Chivos sin Ley

Dominicans have the expression Chivos sin Ley (Goats without Law) for good reason. This is one of the more noticeable aspects of Dominican culture and everyone who has spent any amount of time here can usually recount dozens of incidents to illustrate this. What does it mean to live like a chivo sin ley? Well imagine a frisky young goat that is smart enough to always get out of its pen and then it wanders about wherever its whims lead. A lot of Dominican public life is just that.

Imagine a life with no rules. If you are driving down the road and you get thirsty, stop. Walk into a colmado, pay no attention to whether there is a line or not, walk up to the counter and shout for a cold one and some chips. Don’t settle for a small beer; get a whole liter while you’re at it. Grab the beer and get back on the road. And now that you’re feeling so good with that ice-cold liter in your hand you might as well driver faster because that will just enhance the good feeling. You finished your bag of chips. Bag goes out the window and the wind cartwheels it smack against a no-littering sign. Forty minutes later that jug of beer left your bladder bloated. The next rest area must be five minutes away. Stop, no matter where you are, relieve yourself on the highway shoulder or on the sidewalk.

If you are in the city only stop at red lights if you’re on a four-lane road. If it’s a smaller road you might consider slowing down so that you can look left and right as you breeze through. If it’s a stop sign just speed up and lay on your horn to scare off any incoming traffic.

If you need a parking spot at your barber’s and none exist just drive to the closest bank, park right in front of the “Parking for Clients Only” sign, and walk jauntily away from your vehicle. When the bank guard (who’s holding a sawed-off shotgun) yells at you that this parking spot is for clients only, you menacingly reply, “But I am a client.”

Last month, in an attempt to clear some land for pasture, a neighbor of mine started a giant fire up in the mountain. It burned for days and piled smoke high into the sky. The green trees have been replaced by an ugly singed scar. It’s illegal to burn down forests, as you might well imagine. So on the fifth day some police arrived and demanded that the owner of the land appear at court in the provincial capital. A few days later I overheard someone ask the culprit’s nephew how much the fine was for burning down so many trees. The nephew inhaled deeply on his cigarette, leaned back against the painted palm-board house and spoke though the swirling smoke, “Nada, tuvo conexiones” (Nothing, he had connections).

I was standing at the hardware store one day ordering supplies when the guy behind the desk who had been helping me suddenly picked up his phone and as a look of consternation crossed his face he ran out into the street, jumped on a motorcycle, and roared away. Confused I asked another worker what just happened. He shrugged and mumbled something about someone taking their truck. Taken aback and curious I kept asking him until finally it was clear that a policeman had stolen their work truck. Yes, you read right. A policeman walking by jumped into their truck, apparently the keys were sticking, and drove off. After persistent questioning the story came clear. To get sand (for cement mixes) from the local river you are required to get a permit from the ministry of environment. The hardware store had just illegally picked up a load of sand at the river and brought it up to the store to sell, and that’s when the policeman walked by and took the truck. After completing my purchase I walked back to the motorcycle stop to catch a ride home. On the way as I went by the police station I saw the guilty truck weighed heavy with sand and the hardware store owner and the policeman were leaned lazily against the truck bed as if discussing the previous night’s baseball game. The following week when back at the store I asked the hardware man how much the fine was. He gave me a noncommittal shrug and said, “Nada, lo arreglamos” (Nothing, we got it straightened out).

I was on a public bus the other month and it was the first time I had gone on that route. The fare attendant told me the price was 300 pesos so I paid. A few minutes later a friend of mine who was a few seats back asked me how much I’d paid, and when I told him he replied that it was actually only 285 pesos. I jumped up and asked how many of the passengers had been overcharged. Most of them had. I then turned my attention on the attendant who by now was angry that his secret was out. After much protesting on my part he’d just reached into his pocket to get my change when apparently something I was saying really got his goat and he abruptly withdrew his hand from his pocket and sullenly slurred, “Now your trip really is going to be 300 pesos.” I admit I too got angry. I tried to get the other passengers (after all they’d all been robbed as well) together to do something but they pretty much ignored me.

As a side note, this really puzzled me at first because in my poor community, trying to overcharge one person 5 pesos is enough to set the entire bus in an uproar, but here the attendant had just overcharged pretty much everyone on the bus 15 pesos and no one bothered to say anything. I soon realized that most of the passengers were residents of Santo Domingo where apparently 15 pesos doesn’t matter as much as it does to a poor farmer.

Back to the point, no one would help me in arguing against the attendant so I heckled him every few minutes for the entire three-hour bus ride. Finally after everyone else had already left the bus we came to my stop but I wouldn’t get off the bus. I just stood in the door calling him a robber. The crafty attendant then yelled to the driver to accelerate and I had to jump of the bus as it sped away from the sidewalk. You win some you lose some. But the point here is that even if 15 pesos meant nothing to any of those other passengers they should have stuck together and demanded their money back just for the principle of it all. Dominicans love to talk politics and about how politicians and other leaders are ruining this country, and from what I see they’re quite right. But there is another factor ruining this county and it’s those chivos sin ley.

Interestingly enough, just two days previous to the very disagreeable bus ride just mentioned I had hitchhiked across a substantial portion of this tiny island. Among the many helpful Dominicans who gave me rides were two public transport vehicles. When I flagged them down I asked if they’d please just give me a ride, and they did. And they were not in the least resentful that I was riding for free. Imagine that happening in the states.

This should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: not all Dominicans live like chivos sin ley. A lot of people are actively campaigning to try and change this mentality. The government has actually put up traffic signs up that say “We can’t live like goats without law; please obey posted traffic laws.” Now if only government leaders would take the message to heart as well. Many Dominicans, when questioned, will admit that the chivos sin ley method is not a good way to build a society. But they will also admit that they’d miss their freedom if they had enforced laws like the US does. Apparently when most of the other chivos are running around free outside the fence, it’s really hard to not get out there as well.