TIJUANA RECLAIMED

Tijuana, Mexico - THERE are two Tijuanas: that of the locals, and
that of the rest. The true Tijuana belongs only to the oldest
families, the grandparents and great-grandparents of Tijuana. The
view from outside, on the other hand, tends to come into focus
through fantasy, stereotype and cliche.

But the outside world helped create Tijuana.

In the 19th century, Tijuana resembled the set of an old Western -- a
few houses, some wooden corrals, mud-caked roads and a customs hut to
register the passage of caravans heading to the port at Ensenada.

The city came into its own only in the 1920s, thanks to Prohibition
and laws outlawing gambling in the United States. Americans exported
the vices they had banned at home to the new city emerging on this
side of the border, which soon became a nerve center for the
production of alcohol, from brandy to Mexicali beer.

Capital from the American underworld was largely responsible.
American investors like Carl Withington opened saloons and broke
ground for the construction of casinos like the Foreign Club, the
Montecarlo and the Agua Caliente, which was built alongside the hot
springs of the same name. And American tourists paid for the
prostitutes, the boxing clubs and the opium.

Of course, the particular vices changed a bit during the 20th
century, but the city kept on playing the same role for its northern
neighbor. That is, until the 1990s, when everything began to change.
This pressure started building from the south -- drugs (and the
violence and law of the jungle that come with them) were heading
north and Tijuana was the last stop before the border. The Arellano
brothers had moved here from Sinaloa in the '80s, and other
traffickers and assassins followed. It was like a tide shifting.
Instead of an influx of visitors from the north, we had these
smugglers from the south. And the tourists were scared away.

It had a devastating effect on Tijuana's economy. The murders,
kidnappings and decapitations reached a peak in 2008. Americans
stopped coming, and those Tijuana families who could afford it moved
to California, to San Diego or Bonita, to sleep in peace. Even local
politicians and officials bought or rented houses elsewhere. Stores
closed. Bars were boarded up.

But now Tijuana is recovering. The violence has begun to subside,
thanks to the local police and the Mexican military, as well as the
capture last January of Teodoro Garcia Simental, an infamous drug
lord known as El Teo. Avenida Revolucion, dead for the past three
years, is showing signs of life. On Friday and Saturday nights it is
packed with young people. Caesar's, a symbolic old restaurant and
hotel (where the famous salad was invented), just reopened, and one
block over, rock and blues bands play at the music hall.

No, the tourists haven't returned. It's the locals, the people of
Tijuana -- who kept to themselves during the worst of the violence --
reclaiming their territory.

"We have to change our image," said Jaime Chaidez, a local
journalist. "We can't rely on tourism anymore. The city still stands,
as noble as ever. It is surviving, growing, picking itself up."

And for perhaps the first time in more than a century, the Tijuanans
are driving that growth. In a sense, then, it is the very violence
that plagues Mexico that has returned Tijuana to the people who live here.

A few days ago, a statue of Ruben Vizcaino Valencia, a writer,
teacher and promoter of Mexican culture, was unveiled. He is the
first Tijuana native to be honored in this way, and there he stands,
presiding over one of the hallways of the Centro Cultural Tijuana.