The heroic rescue of a light post, carried out by its own victims
Imagine the scene: a picturesque Yucatecan town plunged into absolute darkness, not because of a failed love affair with public lighting, but because of one of those technical failures that the Federal Electricity Commission (CFE) seems to collect as if they were trading cards. Twelve long, endless, exasperating hours. Enough time for the food in the refrigerator to spoil, for the heat to become another character in each house and for the patience of Dzemul’s neighbors to disappear faster than a cell phone signal in the middle of another blackout.
The citizen’s solution to this epic neglect? It was not a formal complaint on social media (how naive we would be if we believed that that works). It wasn’t a signed letter either. No, gentlemen. The masterstroke was to apply the old “express kidnapping” technique but with a folkloric touch: tying a CFE worker to a light pole. Because, clearly, if the light doesn’t come to you, you bring the light… or at least, to whoever is supposed to fix it.
A dialogue of the deaf (and a tying of hands)
According to the inhabitants themselves, they tried what any mortal would do in the 21st century: communicate with the parastatal. Calls, maybe screams into the void, telepathic messages… everything failed. The CFE, in its ineffable efficiency, decided to honor them with its presence until the next morning. As if electricity were a luxury that is distributed in drops, not a basic service for which, oh yes, you pay religiously every month.
The technical staff finally arrived, took a look at the disaster, and uttered the phrase that should never, ever be said to an already heated crowd: “it’s complicated, we’ll come back later”. Later. Those two words are the modern equivalent of “the check is in the mail” or “it was just a casual outing.” The neighbors, who were not born yesterday (and who had been born every minute in the dark for almost half a day), decided that this empty promise was not enough. So they opted for physical persuasion. One of the employees had the dubious honor of becoming the new decoration of street furniture.
One of those affected dropped a pearl that summarizes decades of national frustration: “In Dzemul we always suffer from electrical failures and the CFE only makes cheap remedies, the service they provide is charged very high and they never solve it well.” Cheap remedies? It sounds like the repairs are done with gum and wire, while the bill arrives with prices of pure gold. The complaint is not just about a blackout, it is about a rotten system of ineptitude and indifference.
The municipal police arrived to mediate. Because, apparently, tying someone to a post is “wrong,” but leaving an entire town in the dark and without water (because without electricity, the pumps don’t work) is just a “small inconvenience.” The neighbors, turned into improvised vigilantes, planted their flag: the hostage would be released when the lights came back on. No promises. Facts.
The poor employee, tied up and probably sweating more from nervousness than from the Yucatecan heat, pleaded: “The blackouts are not our fault… we are just workers”. And he’s right, of course he is. It is the weakest link, the messenger who always ends up paying the price for a gigantic and dysfunctional structure. His personal drama is the perfect representation of a country where the average citizen is trapped between the incompetence of the institutions and his own desperation.
The real question is: at what point did poor service become so normalized that kidnapping a technician seems like a reasonable option? It is the magical Mexico where the solution to the problems of the 21st century is solved with methods from the Wild West. There’s no power, there’s no water, there’s no answers… but hey, we’ve got a hostage!
This absurd spectacle is just the symptom of a greater illness: the impunity with which the monopolies that provide us with vital services operate. The CFE, like other giants, acts with the certainty that the user has no choice but to endure. Until one day, he uses up his last ounce of patience and pulls out the rope. Literally.
Did the strategy work? History does not say so. But one can speculate that the fear of being the next to decorate a pole maybe, just maybe, speeds up the repair processes more than any bureaucratic paperwork. It’s sad, it’s comical, it’s surreal. It’s Mexico.
Can you imagine living 12 hours without electricity? This story could be yours. Share it and let’s make the absurd reality of public services go viral. Do you want to read more about the heroics of the CFE? Explore our other chronicles of surreal Mexico.
