), your application for entry will be denied.
To my misfortune, the supervisor found very quickly that my student immigration status had been terminated the previous fall, as I did not register for classes on my last semester in the Ph.D. program. He asked me how could I explain that, I said there was actually an explanation, and it had not really been my fault. However, needless to say, it was difficult to explain. -
The supervisor did not take long to also point out I had a social security number. He interrogated aggressively: "Do you know what are social security numbers for?". "Well, yes, they are basically used for identification purposes". "No!, there are used for employment. When you start working, you get a social security number, which then becomes your tax id". "Well, but not only for that: it is also used to access your credit history, or your medical records, or any application to the government, etc". The supervisor, however, had already built his own theory: "Listen, you lied when you said the purpose of your trip was tourism. You dropped out of school last fall; that is why your student status was terminated. You never graduated. You accepted employment in the fall of last year and that is why you have a social security number. Now you want to go back to your work, but I will not allow it to happen". "That is not true! I did graduate from USC and if you allow me, I can come back tomorrow and show you a copy of my diploma". "You do not have a copy of your diploma here with you?". "No, not here, but I can contact USC and ask them they send me paperwork to prove what I am saying is true". "it is not, you started working". "no, I received my social security number in 1996, in my very first week in USC, I do not know how it works now, but back them, before September 11, all the students received a social security number right away; even before they had first enrolled. The supervisor did not care about anything I could say. He continued for quite a long while searching through my records, to see if he could find anything else he could add to support his decision. It has always been very clear to me, I was I very attractive case. Now they were going to deny entry to a young, white caucasian, highly-educated man. It would look so good in their statistical data, to show they do not do any racial profiling.
After a long while, the supervisor came with some paperwork he wanted me to sign. As he had already anticipated, he was going to deny me entry. I asked him what were those papers he was asking me to sigh. He said with those forms I was withdrawing my application for entry. That, however, sounded confusing to me, because that did not sound like something I wanted to do. However, the supervisor was making it sound as I was supposed to sign those papers. However, if that man was screwing me up in such a way, I was not feeling like I should do something just to please him. I was not going to submit to his pressure that easily. I insisted he would please explain what was the meaning of those papers. What were the consequences of signing and the consequences of not signing the forms. He refused to explain. He said I was a Ph.D., so I should not play stupid: I was perfectly able to understand those papers. By saying that, he was clearly contradictory, because he had based his denial decision on the assumption I wad not graduated from school. Hence, in my opinion, his final determination was decisively biased by what he wanted to be the outcome. He insisted refusing providing any insight or explanation of what it meant if I signed or did not sign. Rather, his strategy to get me to sign those papers (because it is clear to me he wanted me to sign them), was to make me believe he was doing that for me, as it was in my best interest to sign them: he would just not explain why. He left me alone with the forms, hoping I will eventually concede and do as recommended. However, I was not going to do anything of such potential importance, without having the necessary information. So, I remained standing there, waiting for the supervisor to come back and ask him again, if he could explained what that signature meant. But he was not interested in the discussion. He just concisely said, it was better for me to sign those papers, because then I did not have to see a judge. That, however, caught my attention, because knowing, as I knew, the denial decision was unfair and wrong, seeing a judge sounded like having an opportunity to review the case and possibly reconsider the decision. So I replied to his words saying: "But I want to see a judge". At this point the supervisor was ready to take the unsigned papers from my hands. I have always thought, he hoped I would finally get scared of missing my last chance of signing the forms and would spontaneously reconsider my decision and sign everything as recommended. As a matter of fact, that thought went through my mind. However, I did not ask for the papers back. Rather, I asked what I needed to do in order to see a judge. He said I was not going to see a judge and I needed to get out of there; I had been there way too long, it was very late and I had to go back to Mexico. As I insisted I wanted to see a judge, the supervisor insisted I better get out of there or he will call security to throw me out. Finally, I left.
I have always wondered (but have never been able to get answered), if I had the right for a court hearing to have my application for entry reviewed (since I never withdrew it). However, I have also wondered and would not be surprised, if the supervisor signed the withdrawal papers for me. In fact, when he took the forms from me, he made some hand gesture that made me think that way.
That night I remained in Tijuana, trying to figure out what to do. I was totally lost, I was totally devastated. I just did not know what to do. I kept thinking about all the consequences of not being able to return to Los Angeles. I tried to come up with ideas for what I could do to solve the problem as much as possible. I kept thinking if I had the option to have a judge reconsider the immigration officer's decision. I also wanted to go to my consulate in Tijuana, hoping they could provide some insight and perhaps assist me. It definitely seemed clear I needed to contact USC and get some documents from them which would prove I was telling the truth at the border, on my application for entry: I did graduate and complete my Ph.D. I never dropped out. If my student status was terminated the previous fall, was because of some misunderstanding and miscommunication from the USC Office of Graduate School. I needed to contact the USC Office of International Services and have all that in writing. I also thought I was going to have to contact my landlord in L.A., to explain I had had an issue trying to cross the border and could not return home. I was therefore going to be a bit late on my monthly rental payment, as I would need to mail it from Mexico, but it would definitely made it there soon.
In the morning I went back to the border, hoping I could get some insight of what options I had and the possibility to get an immigration court hearing. It, however, became immediately clear there was nothing there for me to do at the border. I just had to go back to Tijuana. I tried to find some secluded place where I could sit down. Hoping nobody could see me or hear me, I started crying; I knew I needed to release that. I was broken. I could not understand why they were doing all that to me. Why all that what happening to me. Then I felt a couple of people had noticed me. I stood up and continued my way back to Rosarito, to Ana Maria's cuartito (little room).
Upon my arrival, I remember so very well how I told Ana Maria I was now totally screwed, as I had not been able to cross to the other side. Ana Maria was neither impressed nor stressed. She certainly did not have any problem having me back. She started saying I could not keep going around like that with those old, dirty clothes. She insisted she would need to get me some new clothes and then I will look sharp and shiny. For that purpose, she continued her explanation, she was going to take me to the best 'boutiques' in town, which only she knew. Something told me I could not take her words literally. My doubts got quickly reinforced as she started driving around dirt roads, going from my shack house to another. Indeed, the people in those shack houses were selling all sort of second hand items and clothes. Ana Maria got me a bit of everything: some pants, some shirt, some tennis shoes, etc. She was now so proud of how I looked.
As I was now spending more days with Ana Maria, I got more acquainted with her daily routine and schedule. She explained to me she did not have a contract with the police department. So, her first round, in the afternoon, was to go 'cobrar' (collect). She would, however, bitch about how stingy the people in her assigned neighborhood was. She had no shame to clarify what were the consequences: during her night round, she certainly did not have much regard watching for the stingy people's property. It was really impressive how openly Ana Maria was talking about her practices. On her afternoon round, from 4pm to 8pm, she would drive around visiting the neighbors, expecting to receive some money, in the form of donations. It was understood by everybody, it was in the neighbor's best interest to offer some money, if any help from the police should ever be needed. Obviously, those practices were not just Ana Maria's, but they were common to everybody: that is how the system worked over there. What was really weird to me was how Ana Maria would bitch about the neighbors. But the neighbors had generally been perceived as the victims of such corrupt system. As a matter of fact, those practices are the same that the mafia has become famous for.
Over the next few days, the relationship with Ana Maria started getting a bit more complicated. I once stayed with somebody who had a very interesting quote: "Guests are like fish, after three days they all stink". My experience has proven that statement generally true. Abraham was not particularly nice to me. Probably he found in me a rival for his mother's attention and love and felt jealous. I could certainly understand. However, Ana Maria told him he should be nicer to me. Abraham, as any other child who only knows how to be straight-forward and sincere, then asked me: "Are you going to be my new dad?". I really did not know how to answer that question; so I really did not.
it was clear that Ana Maria had some expectations. Unfortunately, I was not ready to meet them. I needed help, but I could not afford to pay for it a price such us marrying a Mexican woman I had just met and adopt her child. However, Ana Maria was going to make sure there was no misunderstanding and I would receive the message of what was that she was expecting. So, when I was laying down, she would come close to me and make sexual advances on me. However, I would not react. Ana Maria allowed me a few days to respond and accept her advances. however I did not.
Finally, one day, late in the afternoon, Ana Maria came home with another guy, I had never seen before. I never knew if he was her new boyfriend or just somebody who came that day to help her kick me out. Ana Maria told me I could not stay there anymore and I had to leave immediately. I did not even have time to pack my stuff. They put me in what seemed to be his car and they drove me to another place, where they said I would be able to stay. I had actually passed by that place many time before, as it was just 100 meters from Chávez' little house. I still did not know what kind of place it was exactly, but I thought it was some sort of nursing home. Soon I was going to learn it was a drug rehabilitation center. We arrived there after dark, so the manager and everybody with any authority was already gone for the day. The only person From the staff who remained was the janitor. As he did not know what to do with me, he thought he would allow me sleep on the floor in the manager's meeting room. He put down a blanket on the floor and told me I could sleep there until 5am; the time people get up in that place. I tried to sleep as good as I could, but obviously was not able to get much sleep. At 5am I had to get up. I had to wait for the manager to come and see if they would allow me stay there or not. As I was waiting, I had the chance to chat with the janitor. He kept wondering if they would allow me to stay there: he just did not know what was going to happen. He then asked me if I did any drugs. I was then so proud to reply a wholeheartedly 'No'. I was clean! I have always been clean. I have always kept away form all bad habits: never any drugs, never any cigarettes, never any alcohol! I would never give any problem, because I have always been a good guy and stayed out of trouble. I have always followed directions and done as told.
What was my surprise when I hear the janitor's response to my words: "Well... that is a problem, because this place is for drug addicts". Oh my God, it was clear everything was against me those days. It did not matter which way I would go; no matter what, I would get it wrong: holy cow!!
A while later I was introduced to César, the center's manager. I had the chance to talk to him and his assistants for a few minutes. I think they concluded I was a nice guy, who just needed some help. So, they allowed me to stay. They just asked me not to publicize too much that somebody who was not struggling with some drug addiction, was staying there. That was obviously no problem for me.
They sent me to the lower level, with the 'new arrivals'. I was not aware at that time, but the people there was kept locked in, so they had no access to the drugs. In fact the little gate to that level was always guarded. I was briefly told the basic rules of the place, the different people and the different places: who to ask for what and where to go for what. They knew I had barely slept that previous night, so they rolled down a mat in some corner in the main room and allowed me to take a nap. The area was rather crowded, so I was still not able to get much sleep. At around 1pm lunch was served. It was free and that was good, but the food was not convincing at all. Since my sight is so bad, I do not eat with my eyes: that helped going through that food. However, several days later, I got by accident into the seller where they kept the food and could confirm it was all off. Clearly, they were getting their food donated by places where they could not serve or sell it to the public anymore. As much I may have liked free food, it was clear, I should avoid as much as possible eating there. The problem with that, however, was the people at the center really wanted me to be part of them, just one more of them, one more o the big family. That was actually more important than what it may seem at first glance; since they really needed support each other, encouragement from everybody around them, in order to stay strong in their fight against the drug. So, they would not appreciate to learn I was rejecting any of their stuff; including their rotten food.
The people there was very friendly to me. In a way, they felt I was out of context; I did not belong there. I looked like a nice guy, like a young kid who has not yet done anything wrong. for sure there were other guys there younger than me, but they had aged and deteriorated their young looks much faster because of their drug abuse. In fact, I have always looked much younger than my actual age, and to most people there, I was basically still a child. So, in a way, they felt they were going to adopt me. that meant they were going to protect me (if any other inmate would pick on me), they were going to help me (if I needed anything), or they would simply not do to me what they would otherwise do to some other inmate. For example, they would play stealing something from me. Then they will tell me to watch my stuff a bit better, because it had been so easy for them to take something from me. They would show me what they had got and return it to me with a mischievous smile.
There were other cases where the interest of the inmates towards me was a bit more encouraging and supportive. I will always remember one guy who told me he wished he could be friends with me. He felt it would be difficult, since we did not have much in common, but he wished we could grow a relationship of friendship between us, because he knew I would be a good influence to him. He explained his family had a workshop and he would be able to get work there. He would also find me a job there, if I wanted. The problem for him was that all his friends were a bad influence: they were into drugs or some other bad habits. That way it was very difficult for him to stay out of trouble.
Although I was generally perceived being out of context, it was rather interesting and funny I was still asked quite frequently what was that I was doing. The first times I would not get the subtle question, so I would just look stupid. "Yeah, c'mon, you know!, what do you take?". "What do I take?". "Yeah!, do you do crystal, crack, meth?". Obviously, they would use some slang where I would be totally lost. "Ahh, no..., no..., no ...I do not do any of that". "Oh, c'mon!". "No... seriously, I do not do drugs. I have not even ever smoked cigarettes". "Yeah right!". Sometimes they will insist and sometime they will give up. But they will never take my word for it. One day, one of the inmates explained it to me: "Look, if you are here, it is because you do drugs: it is as easy as that! You see? Drug addicts are the biggest liars ever. Me, I am a drug addict and I lie all the time. I know this world, I know how drug addicts are and we lie as much as needed, we would say whatever, in order to get the drug. We are possessed by the drug and we do whatever to get it. So, what drugs do you do?". "Well..., I understand what you are saying, but I really do not do drugs". I did not want to insist, since I knew I was not supposed to publicize I was staying there without struggling with drug addictions, but, I just did not know what else I could tell him, because I would be caught very quickly on any lie about any drug abuse.
In my first day, after lunch, I thought I could use the afternoon to get online and write to the Office of International Services at USC. So, i went up the stairs, towards the little gate, to exit the place. The guard there, however, stopped me: "Hey!, where do you think you are going?". "Well... I am going outside", I answered rather confused. "But you cannot leave". "What do you mean, I cannot leave?". "You cannot leave, you are locked up. Do you have any authorization to exit?". "Well, yes, I am not really an inmate, I am not into drugs. I am just here because I needed a place to stay, but I am not a drug addict". "Yeah, right...". "No, seriously, you can ask César, or anybody in management". "Yeah, well..., César is not here right now. There is actually nobody from management here right now. I will ask when they come back". "But when will that be?". "Well, I do not know, maybe a couple of hours". "but I need to leave!!". "Dude, I am sorry, but I cannot let you leave until I check with them". Then I also thought of other people I had been introduced to in the lower level. Victor was the boss in the lower level and his friend, 'El Cucaracho' (some guy who was known by that nickname, because his thorax looked like a cockroach's from his weight-lifting exercising) seemed to be second in charge. Unfortunately, Neither Victor nor 'El Cucaracho' were around either. "Look, I will try to find somebody who can clarify your status, but until then, you will have to wait, OK?".
So I went back to the area where the rest of the lower-level inmates were hanging out, trying to figure out how to make use of the time I would have to wait. I thought I could start drafting the letter I was going to email to USC. After a while, some guy came to talk to me. He looked really awful; he could barely walk nor speak. That was a mind and body consumed and destroyed by the drug. He would walk stepping his feet perpendicular to each other. It was also extremely difficult to understand what he was saying, as he was not able to enunciate words correctly. At first glance, anybody had thought he was retarded; yet, it was clearly the drug. He was still able to explain all the people in the lower level were locked up, and that included myself. They were trying to find out what was my exact status and whether it was really true what I was saying. However, there was nobody there at the moment who could confirm or refute my words. So, I had to wait. I would not be able to exit the center, until they could verify my status. When I asked how long I would have to wait, he said about one more hour or so.
After all, what the guy said was not that terrible: I could certainly stay busy for an hour more. But it made me feel horribly bad. It was devastating to realize the power that guy had over me. He could barely walk nor speak. His mind and body were completely consumed and destroyed by the drug. Undoubtedly, his life was an endless story of bad choices and stupid mistakes. Yet, that guy held the key to my freedom of movement. That guy had the power to decided whether I could go out or had to stay locked up. He had that power over me: the perfect nerd. The guy who had always done as told, who had always followed directions, who had always stayed clean and out of trouble. It was the world upside-down. It was the bad guys in control of the good guys. I had been the victim of the theft of my laptop, the whole town knew who had stolen my laptop and who had got my laptop for $200 of marihuana, and yet, both crooks, El Güero and Chávez were running around wild and free, while it was me who was kept locked up. Something was wrong there; really wrong. I felt like I was living some sort of drama movie, where the main character gets locked up 'by mistake', because some criminal takes on his identity, while he gets the criminal's. So, he gets locked up for the rest of his life, serving the criminal's sentence, eventually is taken to a madhouse, because he keeps insisting they are all wrong; he is not the right person they all think he is. In my case, however, fortunately the drama movie ended one hour later when I was told they had been able to clarify everything and, from now on, I would be allowed to go out to town, to do my stuff.
For most people it may seem crazy to stay at a drug rehabilitation center. However, I have always seen it as an extremely interesting learning experience. It gave me the chance to be exposed to a side of life, which certainly I had otherwise never been able to experience. It was very interesting to see how those men were going through their struggles with their drug addiction. For them it was a total defeat; a complete failure. We all try so hard to look smart, so that we are allowed to make decision for ourselves and, possibly, for other people. For these men it was game over. They had reached such a low point, they could not go on pretending anymore: they just could not hide anymore. They just had to admit total defeat and a complete failure of their lives. They had just been stupid, the drug had conquered them and they were total fools.
In appreciation for their help, they all hoped I would support them in their struggles. I would join them and become one more in the family. A fundamental part of that was to join them for the daily meetings. It was again very interesting to learn how the rehabilitation method worked. If the drug had brainwashed them with the message: "the drug is awesome and I am so very cool for worshiping her"; the way to cure them was to brainwash them again, this time however, with the opposite message: "the drug is evil and I am a stupid fool for becoming her slave".
That is how their meetings went on. One after another, some guy would come to the front and repeat the same message, over and over again: "I also failed. I have been stupid. I have made the same mistakes. I also always refused to follow directions, to do as told. I have cause so much pain and harm: to my family, to my good friends, to everybody. I was selfish, I was stupid. I lost everything. All because of the drug. I became a slave to the drug. I have done the most horrible things, because I could only think of the drug. I was selfish, I was stupid. I am ashamed of myself".
That message, however, did not really apply to me that well and, most importantly, unfortunately, was definitely not what I needed at that time. I was going myself through some difficult times and, although some of my decisions may have not been very smart, it was not because of some big mistake on my part: life just had not been very good to me, those days, down there in México. Rather than a big trashing, I needed myself some support, some encouragement, some love and appreciation. Although each speaker was contributing his own experience, it was assumed everybody in the room shared the same dark record. So, listening to the same negative message, over and over again, was slowly wearing me out and bringing me even more down. That is when, to my new friends disappointment, I started missing their meetings
There were still special occasion, like when they had a guest speaker, where they would encourage me once more to join them. That was the case, for example, of Lorenzo's visit. As I was listening to Lorenzo (or Larry, as some also liked to call him), I was quite intrigued why was it that everybody felt so much respect for him. After all, it really did not seem to me he was saying anything different than anybody else had said before. Yet, the room was in complete silence and everybody was paying full attention to all his words. A couple of days later, we happened to run into each other after the meeting. I introduced myself and stretched out my arm to shake hands. Immediately I felt something was not quite right. Lorenzo felt confused as he was struggling to shake my hand. But he really could not: he was missing his right arm. the drug took that from him. I guess that is why they referred to heroin as the mother queen of all drugs. Well, now I knew why everybody had so much respect for Lorenzo.
There is a Spanish saying, according to which, in any adversity, it is always possible to find some positive consequence. Having been rejected by U.S. Immigration gave me plenty of time to work with the Mexican police to recover my laptop. Since I had also been kicked out from Ana Maria's cuartito, I had to move into the drug rehabilitation center, where everybody had to get up at 5:45am the latest. That also fitted nicely with agent Castillo's requirement to follow up frequently and report by his office at 8am. So, now, I was visiting and bugging agent Castillo almost every day. I think he was quite impressed with me. I do not think he had seen such a commitment in a long time, from anybody trying to recover a stolen item.
He also knew I had not been able to cross the border and I think he sympathized even more with me for that. Agent Castillo was an old, calm but friendly man. I believe he wanted the best for me, but he certainly was not ready to get stressed out himself on his work. now, in what referred to my problems with U.S. immigration, he was totally on my side. He, however, did not understand really well what was the whole stress about it. If I wanted to get to 'the other side', it was clear to him, there was always a way to do it. All I needed to do was to pay some $1000-$2000 and they would pass me through as a chicken. Agent Castillo explained they used to cross through the river. Now it was as a chicken. Sure U.S. Immigration kept trying to stop it and eventually they will figure out what is the latest trick used by the Mexican. But, according to agent Castillo, it would not matter, the Mexicans will come up with a new trick to cross over: the U.S. will never be able to stop them.
Agent Castillo had told me to follow up with him at 8am and now I was visiting him almost every day. He sympathized with me, but, probably, he also felt he had to do something for me. However, my case was not that big that it was worth working on every day. Instead, agents Castillo and Rubalcaba started sharing their early morning routine with me: that meant they started treating me for breakfast. Now agents Castillo and Rubalcaba did not go through the same struggles as Ana Maria. Rather, they had their nice, secure position at the 'Policia Judicial'. They could afford and had the status to have breakfast at a nice restaurant: a whole lot better than what I was getting at the drug rehabilitation center. In fact, I could say, I was finally getting a taste of my Mexican vacation and had the chance to enjoy some good,authentic Mexican cuisine. The first time I got treated was a surprise, so I ordered whatever looked best and more fulfilling. The following times I thought I should sample and get to know the local cuisine. I had some 'chilaquiles', some 'huevos rancheros' and, little by little, I slowly went through the menu.
In addition, I was also finally able to convince agent Castillo to go talk to Chávez after dark. Some time ago, I had sneaked in at night near Chávez house and taken some pictures, showing the lights were on. Hence, somebody was inside. As I was sitting in the back of the pick-up, cruising through the night, I felt really hopeful, this time there would not be excuses for Chávez and he will have to open. My excitement grew bigger as we arrived and, indeed, found the lights on: it had been so disappointing to find them off, after so much effort insisting we had to come at night time! As we arrived at the house, agent Castillo asked me to remain in the truck, while they were going to check on Chávez. Again the same pen was used to knock on the door. Again, three times they knocked on the door. Again, nobody inside answered nor opened the door and the officer, again, turned around after knocking for the third time, concluding nobody was at home; they should have just forgotten to turn off the lights. I just could not believe it. There were no words to express my frustration and disappointment. I asked agent Castillo when would he be ready to submit his investigation report. He said, there was still work to be done.
Towards the end of August, there was an art festival in town. It was a Saturday afternoon and I did not have much to do. I got attracted by the crowd and the music and thought I will check what was all that buzz about. For that purpose, I asked a man I found seated at the entrance. Antonio explained to me it was an art festival dedicated to the Southern Mexican state of Oaxaca. Soon the questions turned back to me. Antonio was intrigued by who I was and what I was doing her. He could gues I was not from there. But, clearly, I was not one more of those foreigners coming from the U.S., since my Spanish was perfect. he was impressed and delighted to learn I was coming from Spain. I would soon find out Antonio was the culture council of the town of Rosarito and he was the lead organizer of the festival. He was really happy to see people from "all over the world" were coming to Rosarito to attend the festival. I found it really sweet when he described my visit in those terms on his opening speech to the crowd. The people there may have thought that was a minor art festival, but Antonio made it clear there were international visitors, who were coming from very far away in the world, to attend the festival.
Antonio now wanted to know everything about me and, among all, he was mostly curious about my experience, impressions and opinion on Mexico. He was very disappointed and sad to hear my experience had not been good. Clearly, my story did not have much good to say about Mexico. It was easy for him to realize, what had happened to me was not quite right. He told me to come see him in 'Palacio' (City Hall) the coming Monday. He wanted to help me. He was going to make sure I receive the assistance that was right.
Knowing my appointment was in City Hall, it was clear this was an excellent contact and an extraordinary opportunity to, once and forever, achieve some progress in my case. Without a doubt, that Monday I went to see Antonio at his office in City Hall. He told me he was going to set me up an appointment with the 'subprocurador'; some man really high up at the local police. He was going to make sure some proper attention is given to my case and something is done to solve it. Antonio sent me to his secretary to arrange the appointment. As I was talking to the secretary, I got to explain to her briefly what my story was all about. I told her how El Güero had stolen my laptop and then sold it to some other man, by the name of Chávez. I explained that man had my laptop and I knew where he lived, but the police would not go and get the laptop for me. With that, I showed her some pictures I had taken of Chávez house at night. The lights inside the house were on, so somebody was living there, but the police would not do anything. What was my surprise when the woman said: "Oh my God, but I know this house, that is my niece's house, she is married to Chávez".¨¨
Oh my God! That was also the thought that went through my mind. The lady was now even able to remember she had seen my yellow backpack, one day she was visiting the house. she said she was going to help me get my laptop back and speak with her peo. she picked up the phone and started making some calls. However, it seemed like she was finding some difficulties trying to get hold of her relatives. Finally, she engaged into some conversation. As she went through it, the tone of her voice changed a bit and became more severe. By the time the call ended and she hang up the phone, she did not sound that friendly towards me anymore. She ended up saying she was going to try help me, but she needed to clarify a few issues; she could not promise anything. She still finished setting up my appointment with the 'Subprocurador'-
My appointment with the 'Subprocurador' took place a few days later. It was a total fiasco and a big disappointment. The 'Subprocuardor' started the meeting asking some questions to find out who was I and was I able to get such an appointment. Clearly, he wanted to know, if I was coming from some important family or had some 'big friends'. I thought I better answer those questions truthfully. As soon as he was able to figure out I was nobody and I had only been able to get that appointment, because, just a few days ago, I met somebody from 'Palacio', almost randomly, the meeting was technically over: he had already decided he was not going to do anything. He just used good-sounding words to explain everything had its procedure and agents Castillo and Rubalcaba were doing their job very professionally. Clearly, he was not going to intervene.
But I still had quite some hopes set on Antonio's secretary. So, a few days later I went to follow up with her. Now, that was an even bigger disappointment. Now, the tone of her voice was angry in response to my inquiry. Apparently, that first day in her office, she was finally able to get hold of Chávez' brother and that was the person she was speaking with. Chávez' brother had told her some weird theory. she was angry at me because I had not tell her everything or I had not said all the truth. Apparently, according to the Chávez family, I had cut a deal with El Güero, so that we would pretend he had stolen my laptop. El Gúero then would take my laptop and get $200 in marihuana for it. Finally, since El Güero had told where he had taken my laptop to, I showed up by Chávez with the police, to get my laptop back. I could not believe she could give any credibility to such a ridiculous story: how stupid of me, had it been, to do something like that? Why would I do something like that? what did I get from such a ridiculous deal? Most likely she did not really believe the story either and was only pretending. She probably needed some excuse to get justify she was not going to help.
It was a big disappointment, but I certainly did not hesitate to go talk and inform about it to agent Castillo. This was relevant evidence. Now I had another witness whose testimony incriminated Chávez. Moreover, given her position at City Hall, she could not afford to lie and her testimony was particularly worthy. I had little problem with her telling that weird theory to the police. I wanted to see who could give any credibility to such BS. I also took the chance to remind agent Castillo about Raul, the other main witness.
Agent Castillo was interested to hear the new information and told me they would go talk to Antonio's secretary. A couple of days later, agents Castillo and Rubalcaba put me again in the back of their pick-up and we all drove that morning to Palacio to meet with Antonio's secretary. To my surprise, disappointment and annoyance, I was not allowed into the meeting. I have always wondered why I was kept out; what is what they needed to hide or keep secret from me. What is what they did not wanted me to hear.
A couple of days later, I met again with agent Castillo at his office. Finally, he explained, this was it; now everything was clear. He was finally ready to write his report; Now he knew what exactly had happened and he had finished his investigation. In a rather subtle way, he also explained to me, I did not have to worry anymore. No more follow-up's from me were needed. I could rest assured I did not need to insist and push anymore; my work was done. In fact, I think now they did not want me to interfere anymore.
That was the most interesting and informative conversation I ever had with agent Castillo. Now all the pieces started to fit together and I was finally getting some insight of where I was and what was all going on around me. When I asked him if he had also talked to Raul, he replied yes. Moreover, he said with a smile in his face, Raul was his 'friend'. Unavoidably, that reminded me to the rat's family having a 'friend' in the police. It turned out everybody had friends in the police!: was not that weird? If it was not clear already, agent Castillo was happy to clarify it once and forever: "You see?, We all have informers spread all over. So, we will find them. After all, what agent Castillo was saying was not that surprising anyway. It actually made a lot of sense with what i had seen with Ana Maria: how she will go visit and hang out with the neighbors in her assigned neighborhood, and how she would later be more or less willing to assist a neighbor in need of her services, depending of how much money he or she had donated to her during her visits.
Agent Castillo also explained the whole issue with Chávez and Antonio's secretary. I finally learned Chávez' last concern was my backpack and the laptop inside it. If Chávez did not return my laptop, was because he was way too busy staying missing and did not want to give any sign of life that would attract the attention of the 'big capos'.
Since there was not much more for me to do in Rosarito, it was about time I made a second attempt to cross the border. At that point, I had already got all the paperwork and supporting material to prove I said the truth on my first attempt to cross over to the U.S.. In the previous weeks I had investigates all other options and nothing seemed feasible. At the consulate they told me they were not prepared or qualified to provide any kind of legal assistance. They would not be able to assist me finding out if I had had the right to request a court hearing. For that purpose, my only option was to hire an attorney, and I knew how expensive that was going to be.
I had also gone to the U.S. Consulate in Tijuana and, to nobody's surprise, they were even less helpful. My experience across my travels tells how extremely difficult it is to talk to a U.S. officer human being at a consulate abroad. It is already difficult, if you are a U.S. citizen, it is even more difficult if you are a resident. Forget it, if you are a non-U.S. tourist. I was only able to call some number, where somebody explained to me it would be extremely complicated for me, a non-Mexican resident, to get a visa to travel to the U.S. from the U.S. consulate in Tijuana. In any case, even if I was successful, it had taken several months.
So, there were only two options left for me: either they allowed me to cross the border this second time at San Ysidro, or I will have to conclude the shortest (or shall I say the only) way to go from Tijuana to San Diego, was flying first many thousands of kilometers to Spain, apply for a visa there, and then fly back to los Angeles.
So, I got all my stuff ready and went back to Tijuana and from there to the San Ysidro border post. As I was walking and observing all the crowd heading the border, I kept thinking how unfair this world is. For some people, it was such a casual episode to cross back to the U.S., after a day of fun in Mexico, yet for me it was a real drama I would most likely not be allowed to cross and, therefore, not even be able to go back to my own home in Los Angeles. It is particularly difficult to understand any justification to it, if we consider how California and most of the current Southwestern U.S. became a U.S. territory. it was not through a peaceful, rightful, mutually-agreed purchase from Mexico to U.S., as most people believe.'Rather, Mexico was forced to 'sell' half of it territory, as of 1848, at the price set by the U.S. government, as part of the conditions imposed by the U.S. on the Guadalupe-Hidalgo peace treaty, whereby Mexico surrendered to the U.S. after losing the war both countries had fought over Texas and had ended with the occupation by the U.S. Army of Mexico City. It is some part of history Mexicans know very well, but is completely ignored in the U.S.; they just do not want to know it.
I had some understanding, this time, I was not supposed to get onto the regular line; rather, I was going to need some special processing. I was told to go to some office, where they dealt with special cases. The line there was shorter and the place was not that crowded, but the officers were not any more friendly: at least not the one who checked my paperwork and I talked to. He dismissed me fairly quickly, His point was I had already enjoyed 10 years in the U.S. and that was more than enough; I could consider myself lucky, I had been allowed to stay in the U.S. for as many as 10 years, it would be to greedy and ungrateful of me to expect to have that extend any longer. I tried to keep the discussion in the technical terrain. I tried to make the point, last time I was denied entry based on some arguments that I could prove wrong with the documents I was showing. It was hopeless; the officer was not interested, he had alread made his determination, he was done with me and had already called the next person in line.
I felt I had not spoken with the right person. I needed to talk to somebody who at least would allow me to make my case. I felt I needed to speak with a supervisor. However, it became clear, I was not going to find any such person in that office. I thought I would get into the ordinary line and, by the time it would be my turn, I was going to explain I needed to speak with a supervisor. It was indeed easy to see my case had to be analyzed by a supervisor. This time he was more understanding than the previous officer I had talked to before. He took a look at my papers and eventually agreed I had told the truth and indeed had intended to enter the U.S. for the sake of tourism. However, he also noticed and had to point out, the previous time, on my first attempt to cross the border, the immigration officer who declined my application for entry did not have enough with that, but had also revoked my tourist visa. Now, without a valid visa, by law i just could not be allowed to cross, after I had been denied entry to the U.S. in the past. At this point, there was just nothing that could be done. If I had been denied entry to the U.S. in the past, I could no longer use the Visa Exempt Program to apply for entry; I was simply not eligible for that program anymore and was now strictly required to have a visa in order to be allowed in. Whether the entry-denial decision had been correct or not, whether it had been just or not, it did not matter anymore; the law simply now required me to have a visa. So, it became now clear I would have to fly back to Spain and apply for a visa there, before I could have any chance to be accepted back in the U.S..
As disappointing as it was, I started planning to fly back to Spain, but, before that, I wanted to take the chance to still travel a little bit around Baja California. That had been the main purpose of my visit to Mexico in the first place, and it was so very disappointing that, after almost two months in Rosarito, I had barely been able to go to Ensenada.
As I started looking for flights and realized the best fares to Madrid were through Cancun, I got the idea I might as well spend some days in the Yucatan peninsula and travel some more around that beautiful region. I was going to Chichen Itza!!
The Legal System Labyrinth
Unfortunately, I was not going to have much time to enjoy my travels. I had received news from a friend in Los Angeles: he had seen a notice posted on my apartment's door, stating my landlord was filing an eviction lawsuit against me. At first I did not understand, since I had sent my monthly rent payment through that friend. I could not see why a little delay in my payment could justify an eviction. However, my friend clarified the reason for the lawsuit was not monetary, but the sanitary conditions. Unfortunately, I soon found out, that was just an excuse. It was true I had left Los Angeles thinking I would be back in a few week and, therefore, had left some food (like onions and potatoes) outside the fridge; but when my friend offered to get inside and clean everything, my landlord was not interested and did not allow it. moreover, I called my landlord, but they did not want to talk to me; I was instructed to speak with their lawyer. When I called my landlord's lawyer, he said he had nothing to discuss with me; we will see each other in court.
It has always been clear to me, the true reason why my landlord wanted to evict me was to get rid of me and get a new tenant instead on a much higher rent. I had moved into that unit in 1998, long before the housing boom. Therefore, my monthly rent had been as low as $350 for several years. when my last landlord took ownership of the property, he tried to increase the rent. However, since there is rent control in Los Angeles, the law only allowed for a 3% yearly rise. My landlord had made sure to apply that 3% increase every year since he bought the property; but, in 2006, my monthly rent was still under $450. For a similar big studio, three blocks North of USC campus, other students on a newer contract were paying anywhere around $700-$900. Clearly, my landlord had strong reasons to be interested in getting rid of me and signing a new rental agreement with a new tenant. now that he learned I had got stuck in Mexico and could not cross the border to come back to Los Angeles and defend my case, my landlord found the perfect opportunity to accomplish that. Actually, it did not look too well on me; I had been doing some research, I had been making some calls and it turned out I would not be able to have somebody else represent me nor file on my behald. If I wanted to defend my case, I was going to need to be in Los Angeles. Now, time was ticking. After all, it was probably not the end of the world to loose my studio in Los Angeles, since I could not expect to live in California much longer, but I was very stressed and worried about all my stuff in my apartment: what was going to happen with it I get evicted, while I am not yet back? Definitely, time was ticking.
I started working on my paperwork for my new visa application without delay. Still from Mexico, i wrote my Ph.D. advisor. I had been told by the Office of International Services at USC I needed to understand my status, in terms of U.S. immigration, was rather fragile. Therefore, in order to maximize the chances of being successful in my visa application, it was highly advisable to support my application with some endorsement from an U.S. institution. In that sense, the most natural option was to present some endorsement from USC. So, as much as I disliked the idea, I went back to ask my advisor to endorse my visa application. I was not sure what his reaction would be, but I was going to explain all the problems I had gone through in Mexico, with U.S. Immigration and the risk of losing my apartment in Los Angeles. I thought even my advisor would had some understanding and be ready to help. It did not come to a surprise, however, his response was not exactly like that. He wanted to know how long I wanted the visa for. I told him one year, because I kept running into problems due to my immigration status and it was becoming a real nightmare that was disrupting my whole life. So, in order to avoid that for a good while, I wanted to ask for one year. My advisor did not like my answer at all and was certainly not shy to say it. He argued, if I was given a one year visa, it would only contribute to prolong even further the current limbo where I have been installed in the last year. Instead, he suggested a three months visa; according to him, three months would give me enough time to write my papers and get my stuff out. I was also really disappointed, frustrated, annoyed and, even, upset with my advisor's response. I was there, going through a nightmare, because nine months earlier he had refused to help me get something more than a fragile tourist visa. I was really worried and stressed fearing I may loose my apartment and all my stuff in it. And here was my advisor, as always, only concerned about getting some papers from me. I also did not put much effort to show my frustration in my next reply. I told him I really did not care about the lenght of the new visa. I was really done with all that constant immigration headache. All what I care about was to save my stuff and I had absolutely no problem, just getting back to L.A. to save my stuff and, as soon as I had that done, leaving for good. It was impossible for my advisor to ignore my frustration. He said he felt sorry Immigration had made it so difficult on me (as I read his reply, I could not help keep thinking, the frustration he had noticed in my message was not with Immigration, but with him). He suggested applying for a six months visa as a compromise between his three months and my one year. I replied succinctly, whatever the length, I did not care.
With my visa application endorsement secured and my airtickets booked, I had a few days left to travel around Baja California and then about a week more in the Yucatan. in Baja california I did a little loop around Tecate, Casa de Piedra, Mexicali, Mar de cortés, Ensenada, Rosarito and Tijuana. Baja California was not as beautiful and spectacular as Yucatan was going to be, but I still enjoyed spending some time in the region, without the worries, headaches and frustrations dealing with the Mexican rats, the Mexican police and U.S. Immigration.
Finally in Spain, I started my new visa application, as soon as I arrived. I also thought I would start preparing my defense in response to my landlord's claim in the eviction lawsuit. For that purpose, I asked Ben, another friend at the brain Simulation Lab, to go to the courthouse and get me a copy of the paperwork my landlord had filed, Surprisingly, Ben wrote back after a couple of days saying, he had gone to the courthouse, but found no lawsuit had been filed against me. I was really confused by those news. from my contact with my landlord's lawyer, a couple of weeks ago, it was very difficult to imagine they would change their mind: it just seemed so very unlikely. those were certainly very good news, but I just was not sure I could rely on them. However, ben is, without a doubt, a mature, responsible and reliable person. It therefore also seemed unlikely the information he was providing was incorrect. I decided I would take some relieve and joy in those news, but, just in case, not change my plans to return to Los Angeles as soon as possible.
On October 24th, I finally successfully arrived back in Los Angeles. As soon as i got there, I went to the courthouse, to make sure there was no problem with my apartment. Unfortunately, at the courthouse, I found there had been indeed an eviction lawsuit filed by my landlord against me. It was even more disappinting: on that date was the deadline for me to file a response to my landlord's claim. Now, The clerk explained to me, the case was now going to a default and I was no longer able to submit a reply. Consequently, the court would rule based solely on the plantiff's claim.
Those were really bad news, because now it was pretty clear I was going to be evicted. However, I was told I still had one last opportunity. I could still file a motion explaining to the court, why I did not submit a response on due time, and asking to be allowed to still make my case. I went to a legal aid service to prepare my motion. However, they told me I could not yet file my motion: I had to wait until the sheriff would come and post on my appartment's door the three-day notice to quit the premises. That sounded really weird: what would be the point of not allowing the defendant to submit a motion asking for permission to make his case, until the judge has ruled, the sheriff has received the order and is already in the process to execute it? well, as weird as it seemed, they insisted that is how it was.
It was the very beginning of December when the sheriff finally arrived at my door and gave me the notice to leave the premises in the next three days. I immediately ran to my legal aid service to prepare and have my motion submitted. As soon as the court received my motion, a hearing was set to decide on it. At the hearing, the judge made it very clear he was very upset I had waited until the last minute to file my motion. I explained to him I had been told by the legal aid service, it was not possible to file earlier; I had to wait until the sheriff would come to post the 3-day notice on my door. The judge said that was not correct.
Then, I tried to make my case of what I thought was the point of the hearing: to justify why I had not been able to submit my response to the plantiff's claim in due time. The judge, however, was not interested in that. I tried to explain I had got stuck in Mexico and had not been able to cross the barder back to California. I even offered to show my passport with my revoked visa to prove it; but the judge was not interested. Instead, we wanted to know from my landlord's lawyer what were the reasons they considered I should be evicted. The lawyer argued the sanictary conditions of the apartment were really bad. I have always regreted, I was not quick enough to point out, why they did not allow me or my friend clean the apartment, if they were so concerned about the sanictary conditions. The judge asked me to explain what were the apartment's sanictary conditions, after I had been absent for a few months. I thought it was not a fair question, since we were at the motion's hearing to argue if I had been justified to miss the deadline to submit a response to my landlord's claim. Should my motion be successful, we would both have the chance to make our case, whether the sanictary conditions were bad or not and there were good reasons to evict me or not. However, such argument was supposed to take place at a later trial, if granted; not at the motion's hearing. Now, who was I to lecture the judge on legal system procedures and tell him his question was unfair? It was getting clear, I was the small fish and we all know what happens to it, when a hungry big fish comes along. Indeed, the judge was ready at that point to deliver his ruling: he said he was very sorry of all the problems I had gone through, but he was going to have me evicted in three days.
I was devastated as I left the courtroom, but now it was over; now there was nothing that could be done. I only had three days to pack all my stuff and get it all out of my apartment. Before leaving the courthouse, however, I thought I would stop by my legal aid service to explain and complain about what the judge had said: I should have filed my motion way before the sheriff came to post the 3-day eviction notice. The attorney at the legal aid service insisted, however, I needed to wait for the sheriff to come.
The next few days were extremely stressful; I only had three days to pack all my stuff and put it in storage. I was fearing I was not going to have enough time. I first needed to spend some time looking for a self-storage place and some truck to move in my stuff. Day and night, I tried to organize my stuff and get it packed. Eventually, I was indeed not able to get it all ready on time. The moving truck arrived and I was only able to have them take the biggest items. There were still a lot of little boxes that I was going to have to bring myself on my bicycle to the storage facility. If was really running out of time. I spoke with my landlord's manager to see if they could give me one more day. At this point, the sheriff was going to come to lock me out anytime. So, I started putting the remaining of my stuff outside my apartment. I was not even able to keep a good order and box everything nicely; rather it was a long row of stacks of items. Most of it had no value, so it was unlikely anybody would want to steal anything. However, my CD's, for example, were also out there and it is possible that somebody messed with them, while I was not watching. In all that moving process, I lost some new pairs of shoes I had bought earlier that year.
Finally the sheriff came to lock me out. In the 5-10 minutes they gave me, I was able to get everything out of the apartment. now I had to take everything to my self-storage unit, hoping nothing would disappear while I was riding back and forth between my apartment and the storage facility. Unfortunately, the storage premises closed at 6pm, so I only had time until then. I was also exhausted from all the stress, all that last week. So, eventually I exercised some wishful thinking and decided I would stop for the night, leave the little remaining of my stuff sitting overnight outside my apartment, and nothing would happen.
When I arrived the next morning, however, the outside of my apartment was clean. I started asking where was my stuff. I was finally told it had been put in the garbage container. I did not hesitate to go look for and dig out whatever was mine. As I was now messing and getting some garbage out of the dumpster, my landlord's manager called USC's private security on me. When the officers came, they found me really upset. I explained them everything: how I had been evicted while I was stuck in Mexico and how they had put my stuff in the garbage. And now they did not like me try to dig it out and save it. The officers sympathized with me and understood my frustration. They let me alone, as long as I promised I was going to put all the garbage back in the dumpster when I would be done. In the end, I think I was able to find and save pretty much everything that remained.
About a week later, on December 16, I took a plane back to Spain. if any doubt had remained, now it was clear the days of my life in the U.S. were counted. However, before I would put an end to that, I was going to fulfill my promise ten years earlier and I was going to tour the Western U.S. on a bicycle. Now I was going to Spain because I needed some rest and recharge energies. But I was going to be back. In a few months, once I would feel better and energized, I was going to come back and go see Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, Yosemite, etc. But that is a different story, which will be told on another time
