News and Features
Trapped in a Mexican Jail - continued
By Pavel Kulisek with Gary Stephen Ross published Aug 2, 2012
As a child, I dreamed of living in Baja. It was paradise until I made friends with the wrong guy and wound up marooned in a Mexican prison
Desperate, I told my story to anyone who'd listen, furiously writing letters to Canadian and Mexican officials. I knew the letters were read before they went out, and one day an inmate warned me, "They're going to get rid of you. It's been arranged." I wrote to my lawyer and the ambassador, Guillermo Rishchynski, saying I feared for my life, I'd had threats, I'd seen knives. A couple of days later the army was brought in. We were all locked out of our cells, naked, while soldiers went through them. They confiscated many knives but never found the ones in laundry bags dropped out the windows.
Finally, it seemed, my situation was being taken seriously. The ambassador told me he'd met with my lawyer and they agreed we should file for ultimate innocence. No more appealing this or challenging that, but rather an application for complete exoneration. I don't know what pressure was applied or who was responsible for getting my case dealt with or whether all Jirina's work was finally paying off, but I'm sure the Mexican authorities didn't like the idea of an innocent Canadian committing suicide or being murdered while caught up in the Mexican version of justice.
One morning, five months after the transfer to Morelos, I had visitors: Ambassador Rishchynski, a secretary, and a bodyguard. Rishchynski, normally serious, was in good spirits. He said, "I have news, Pavel. You'll be a free man in a few hours."
I laughed bitterly. "Nothing happens in a few hours."
Before long they were back with six guards. "It's over," Rishchynski said. "You've been cleared of all charges due to lack of evidence." The guards hustled me out because they didn't want me talking to anybody. I was given black sweatpants, discharged, and driven to the Canadian Embassy. I couldn't believe it. After 1,254 days, four lawyers, and hundreds of thousands of dollars; after Jirina's countless hours at the Mexican embassy and rallies and meetings with politicians and trips to Ottawa; after all the legal wrangling and red tape, the motions and appeals and paperwork and delays-I was free.
To return to Vancouver I needed papers, which would take a few days. The ambassador guaranteed my residency and let me stay in the consular apartment. I was loaned some money to buy clothes, and I went shopping in Mexico City with two bodyguards from the embassy. The colours, the sounds, the life on the streets! I was giddy, I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman: "Give me that, and that, and I'll take that, too."
On August 18, 2011, at long last, I flew home. A small crowd was waiting at YVR, friends and supporters who'd been helping at this end. I felt so much love and gratitude. When I took Jirina and our girls in my arms, it was beautiful.
