Personal defense and the illusion of safety

0º 30.452s 125º 45.407w

Tue Apr 30 2019

Isabel and I used to live in a nice neighborhood in Chandler, a burb of Phoenix, Arizona. Firefighters, paramedics and the police were about a two minute call away. It was perhaps a ten minute flight to a Class One trauma center. It all created an illusion of safety and security. Nevertheless there was a gang shootout in a neighborhood park a mile from our home. I called it in myself. There was also a murder of an early morning runner about two miles from our house - part of a gang initiation. A very close friend was kidnapped from his home and had to kill one of his assailants with his own concealed weapon so he could escape. Score one for a highly trained and discipined gun enthusiast with a concealed carry permit. A car was stolen from us and our home was burglarized. Bastard took the wedding ring I had given Isabel. The police advised her to purchase it back from the pawn shop where it was eventually located. Can you believe that?

We just spent about three years sailing and living in Mexico. We almost never locked the boat. We were in big marinas near cities, and we were in extremely remote anchorages, many with fishing camps. Pongas are small outboard driven boats. Very seaworthy. The fishermen are called “pongeros” and they work their asses off, doing what’s necessary to provide for their familes by living in a beach shack or tent and fishing for days or weeks at a time. La familia - nothing is more important in Mexican culture.

Mexican fishermen often cover their entire bodies for protection from the sun; kind of reminds me of those Muslim women that cover everything but their hands and eyes. If they dressed like that in America, most folks would probably assume they were terrorists or just plain criminals and call the police. Maybe the SWAT team would roar up in a big armored personnel carrier, shoot first then ask questions later.

I’m ambivalent about personal firearms. I grew up with them, did a bit of hunting and target practice with dad, but precision shooting never became a personal hobby. In college my next door neighbor was a cop, eventually a Captain on the Raleigh, NC police force. He cited the statistics regarding the number of family member deaths in the home that involved firearms. Heck, my own dad nearly shot me one night; would have been one of those tragic accidents, but that’s another story.

As we lived with the police just down the road, I never felt the need for personal firearms in the home. Had we lived out in the countryside with the sherrif 20 minutes drive away, I reckon I’d have wanted to keep a shotgun under the bed.

As legal visitors to Mexico, we were not allowed to carry firearms or ammunition. We’ve got a flare pistol. We’ve got a couple of spear guns and fish filleting knives. More than one of my gun enthusiast pals has noted that he’d never travel to a place where he couldn’t carry his pistola. That would be a whole lot of the world. What a way to limit one’s life experiences.

Pongeros would sometimes approach us to ask if we’d like to buy a fish. Never made us nervous, but we always paid close attention. Once some guys stopped by to see if we had any extra AA batteries for their hand held GPS receiver. They gratefully gave us six lobster tails for four AA batteries, and would have kept shoveling them at us if Isabel hadn’t told them “no mas, no mas”. Her Spanish was better than mine then, still is now. Woman’s got a gift for languages.

In the US, we always locked our home and cars, and still bad things happened to us. Nobody ever took anything from us in Mexico, and we never felt threatened by any Mexican. We found them to be warm and friendly, generous and hard working. They look you in the eye and say “buenos dias” if you pass them while out for a morning walk. Nice, cordial folks.

We did hear the occasional story about someone’s dinghy outboard being stolen. There are thieves in every society. Altogether we felt safer and more secure in Mexico than we ever felt in America.

Every city has it’s tough section - any smart person just doesn’t go there. There are pirate infested waters in a few places around the world, places we know better than to visit.

We don’t live in fear, and we’re not going to let an artificial feeling of “being safe” limit our travels, but we don’t behave like idiots either.

I suppose we could keep a can of bear spray handy. . .