Corruption

We are on a trip to the state of Tabasco to learn about new migration routes through the state, and my professor Jorge, his doctorate student José and I are hungry. We park the car in front of a restaurant in the modern city of Villahermosa, the capital of Tabasco. After a delicious meal of various types of pavo and tortillas, we head out to the car. There’s a police officer next to our little VW beetle, looking it over with a clipboard in hand. Apparently we’re in a no-parking zone. Jorge and José start talking to the officer, telling him we just parked there for a minute and that we will move the car right away. The police officer wasn’t having it. He asked to see José’s license, because Jorge had said that José was the driver. He didn’t have it; he had forgotten it at home. We’re getting a little nervous at this point, and José goes over the police car with the officer. A few minutes later, he comes back. “Get in the car,” he tells us. We get in and José drives away, a bit quicker than necessary. “What happened?” we asked him. “50 pesos,” he tells us, “all he wanted was 50 pesos” (equivalent of $5 USD). The thing is, from what I'm told, situations like this are commonplace in Mexico. Ah, the corruption.