Being a policeman in Bolivia is a double-edged sword.
They are abundant in La Paz, for example, these men in their olive drab uniforms watching over intersections, streets, or happenings within the city in general. Seeing them for the first time almost has you believing you are dealing with the military.
A lot has been written and said about the policia here, a lot of it rather unflattering. For example, opinions range just how much they are involved in the ubiquitous drug trade here. Some say one in four are involved, others many more. What isn’t in dispute is the fact that you can buy them, although I will drive my car off one of these cliffs with the stunning views of La Paz before I try. In Mexico, that was easy. Here, foreigners have a bigger target on their backs.
Last week, I saw the police snap to action that did not involve traffic for the first time. I had my car parked waiting for Liebi to exit a store when I saw six or seven youths assemble under a bridge. This is rather suspect, I am thinking, although they very much looked like students, kids who had just gotten out of class.
The next thing I know a police car (a jeep) is pulling up, the youths scatter, and the cops run them down, one by one. I still have no clue what they were doing, although it’s a safe guess that it had something to do with narcotics. Why otherwise would they remain concealed under a bridge?
I have been stopped a couple of times myself by the police. Sometimes they would be routine traffic stops, and I would flash my license and be on my way. Twice I committed a couple of no-no’s, and they were on me like roaches on drain water. The first was for an illegal crossing when a pretty female policewoman stopped me, an obvious traffic offense, if there ever was one. So she flags the car down, I roll down my window and act dumb and play the stupid foreigner, telling her how I’d only been there for a few months. That, of course, is a whopper of a lie, considering that the license states I’ve been here much longer. Not feeling that this puppet show was worth her time, she decided to let the dumb foreigner go in the end.
The second time was a little more egregious. Here I go the wrong way and then commit an illegal U-turn. Guilty, guilty, guilty, if I may say so myself. Again the cop pulls me over, this time a guy who looks to be in his 40’s. Again, stammer, burp, blab, a nervous chuckle trying to convince him how I am the stupid foreigner who couldn’t find his way out of a phone booth, let alone a city as big as this. Axl bails me out of this one. When he starts a conversation with the cop, the man softens, so apparently taken in by his charm. The bad guy (me) gets away again.
Let’s face it: for the most part, the police are only trying to do a job too. I have so little doubt, though, that there will be run-ins with the other half of them, the ones trying to do more than a job and will re-invent the rules to achieve their ends.
Stay tuned.
They are abundant in La Paz, for example, these men in their olive drab uniforms watching over intersections, streets, or happenings within the city in general. Seeing them for the first time almost has you believing you are dealing with the military.
A lot has been written and said about the policia here, a lot of it rather unflattering. For example, opinions range just how much they are involved in the ubiquitous drug trade here. Some say one in four are involved, others many more. What isn’t in dispute is the fact that you can buy them, although I will drive my car off one of these cliffs with the stunning views of La Paz before I try. In Mexico, that was easy. Here, foreigners have a bigger target on their backs.
Last week, I saw the police snap to action that did not involve traffic for the first time. I had my car parked waiting for Liebi to exit a store when I saw six or seven youths assemble under a bridge. This is rather suspect, I am thinking, although they very much looked like students, kids who had just gotten out of class.
The next thing I know a police car (a jeep) is pulling up, the youths scatter, and the cops run them down, one by one. I still have no clue what they were doing, although it’s a safe guess that it had something to do with narcotics. Why otherwise would they remain concealed under a bridge?
I have been stopped a couple of times myself by the police. Sometimes they would be routine traffic stops, and I would flash my license and be on my way. Twice I committed a couple of no-no’s, and they were on me like roaches on drain water. The first was for an illegal crossing when a pretty female policewoman stopped me, an obvious traffic offense, if there ever was one. So she flags the car down, I roll down my window and act dumb and play the stupid foreigner, telling her how I’d only been there for a few months. That, of course, is a whopper of a lie, considering that the license states I’ve been here much longer. Not feeling that this puppet show was worth her time, she decided to let the dumb foreigner go in the end.
The second time was a little more egregious. Here I go the wrong way and then commit an illegal U-turn. Guilty, guilty, guilty, if I may say so myself. Again the cop pulls me over, this time a guy who looks to be in his 40’s. Again, stammer, burp, blab, a nervous chuckle trying to convince him how I am the stupid foreigner who couldn’t find his way out of a phone booth, let alone a city as big as this. Axl bails me out of this one. When he starts a conversation with the cop, the man softens, so apparently taken in by his charm. The bad guy (me) gets away again.
Let’s face it: for the most part, the police are only trying to do a job too. I have so little doubt, though, that there will be run-ins with the other half of them, the ones trying to do more than a job and will re-invent the rules to achieve their ends.
Stay tuned.
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