“Sol Prendido” for Borderland Beat
Who takes the ones nobody wants? The ones wandering the streets with maggots in their flesh? The psychiatric patients who step out in front of cars? Who strip naked and chase you, or suddenly—while you're just walking along—land a blow on you.
And nowadays, just about anyone delivers food; just about anyone wants to take addicts off the street; just about anyone wants to bring them blankets, sweatshirts, or something to eat...but who takes the ones nobody wants? Right.
So, we're ready. It’s wide open out here. People here are either high, desperate for a fix, driven mad by drugs, dying from what they’ve taken, or literally rotting away. The "rotting ones" are the patients with maggots and open wounds—patients who aren't candidates for ambulances, hospitals, or any of that. Okay. Any questions? Who’s going to administer the injection?
My name is Mac Rivera García. I’m the General Director of Tácticos del Bordo and the founder of the Marte Rescates y Traslados group.
What’s up, man? How are you doing? How are your lips holding up? Everything good, brother? Need any wound care?
Okay, those are the consequences of having no access to public services. If I called an ambulance right now, they’d come, check his vitals, and say they couldn't take him because his vitals are stable. We’ve been treating him, but we haven't been able to bring the swelling down. Right.
Who—who’s going to handle the wound care? Or do you want me to do it? Tijuana is a beautiful city. Tijuana welcomes everyone with open arms, and there is no shortage of work here. It’s up to you. If you want to come here to Tijuana and misbehave, there’s work, but there are consequences. If you come to Tijuana to work like normal people, there’s work without consequences.
I’m going to crack down harder, man. I left home when I was 11. That’s when I started running with gangs. After living on the streets for three years, I ran into my mom; since we know a lot of military people back in Culiacán, Sinaloa—where I’m from—she had connections and got me into the army.
When we were up in the mountains, our job was to seize the poppy and marijuana fields, and whenever we burned it all, the smoke would blow right into my face—all that smoke would come right at me—and, well, literally...you were consuming it without actually using the drug yourself.
The next day, I woke up with a craving, and I saw some comrades who were doing it. So I joined them. After that, military life wasn't the same anymore. That’s how I ended up leaving the military. I got caught trying to cross—attempting to cross over—so I couldn't make it across. They threw me in jail, then let me go and told me to try crossing again.
How long did you spend in the United States? Seven years. And when were you deported?
Two months ago. It was just two months ago. You see, you can't stay here. I mean, I can get food, but for a place to sleep, I have to pay 70 pesos for the night, because if I lie down here, the police will pick me up. I arrived in Tijuana in the year 2000, already struggling with addiction. I sold heroin along the border canal—the *bordo*—from 2001 to 2007.
And I had to watch as the police would show up and collect their cut. They’d collect their cut; the boss would arrive—*ta-ta-ta*—and then they’d let us work. I’ve been committed to 15 different rehab centers, but none of them worked for me. They’d always beat me, humiliate me, dress me up as a woman, and shave my head completely bald. So, whenever I gained their trust, I’d escape from the centers. I escaped from all of them—I ran away from every single one of those 15 centers.
So, do you want us to find you a shelter?
Get off at 20th Street and go to Corsa—it’s right next door—and just tell them you’re coming on behalf of Fenómeno Táctico. They already have your photo here—your photo and your video. And here is the answer. If he wants to—of course, yes. If you want to.
When I ended up in prison, I did get very depressed because I was being accused of things I hadn't done; I was accused of sex trafficking, human trafficking, possession of a stolen vehicle, and corruption of minors. So, as I said, I have no criminal record. I was acquitted; I have no criminal convictions. I can get a certificate proving I have no criminal record, but I felt very frustrated when I got out. I left feeling ashamed and afraid.
While in prison, I worked with doctors, radiologists, psychologists, psychiatrists, criminologists, social workers, dentists, lab staff, and radiologists—I learned from all of them over those six years. Hey, go get another one ready for the lady. So, when I ended up in prison, that was my best rehab center. That’s where I found myself again.
And you know, when I got out of prison, I made a point of going to the places where I used to hang out—whether I was selling or using—and I started seeing the people I used to use with, and they were in worse shape. They’d come to me with maggots, with abscesses full of pus; I saw that needle exchanges weren't happening anymore, so I started dressing their wounds and doing needle exchanges myself.
Look, the foot infections have gone down, but it seems like the stomach problem hasn't fully cleared up. Their stomach is just so swollen. Yeah, it looks like it's full of fluid, right? Yeah, it's swollen. The face doesn't look as puffy anymore, but I am worried about the eyes. The eyelids seem to be swelling up. And that really motivated me—you know, it really motivated me.
I felt really good about myself because, well, I’d never really accomplished anything in life, and starting to do things like that—it humanized me. I feel like I’ve redeemed my honor after being imprisoned for no reason—without justification—just for spitting in the face of a cop who was beating me.
And you can see how motivated my volunteers are, how they come in with that spark. There are the ones you saw, but there are others who’ve been with us for a year, two, or three—university students, psychologists, psychology majors, Oxxo workers. But it’s great knowing there are people with that spark, because I’d really like for someone to carry this on someday when I’m no longer here.
What is your name? How old are you? Do you know what year it is?
They’re about to provide services here at "The Castle." Right now, they’re going to cut his hair, give him clean clothes, and let him take a shower. I bought some supplies there so he could eat. And right now, he’s buying cigarettes. "The Castle" is a place for survival. Only those who want to survive go there.
I take people to "The Castle" when rehab centers won't take them anymore—when no one else will accept them, that’s where I take them. People who use drugs at home and beat their mothers or children because they’re acting out of their minds—we take them to "The Castle." They get in for free.
Sometimes people can't afford a private rehab center, and the costs for those places are exorbitant. We use "The Castle" as a discipline center—so you understand me. It’s a high-discipline facility. I take people there—sometimes it’s not about rehab; it’s about taking them off the streets.
How many days have you been here? Six days. Six days. How have you been feeling? Alright. Next question...pretty bad. Okay. What were you using, man?
Fentanyl and heroin. I’m leaving whenever I can.
You were brought here against your will?
By request. By request.
So, do you have family here?
No, on the other side. On the other side.
The thing is, we need a lot of things. We need a facility for minors that doesn't charge a fee, for starters. Otherwise, we’re soon going to have new hitmen or drug dealers, because it’s become a trend for minors to be doing that sort of thing. We also need a psychiatric facility to house the psychiatric patients we currently have at "The Castle."
At any moment, "The Castle" is going to tell us, "Don't bring me any more psychiatric patients—figure out where to take them, because they've been here for four years already." So, what am I supposed to do? Well, it’ll be a shame, but I’ll have to tie them all together by the hand—like a bunch of kids—and take them over to the Government Palace. I’ll stand there until someone pays attention to me. That's it.
Source: Animal Político
