MEXICO CITY (AP) – Chatting on a cell phone has become a death sentence in the ongoing bloody factional war within Mexico’s Sinaloa drug cartel.
Cartel gunmen stop young people on the street or in their cars and demand their cellphones. If a contact is found who is a member of a hostile faction, chats with the wrong word, or a photo with the wrong person, then the owner of the phone is dead.
It can then track everyone on that person’s contact list, setting off a chain of kidnappings, torture, and deaths. This has left residents of Culiacán, Sinaloa’s capital, afraid to even leave their homes at night, much less visit the town miles away where many people retreat for the weekend.
“Don’t go more than five minutes from the city, even during the day,” said Ismael Bohorquez, a veteran Culiacan journalist. “Why? Because the narcotics are setting up barricades, stopping you and searching your cell phone.”
And it’s not just your own chats. If someone is traveling in a car with others, one bad contact or chat can result in the entire group being kidnapped.
That’s what happened to the son of a local news photographer. The 20-year-old boy was stopped along with two other young people and something was found on one of their mobile phones. All three disappeared. A report was made and the photographer’s son was finally released, but the other two were never seen again.
Residents of Culiacan have long been accustomed to experiencing violence for a day or two every now and then. There, the Sinaloa Cartel’s presence is a part of everyday life, and when you see a convoy of double-cab pickup trucks speeding through the streets, you know to stay indoors.
But a feud erupted between factions of the Sinaloa cartel on September 9 after drug lords Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada and Joaquín Guzmán López were arrested after flying to the United States on a small plane in July. They have never seen such a month-long battle. twenty five.
Zambada later claimed that he had been abducted and forced onto a plane by Guzmán López, and that Zambada factions and the Chapitos group, led by the sons of imprisoned drug lord Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán, A fierce battle ensued between them.
Residents of Culiacán lament the old days, when the wheels of the local economy were fueled by cartel wealth, but civilians were rarely harmed unless they cut off an errant pickup truck in traffic.
Juan Carlos Ayala, a scholar who studies the anthropology of drug trafficking at the Autonomous University of Sinaloa, said that after the arrests of Guzmán López and Zambada in July, a new generation of younger, more flashy and international drug lords has emerged. He said it has been inherited.
They are fighting extreme violence, kidnappings, and cell phone tracking rather than the old kind of handshake deals that their elders used alongside gunfights to solve problems.
“We have a new generation of drug and organized crime leaders here, and they have a different strategy,” Ayala said. “They realize that gunfight tactics don’t work, so they turn to kidnapping.”
“They captured one person, and he was receiving messages from a rival group,” Ayala said. “So they pursue him to extract more information, and a series of hunts to capture the enemy begins.”
This new tactic is reflected in a large wave of armed carjackings in and around Culiacan. Cartel gunmen were stealing SUVs and pickup trucks, which they prefer to use in cartel convoys. But now the focus is on stealing small sedans.
They use these to carry out silent and dangerous kidnappings that go undetected.
Often, the first thing a driver notices is when a passing car sprays a bent nail and punctures their tire. Cars stop in front of him and try to cut him off. The driver is bundled with another car. All the neighbors can find is a car with a burst tire, door open and engine running, sitting in the middle of the road.
The National Public Safety Commission, a civil society organization, estimates that there have been an average of six murders and seven disappearances or kidnappings each day in and around the city over the past month. The group said about 200 families had fled their homes from suburban communities because of the violence.
Culiacan is no stranger to violence. In October 2019, soldiers unsuccessfully tried to arrest Chapo Guzman’s other son, Ovidio, sparking mass shootings across the city. 14 people died that day.
A few days later, civil activist Estefanía López organized a peace march attended by 4,000 residents. They tried to do something similar this year, but only about 1,500 people were able to participate in a similar demonstration.
“We received a lot of messages in advance from a lot of people who wanted to come and march to support the cause but were afraid to come,” Lopez said.
There is reason to be afraid. Last week, gunmen stormed a hospital in Culiacan state and killed a patient who had previously been injured by gunfire. In the northern town of Culiacan, motorists were startled to see military helicopters trying to corral four gunmen wearing helmets and tactical vests just meters from the highway. The gunmen were firing back at the helicopter.
The government’s response to all this was to blame the United States for stirring up trouble by allowing drug lords to turn in and send in hundreds of troops.
But irregular urban warfare in the heart of a city of 1 million people, with cartels armed with large numbers of .50-caliber sniper rifles and machine guns, is not the Army’s specialty.
A squad of soldiers entered a luxury apartment building in the city center to take the suspect into custody, but ended up shooting and killing a young lawyer who was only a bystander.
Mr López, a peace activist, has called for soldiers and police to be stationed outside schools to allow children to return to class. Parents have decided it is too dangerous to take their children to school, and most children are now taking classes online.
However, the police cannot solve the problem. All city employees in Culiacan were temporarily disarmed by soldiers to have their guns inspected, as has been done in the past when the military suspected officers of working for drug cartels. It is.
Local military commanders recently acknowledged that when the violence stops is up to cartel forces, not authorities.
“In Culiacan, even with the presence of police and soldiers, we no longer even believe that we are safe,” López said, noting that this has clearly affected daily life and the economy. “Many businesses, restaurants and nightclubs have been closed over the past month.”
Laura Guzmán, leader of the local Restaurant Chamber, said that since September 9, about 180 businesses in Culiacan have closed permanently or temporarily, resulting in the loss of about 2,000 jobs.
Local businesses tried to organize evening “tardeadas” (long afternoons) for residents afraid to go out after dark, but they were unable to attract enough customers.
“Young people are not interested in going out now,” Guzman said.
For those seeking a temporary escape from the violence, the seaside resort of Mazatlan used to be just a two-and-a-half hour drive away. But last month, that option disappeared after cartel gunmen hijacked a passenger bus, forced tourists off, burned the vehicle and blocked the road to Mazatlan.
That leaves you with only one option, but that option is only open to some people.
“People who can afford it are flying out of the city and taking vacations,” Guzman said.
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