The news trickles in from Baja: three men found guilty of murdering Jake and Callum Robinson and their friend Carter Rhoad. Three surfers, gone. Shot for their truck tires, a few dollars, and a misplaced sense of safety. The BBC calls it a "botched robbery." I call it the predictable, tragic endpoint of a state that has abrogated its fundamental duty: protecting its citizens, and by extension, anyone fool enough to try and do business within its borders.
Let's be clear: this isn't some random act of violence in an otherwise thriving entrepreneurial ecosystem. This is a spotlight on the rotting core of a nation where the rule of law is a suggestion, and the real power lies with those who wield the most arbitrary violence. When you venture into Mexico, you're not just going on a surf trip; you're entering a parallel economy where the primary venture capitalists are drug cartels, and their investments are in terror, extortion, and human lives.
Our incumbents, the political class on both sides of the border, will cluck their tongues. They’ll offer platitudes about cooperation and cross-border initiatives. It's all smoke and mirrors designed to obscure the fundamental truth: states that fail to establish a monopoly on legitimate violence, states that allow criminal syndicates to operate as alternative governments, are not safe for commerce, innovation, or even a simple vacation. And make no mistake, every single entrepreneur, every investor, every tourist who dares to cross that border is engaging in an act of faith – a faith that the state will perform the most basic function of government: keeping them alive. That faith is repeatedly, brutally betrayed.
Consider the regulatory burden on a startup in America – the permits, the licenses, the taxes, the Byzantine labyrinth of rules designed more to protect established interests than to foster innovation. It’s infuriating, stifling. But at least, for the most part, you can expect not to be shot for your product. In Mexico, the "regulatory environment" includes cartels demanding protection money, local officials on the take, and a justice system that’s often more theatrical than effective. The cost of doing business isn't just taxes; it's your life, or the lives of your customers.
This isn't just about surfers. This is about the chilling effect on any form of economic activity that isn't sanctioned, taxed, or controlled by the powers that be, whether they wear a uniform or carry a rifle. How many potential businesses, how many innovative ventures, how many dreams are stillborn because the implicit "permission" to operate comes with the very real risk of arbitrary, brutal termination? The scarcest resource in any aspiring economy is not capital, not talent, not ideas. It's security, it's predictability, it's the rule of law. Without that, everything else is a gamble with impossibly high stakes.
The establishment will point to the convictions as proof that "justice was served." A hollow victory indeed. Three men are guilty. But the systemic failure that allowed them to operate, to view human lives as expendable commodities for a truck or a few dollars, remains unaddressed. The real culprits aren't just these three individuals; it's the entire apparatus of a state that has allowed such a culture of impunity to fester.
This tragedy is a stark reminder for anyone looking to invest, innovate, or simply enjoy a fleeting moment of freedom south of the border. Your government can't protect you from a failing state; it can only warn you about the symptoms. The disease is widespread. And until there's a genuine commitment to dismantle the parallel powers that choke the life out of Mexican society, until they realize that stability isn't bought with tourist dollars but built with law and order, stories like this will continue. Three lives extinguished, and countless entrepreneurial ventures that will never even begin, because permission to exist is not granted by the state, but by the whims of a gangster. That's not a market; that's a cemetery.