Juarez

by Michael Douglas Carlin

Many years back, I met a former Federale who worked for ten years in Mexico.

He is the only known American ever to have served as a Federale. Over the years, he has told me stories about his time across the border. I have often thought that his story would make a great feature film. Earlier this year, I started calling him for an hour at a time and writing an assemblage of short stories. I also traveled to meet him and video him telling this amazing slice of life history in the trenches in the American/Mexican War on Drugs.

He spent most of his time in Juarez, which is the most dangerous city in the world. Interview footage can be boring, so I thought that I would add production value by shooting some video in the old places that he used to frequent in and around Juarez.

When I told him my plan, he quickly agreed. "You know me, I am down for whatever." Many times during our conversations he told me that he said these words before engaging in a firefight (he was in over twenty-two of them) or apprehending some dangerous suspect. The meaning of those words was lost on me until now.

The specific plan was to enter Juarez on a Sunday morning to capture that footage. Lobo was going to take me on a tour. I intended to document the trip on video. The night before, I received a telephone call that Lobo was in the emergency room and was expected to undergo emergency surgery. I was left with a big decision: cancel or go it alone.

I prepared the camera and loaded four duffle bags of medical supplies to donate to the local clinic as a side trip. I woke up Sunday and decided that I would attempt to make the trip alone. I drove to a parking lot next to the Santa Fe Bridge located at the dead end of Stanton. Years ago, a line of taxicabs would be waiting for me. However, on this particular morning, none were present. I asked the parking lot attendant why there were no cabs, and she told me that there haven’t been any for a while. I asked her how could I find someone to take me to Juarez?

She cautioned me about going. "This isn’t like you might remember it."

When I pressed her, she pointed to a gentleman that might help. As soon as I asked him about getting a cab, he drove off to bring me someone to take me across. He returned with a cabdriver in tow.

I asked the cabdriver to take me over the bridge to Juarez. He told me that he had no intention of getting killed and refused to take me. Hedid offer to find someone who would embark on this adventure. I told him that I had medical relief to take over, and he asked to see it. I opened my car and unzipped one of the duffle bags. He told me that no one would agree to take this relief in. But the conversation changed from that point. He didn’t mind the video camera, but the medical relief was something he couldn’t comprehend. Why would an American bring relief to Juarez?

He didn’t want to be involved in it, but he couldn’t stop attempting to understand it. Clearly, he wasn’t American, and he wasn’t Mexican. I asked him if he was Muslim. He told me that he was from Jordan and that he had strayed from his religion. I asked him if he thought about going back to it. This led to a most interesting conversation. He told me that he had not done anything for humanity recently. After thinking back to his youth and his roots, he decided to take me to Juarez. Then reality set in. He started second guessing himself. I met his doubt with dollars. We agreed on a price, and the adventure was on.

Immediately upon crossing the border, I knew that this was very different from the many times I had been there before. There were barricades and bunkers with machine gun turrets. There were Federal Police, State Police, Municipal Police, and soldiers. The streets that used to be populated with hundreds of thousands of people were virtually empty. Storefronts were boarded up, and "For Rent" signs were everywhere. We drove through the various parts of the city. Everyone looked as I held the video camera—wondering what I was doing there shooting video. We attracted a lot of attention.

When we got out by the airport, we discussed coming back through the heart of the city. They were probably waiting for us. That wasn’t very comforting.

I suggested that we cut through the Barrio to the border highway. He cautioned that this was perhaps the most dangerous Barrio in the world. I agreed, but I said that, for that very reason, nobody would expect us to go through this area. He agreed, and we cut through. I was able to capture tremendous footage overlooking the El Paso side from the Juarez side. We got onto the border highway and, after about five hours in what could have been harm’s way, we made a turn onto the Santa Fe Bridge and back to safety in the United States of America.

The very next day, nineteen people were murdered in Juarez, many of whom were killed in the parking lot of the clinic where we would have delivered our medical relief. I had time to digest the trip and contemplate how this would have happened if I had gone in with Lobo. I called him and discussed it with him.

I said, "You were there for ten years."

He said, "Yeah."

I said, "What are the odds someone would have recognized you if we went to all of the places you used to hang out?"

He replied, "One hundred percent."

I asked, "What would have happened to us if they had recognized you?"

He said, "Oh, we would have been killed." I thought that was a pretty important detail to have had in the planning process. He told me, "Mike, I told you then and I’ll tell you now, I am down for whatever."