Crime, Punishment And The Efficacy Of Pigs

But it's useless to go to our lone village cop at such an hour because, as he is quick to remind us while standing in his doorway in his undershorts, he is off-duty. So what you do if you want at least a vocal response from law enforcement is wait until morning and go to the district capital at Dangriga, about 15 miles away. I say vocal response because, for the most part, there is no such thing as active official response to anything here in our completely passive world. For instance, as I write this, a house is burning at the other end of town. No fire department, no heroic neighborhood fire fighting effort. Just a growing crowd of onlookers as word passes through the coconut telegraph and clusters of spectators, some riding two to a bicycle, slowly drift toward the fire, picking up more spectators as they go. The house burns. Then everyone goes home. Anyway, next day, after a long frustrating effort with the cops in Dangriga, a harangue of the type only Third World residents can grasp, Griggs manages to bully and wheedle the Dangriga police into coming down and taking fingerprints, a new police enterprise here. What the hell, a little ride over to the beach in the police truck would be nice. Maybe get a little fishing in. Later, after a few implied threats by Griggs' bordering on horsewhipping, the Dangriga police match them up to Skankin, a miracle in itself since it takes perhaps a half hour of attentive effort to accomplish. And finally, after all but death threats on Griggs' part, the police pick up our young man and take him to the police hangout in 'Griga for questioning. The police chief calls Griggs. "OK, we got Skankin. What you wan we do wid him?" Griggs, a longtime American expatriate, is still under the misimpression that the police should know what to do with a perp, once he is in the hands of law enforcement. "What the fuck? Ask him what he was doing tiefing (or thieving -- everybody succumbs to the local dialect after a while) in my bedroom, goddammit!" Police chief hangs up, then calls back a few minutes later: "He say he tink it was de cabana rental office." Griggs: "Office? My ass! Godammit, the lights were out, it was midnight! The fucking room had a bed in it for christsake." Police chief hangs up. A few minutes pass, then he rings back. "He say he not know de office wuz closed." Griggs, enraged red scalp showing through his thinning buzz cut: "OK then, ask him why the hell he was coming in through the fucking window instead of the door!" Police chief: "Hmmmmmmm…. Mebbe we shood arres' him." Griggs: "Maybe? Godammit! Maybe?" . . . http://www.joebageant.com/joe/2008/01/crime-punishmen.html

Note: http://www.joebageant.c...