Help take a bite out of crime

In the last two weeks I have had two run-ins with the Honduran police, a jumpy bunch, if I do say so myself. First, early last week after dropping off a group from Bluffton, Ohio, at their hotel, I was pulled over less than half a block from our apartment after apparently stopping at an intersection where there was no stop sign. Guilty as charged, I'll admit, if that is a crime. Actually, it was more of a rolling stop in fear that the car speeding towards me on the cross street was not going to observe his stop sign. Anyway, four young motorcycle cops (one of them 20 -- I asked him, much to Amanda's chagrin) with machine guns stopped me and asked me in quiet, quick Spanish for my license, which I handed over. And my passport, which I did not have on me. Apparently this is a worthy crime in Honduras, and, as one of the cops reminded me, if a Honduran in the states was caught without a passport he would be deported immediately. So we waited in silence. And waited. Stared at the sky. Waited. After fifteen minutes, with a few failed attempts at small talk, they said the were going to forgive me this time. They let me drive the half a block to my house, watched as we pulled in to the gate, and sped off to catch other criminals.

Then two nights ago, after a nice dinner with the same group in the swankier part of town, I was caught heading the wrong way down a dark street that suddenly became one-way. A truckload of policemen was right there, as if waiting for a confused gringo. Another young cop took my license and asked me to exit the car to talk with his supervisor, who explained to me that he was going to write me a ticket, like they do in the states. I accepted my fate and asked to clarify exactly the process. According to the Honduran book of traffic laws, if a driver is caught violating a traffic law, the police officer is to withhold the driver's license, and the lawbreaker must go to the bank to pay the fine to reclaim his license. This police officer, however, told me that it would be easier to just pay the fine on the spot so I don't have to stand in line at the bank. I told him that I would prefer to pay at the bank, as that is the proper way. He used a different tack. "Well maybe you'd like to help us pay for the gas for this truck." Again, I told him I'd prefer the bank option. Somehow I maintained my composure, and actually spoke fairly decent Spanish, while the young cop on my right was carelessly swinging his machine gun back and forth. After looking at my license a little longer he told me he would forgive without a ticket. I thanked them, stepped back into the car, took a few deep breaths, and took off towards the hotel.

Obviously, in each situation the police officers were hoping for a bribe, affectionately called a mordida -- literally a bite. People here live in fear of the police. My luck has been due largely to the fact that I'm a gringo, and the police and I both know that this entails certain leverage. An average Honduran does not have the luxury of reporting abuse to the most powerful embassy in the world. What would it do to your psyche to know that reporting a crime is useless, because many of the police have been paid off by the criminals? Corruption at this level contributes to what I would call anarchy -- lawlessness, caused by the fact that there is no one to turn to. In these instances I have merely tasted the fear immigrants in the states feel towards the police, not to mention the anxiety that Hondurans feel on a daily basis.