Paper Quagmire: Mexico on Hold : Preparations for Presidential Change Tie Nation in Knots

On the 10th-floor of a government skyscraper, down the hall from the Office of Administrative Simplification, the personal assistant to sub-secretary “B” of the Federal Comptroller General is packing his bags.

The amiable bureaucrat, Cesar Zavala Sandoval, has organized his desk into a neat mess, with straight stacks of binders, folders and books ready to be boxed.

“On Nov. 30, we will hand over this administration to the new president’s people,” Zavala said with a hint of regret. “The new bosses will bring in their own teams.”

Part of Ritual Turnover

Zavala’s departure is part of a ritual turnover that takes place in Mexico’s vast bureaucracy every six years with the inauguration of a new president. While in Washington, about 3,000 political appointees give up their posts with each new administration, in Mexico tens of thousands and possibly as many as 90,000 trabajadores de confianza --literally trusted workers--hand in resignations from jobs that they have held largely because of their political connections.

The giant shake-up ties Mexico’s onerous bureaucracy in knots for at least a month before the Dec. 1 inauguration while thousands of federal officials call on the political friends they have cultivated over the years and court newly powerful associates of the president-elect who might offer them a job in the next administration.

Lengthy “power” breakfasts are a favored forum for such lobbying. Fancy three-hour lunches are common. It is not unheard of during this time for an official to scurry from breakfast to lunch without gracing his office in between. The rules are: See and be seen; keep your political opinions to yourself; stick close to the telephone.

“Practically no one is working anymore,” said Raul Dominguez, an attorney at the department of Energy, Mines and Parastatal Industries.

Busy at Breakfast

“You should see the restaurants around here at breakfast time,” added his colleague. “This morning I ran into two ex-governors in one restaurant.”

Despite the weeks of maneuvering, it can take several post-inaugural months to fill all of the political positions. In addition to his Cabinet, a new president brings in new sub-secretaries of state, general coordinators and directors general. They, in turn, frequently name new area directors, department heads and analysts.

Although there is no civil service in Mexico, unions protect most of the nearly 3 million federal employees. Nonetheless, it is understood that the new bosses will bring their own secretaries, drivers and personal assistants such as Zavala.

“It could be two months before I know if I have a new job,” Zavala said between answering telephone calls. His secretary apparently had a late breakfast of her own.

Any Mexican who has applied for a passport or marriage license, registered a newborn, sought a land title or filed a complaint, will attest to the fact that, even under the best of conditions, the federal bureaucracy is dreadfully slow.

That paper quagmire deepens twice a month on payday and with each of Mexico’s many holidays. According to the labor code, bureaucrats officially celebrate a dozen holidays each year in addition to weekends and their vacations. But if, for example, the national holiday Cinco de Mayo falls on a Tuesday, it is common practice among bureaucrats to make a puente , or bridge, holiday out of the Monday, giving themselves a four-day weekend. Most bureaucrats take off two weeks at Christmas and one at Easter. Many women celebrate Mother’s Day, and most government offices close Dec. 12 for Virgin of Guadalupe Day.

And then there is the presidential transition.

For the average citizen who needs an official stamp or signature, the transition becomes a bureaucratic Continental Divide. Either they push their paper work through the system before Nov. 30, or endure for months until new functionaries get their bearings. Beating the deadline can cost a large bribe to an official worrying about several months of unemployment; waiting for the new administration can mean starting over with a bureaucrat who has never heard of your case.

Lawyer Rosa Maria Mendez hopes to make the deadline. For the last six months, she has been seeking the papers she needs to convert her 17-unit apartment building into condominiums.

Needs 2 More Signatures

“I just need two more signatures, from the sub-delegate and the delegate,” Mendez said at the headquarters of Delegacion Cuauhtemoc, a federal department similar to county offices in the United States.

Mendez waited in a gray vestibule for two hours on a recent morning hoping to ask the sub-delegate why he had not signed her papers in the three weeks that they have been sitting on his desk. It was at least her 15th trip to the delegation to arrange her permit.

“After Nov. 30, they won’t do a thing. December is paralyzed and everything is suspended until there is a new delegate and a new sub-delegate,” Mendez said.

One of the myriad inspectors who reviewed her property in the last six months tried to negotiate a free condominium in exchange for his seal of approval, Mendez said. She avoided giving it to him but fears she may yet have to pay with an apartment to have her signatures by Nov. 30.

“They’re certainly capable of asking for it,” she said. “The corruption has just grown worse with inflation.”

As Mendez entered her third hour of waiting, a secretary suddenly emerged from inner offices with a quizzical look to ask what she wanted.

“A meeting with the sub-delegate,” Mendez said.

“Fill out this form for an audience,” the secretary said. Then, as an afterthought, she said that the sub-delegate was not in.

The sub-delegate’s assistant appeared moments later to refer Mendez back down the bureaucratic ladder. She should see the architect in the next office, he said, to make sure her papers were in order.

In another office on another floor, market vendor Ignacia Cordero had just been told that the licenciada --a title that can mean lawyer or college graduate--whom she sought would not be available until the afternoon.

No Permit

Cordero, 58, had come to the delegation offices to complain that the administrator of San Juan Market where she has sold tacos for the last nine years had suddenly reminded her that she did not have a permit to sell food. The implied threat, she said, was a last-ditch effort to collect bribes before he loses his post.

But for the bureaucrats, it is a nail-biting, nerve-wracking time. In the depths of government offices, they are playing “political prognostics,” passing around sheets to place their bets on which officials will land in what jobs. The betting, however, is more than a game. It not only means a job but also a future in government and a payoff for the discipline and loyalty shown their bosses in previous jobs.

“You have linked up with people throughout your career and along the way they have pulled you up with them,” explains one sub-director. “You can’t knock on the door of someone you haven’t seen for 15 years, because he is helping the people who have helped him move up the ladder.”