Two Students Killed in Police Chase in Michoacán

Michoacán. Land of beautiful vistas, delicious cuisine, and—if you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—occasional chaos, complete with high-speed chases, trigger-happy law enforcement, and masked students with a penchant for setting things on fire. This time, the scene is set on the Morelia-Pátzcuaro highway, where what should have been a quiet Sunday morning turned into something straight out of an action film. Except, it wasn’t a movie. No, this was very real, and it all began with a simple Ford F150 truck.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a humble truck. A workhorse of Mexican agriculture, but in this case, the poor vehicle belonged to an agrochemical company and, more importantly, had been reported stolen. Enter the Morelia Municipal Police, tasked with recovering said truck and—if they could manage it—restoring a semblance of order to Michoacán’s rugged roads. That, of course, is when things took a decidedly less peaceful turn.

It was early Sunday morning, the sort of hour when sensible folk are either asleep or at least enjoying a second cup of coffee. But two students from the “Vasco de Quiroga” Rural Normal School apparently had more exciting plans. They found themselves in the aforementioned stolen Ford F150, presumably not on a sightseeing tour. Now, what they were doing with the stolen truck is anyone's guess—though, to be fair, borrowing someone else’s car without permission typically attracts a fair bit of suspicion.

The police, keen to resolve the small matter of grand theft auto, spotted the truck and decided to intervene. And by “intervene,” I mean they attempted to stop it. Unfortunately, the two bright young minds behind the wheel were in no mood for a chat with the authorities, let alone the kind where words like “robbery” and “prison” might crop up. So, as is the custom in such situations, they floored it.

Now, I’m sure you’ve seen enough car chases in movies to know what happens next. The students attempted to outrun the police, leading to a high-speed pursuit down the Morelia-Pátzcuaro highway. It’s important to remember that the police, ever determined to uphold the law, were now in hot pursuit of a couple of students who, rather inconveniently, were speeding away in a stolen truck.

At this point, any sensible person would probably just pull over, apologize for the misunderstanding, and hope for the best. But no, the students—either deeply committed to their escape plan or simply lacking in good judgment—decided to push their luck. As the truck hurtled down the highway, the police, apparently having watched one too many action films, took out their guns and opened fire.

Now, one might argue that shooting at a moving vehicle is not the most measured response to a robbery, but who am I to judge the finer points of law enforcement tactics? In any case, three bullets found their mark, striking one of the students—an 18-year-old by the name of Ángel Jaziel—in various parts of his body. Despite the dramatics, it’s worth noting that young Ángel was swiftly taken to a hospital, where his condition was later reported as stable. Not exactly the Sunday morning he’d been hoping for, I’m sure.

Meanwhile, his companion, José Alberto—a sprightly 27-year-old who probably wasn’t expecting this joyride to end in a hail of bullets—was arrested on the spot. The chase had finally come to an end in Huiramba, a sleepy little municipality about 30 kilometers from Morelia. But, as anyone familiar with rural Mexico could tell you, things were only just beginning to get interesting.

As word spread about the shooting, back at the “Vasco de Quiroga” Rural Normal School, a group of students—clearly more interested in the spirit of revolution than in their academic studies—decided to take matters into their own hands. And by “take matters into their own hands,” I mean they gathered up some rocks, sticks, and apparently a busload of fireworks, because no rural uprising would be complete without a bit of pyrotechnic flair.

Around 03:00 hours, the students—many of whom had the good sense to hide their faces behind hoods—rolled up to the scene of the chase in a bus. What happened next could only be described as something between a riot and a medieval siege. The police, already outnumbered, were pelted with rocks, stones, and fireworks. Yes, fireworks. Because nothing says “justice” like a few bottle rockets aimed at your local police force.

Realizing that discretion is sometimes the better part of valor, the officers, perhaps wisely, decided to retreat. This, of course, left the stage clear for the students to unleash their inner vandals. A patrol car? Torched. The stolen truck? Up in flames. It was all terribly dramatic, if not particularly helpful in resolving the situation.

The students, now basking in the warm glow of their handiwork, seemed intent on making their grievances heard. They threatened to take to the streets, demanding justice for what had transpired. It’s unclear exactly what sort of justice they had in mind, though one assumes it involves fewer police officers and more flaming vehicles.

Meanwhile, the State Attorney General's Office—because someone has to clean up this mess—opened an investigation to determine what, precisely, went wrong. Was it the students’ ill-advised decision to flee in a stolen truck? The police’s somewhat overzealous use of firearms? The fireworks-wielding avengers from the Rural Normal School? Who’s to say?

As for the authorities, both the Morelia City Council and the Michoacán government have remained conspicuously silent. Perhaps they’re hoping this will all blow over, or maybe they’re just not sure how to respond to a story that involves stolen trucks, gunfire, and a bunch of students behaving like a cross between Robin Hood’s Merry Men and a demolition crew.

One thing is certain, though: if you’re planning a quiet Sunday drive on the highways of Michoacán, it might be best to check the news first. You never know when a couple of students might be barreling down the road in a stolen truck, with the police hot on their tail and a busload of fireworks-wielding protesters waiting in the wings. It’s all just part of the charm of life in rural Mexico, where every day holds the promise of a new adventure—or at least, a decent car chase.