Monday, August 9, 2010 The US Consulate came to visit me. All of a sudden I felt like the cavalry was coming to help. It really is an incredible feeling. The Consulate knows Adriana Coronel Tenorio (AKA Adriana Howitt Coronel, Ari Coronel, Ari Coronel Tenorio, Ari Howitt, Ari Howitt Coronel) well and was not surprised she did what she did based on her past history. After all they warned me. They allowed me to make a phone call, which helped lift morale big-time. Then they filled me in on the “process” of the court system in Mexico. It did not make me feel better, but at least I knew what was happening to me.
In Mexico anyone can accuse you of anything. One is presumed guilty until proven innocent. Completely opposite of the United States. Their system really helps those who can lie the best. Adriana turned lying into an art form. The first 48 hours are crucial. Mexico can hold someone that long as they decide how to proceed with a case. Carlos and I made a conscious decision to wait for the 48 hours to expire because there was a good chance Adriana would not continue the process since everyone knew she was lying and she already told the police all she wanted was $500 to let this go. The District Attorney told us if she did not pursue it further they would let me go. They did not believe Adriana either. This was not a popular tactic with the Consulate, they wanted to see me out of there as soon as possible. Not only did they not trust Adriana, they knew the alternative was even more dangerous.
The Consulate was proved right. Adriana staged an elaborate production including neck braces and everything. Incredible. I knew something was wrong when at Monday at 5:00 I was whisked away from the central jail I was currently in and brought to the place nobody wanted me to go to. The timing of this was brutal. I only had 1 more hour before I would have been set free. What is even worse, I saw Adriana when I was being transferred from jail to La Mesa Prison. Adriana was standing next to her car, with her friend, taking off her neck brace! Of course the police officer I was with saw this too and always felt Adriana was full of shit. It was then I learned my first series of swear words in Spanish as the officer had some colorful words for Adriana. Unfortunately, that did me no good. I was going to prison for God only knows how long. This place was notorious for overcrowding and riots. I was more concerned with the unknown. All’s I know is that Sam, you never left my heart or mind. Never. I don’t believe in coincidences. The timing of all this is incredible given the work we have been doing to bring this situation to an end we both should have been able to live with. We were almost done and Adriana pulled this stunt out of complete desperation. Desperation for what? Only she can answer that.
Jail is no place for anyone to be. Especially the innocent. Lucky for me I was in part of the prison where there were people like me waiting for dispositions in their cases. I was led to a pen that was only supposed to hold 6-8 people but crammed 30+ people like a can of sardines. There were blankets on the floor for sleeping on. A steal tri-bunk. And a 1/2 wall that sectioned off another concrete toilet block for a toilet. There was a sink with running water to wash up in and and jugs of fresh water to drink. Not lost in all this was the stench that permeated the prison. It smelled like buttered popcorn that sat in the hot summer sun for a few days. Then there were the bullet holes that littered the walls of the prison from the riot that happened not long before. 28-people were killed during that riot. And of course the floor to ceiling graffiti. And yes the ceiling, that was completely covered in graffiti too.
The one thing that struck me was how cordial everyone was in the pen. Half of the people there spoke English and I never felt threatened at all. Maybe because we were all packed in there like sardines. Nothing could really happen without it affecting everyone in there. I don’t know. In fact one guy offered me his spot on the bunk. He clearly ran the pen and was obviously ‘connected’ given the other pens on either side of us were nowhere near as well kept. I declined telling him “thank you” and that he was there first. I took a spot on the floor. He proceeded to tell me that he had simple rules for the pen. No shoes. We had to keep the blankets on the concrete floor as clean as possible. That was good because my shoes ended up being my pillow. Another rule. Everyone had to wash up once a day. Good hygiene in a place like that will keep the roaches away. And they had some big ones in there. Another rule. Everyone had to eat at least once a day. That kept morale up, energy up and helped deal with the stress of just being there. Oddly enough that particular pen never ate jail food. This guy had home made food brought in and it fed all 30+ people in the pen.
This place, like all jails I imagine, has it’s own economy. Bartering gets you everywhere in a place like that. After an all night game of domino’s, he shared with me that most of the people’s lives in the prison were better than their lives on the outside. If you saw the neighborhood the prison was in, you would not know if this was Tijuana or Baghdad. There was no doubt he was telling the truth. I can only imagine it was easy to recruit guys to work for him in some way shape or form. What do these people have to lose? One guy was there for 3-years because he did not have $200 to pay a fine for having expired license plates on his car. I was stunned you can actually do prison time for something like that in a city that has so much more serious issues to deal with.
None of this could replace how hopeless I felt at the moment. What happened to me was clearly staged, yet I could not adequately defend myself sitting in jail. Everyone there knew it. In fact, word got around that Adriana ambushed me. They tell me news about any gringo there spreads quickly. When word spread as to why I was there, people were amazingly supportive. The police working there. The guards. The prisoners. They all knew the story before I could tell it. It turned out that 1/2 the people in the pen I was in with were there because the women in their lives did similar things. Apparently, what Adriana did is not uncommon. The question everyone wanted to know was how could I do all that, especially to the mother of my daughter, while wearing an “Avon 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk” shirt because clearly I support women’s causes. That was the shirt I wore the day the ambush took place and still had it on. What Adriana was accusing me of did not jive with what anyone saw from me. Or knew of me for the past 40-years.