Cellphone chats have become deadly 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 phones. If they find a contact linked to a rival faction, a chat with the wrong word, or a photo with the wrong person, the phone owner is killed.
Next, they target everyone on that person’s contact list, creating a potential chain of kidnapping, torture, and death. This has left residents of Culiacan, the capital of Sinaloa state, too afraid to leave their homes at night, let alone visit nearby towns where many have weekend retreats.
“You can’t go five minutes out of the city, not even in daylight,” said Ismael Bojórquez, a veteran journalist in Culiacan. “Why? Because the narcos have set up roadblocks and they stop you and search through your cellphone.”
It’s not just your own chats that are dangerous: if you’re traveling with others, one bad contact or chat can get the whole group kidnapped. This happened to the son of a local news photographer. The 20-year-old was stopped with two other youths, and something was found on one of their phones; all three disappeared. Calls were made, and the photographer’s son was eventually released, but the other two were never seen again.
Residents of Culiacan were used to occasional bursts of violence. The Sinaloa cartel’s presence is woven into everyday life, and people knew to stay indoors when they saw convoys of double-cab pickups racing through the streets. But they had never experienced the solid month of fighting that began on September 9 between factions of the Sinaloa cartel after drug lords Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada and Joaquín Guzmán López were apprehended in the United States after flying there in a small plane on July 25.
Zambada claimed he was kidnapped and forced aboard the plane by Guzmán López, sparking a violent battle between Zambada’s faction and the “Chapitos” group led by the sons of imprisoned drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzmán. “El Chapo” is serving a life sentence in a maximum-security prison in Colorado after being convicted in 2019 on charges including drug trafficking, money laundering, and weapons-related offenses. Zambada pleaded not guilty last month in New York in a drug trafficking case accusing him of engaging in murder plots and ordering torture.
A new generation of drug lords and a “chain of hunting”
Residents of Culiacan are mourning their old lives when the local economy was fueled by cartel wealth but civilians rarely suffered—unless they cut off the wrong pickup truck in traffic. Recently, bodies have appeared across Culiacan, often left on the streets or in cars with sombreros on their heads or pizza slices or boxes pegged onto them with knives. These pizzas and sombreros have become informal symbols for the warring cartel factions, highlighting the brutality of their warfare.
Juan Carlos Ayala, an academic who studies the anthropology of the drug trade at the Autonomous University of Sinaloa, said that following the arrests of Guzmán López and Zambada in July, a new generation of younger, more flashy, and cosmopolitan drug lords have taken over. They fight with extreme violence, kidnapping, and cellphone tracking—not the old kind of handshake deals their elders used alongside shootouts to settle matters.
“There is a new generation of leaders of drugs and organized crime here, with different strategies,” Ayala said. “They see that the tactic of shootouts hasn’t worked for them, so they go for kidnapping.”
“They catch one person, and he has messages from the rival group,” Ayala explained. “So, they go after him to squeeze more information, starting a chain of hunting to catch the enemy.”
The new tactics are evident in the surge of armed carjackings in and around Culiacan. Previously, cartel gunmen targeted SUVs and pickups for their convoys, but now they focus on smaller sedans to remain inconspicuous during their silent, deadly kidnappings.
Often, the first sign for a driver is a spray of bent nails thrown from a passing car, puncturing their tires. Vehicles then block the driver from the front and rear, forcing them to stop. The driver is then bundled into another car, leaving behind a vehicle with burst tires, open doors, and a running engine in the middle of the street.
The State Council on Public Safety, a civic group, estimates that in the past month, there have been an average of six killings and seven disappearances or kidnappings daily in and around the city. The group also reported that about 200 families have fled their homes in outlying communities due to the violence.
Culiacan is no stranger to violence. In October 2019, a failed attempt by soldiers to arrest Ovidio Guzmán, one of Chapo Guzmán’s sons, led to a citywide shootout that left 14 people dead. A few days later, civic activist Estefanía López organized a peace march that drew 4,000 residents. However, a similar attempt this year only attracted about 1,500 people.
“We received many messages from people who wanted to join and march to support the cause but were too afraid to come,” López said.
The fear is justified. Last week, gunmen stormed a Culiacan hospital to kill a patient previously wounded by gunshots. In a town north of Culiacan, drivers were shocked to see a military helicopter trying to corner four gunmen in helmets and tactical vests just yards from a highway, with the gunmen shooting back at the chopper.
The government’s response has been to blame the United States for allowing drug lords to turn themselves in and to deploy hundreds of army troops. However, urban combat in a city of 1 million people, against a cartel armed with .50-caliber sniper rifles and machine guns, is not the army’s specialty.
Soldiers recently entered a luxury apartment complex in the city center to detain a suspect but ended up shooting a young lawyer who was merely a bystander. López, the peace activist, has been advocating for soldiers and police to be posted outside schools so children can return to classes. Most are currently taking classes online because their parents deem it too dangerous to take them to school.
However, police alone can’t solve the problem. Culiacan’s entire municipal force has been temporarily disarmed by soldiers to check their guns, a measure taken when the army suspects police officers of working for drug cartels. The local army commander recently admitted that it’s up to the cartel factions, not the authorities, to decide when the violence will stop.
“In Culiacan, there is no longer any faith that we will be safe, even with police or soldiers,” López said, noting the impact on daily life and the economy. “Many businesses, restaurants, and nightclubs have been closed for the past month.”
Laura Guzmán, the leader of the local restaurant chamber, reported that about 180 businesses in Culiacan have closed, either permanently or temporarily, since September 9, resulting in nearly 2,000 job losses. Local businesses tried to organize evening “tardeadas” — long afternoons — for residents afraid to go out after dark, but they didn’t attract enough customers.
“Young people are not interested in going out right now,” Guzmán said.
For those looking to get away from the violence temporarily, the seaside resort of Mazatlan used to be only 2½ hours away by car. But that’s not an option since last month when cartel gunmen hijacked passenger buses, forced the tourists off and burned the vehicles to block the road to Mazatlan.
That leaves just one option, and one only open to some.
“Those who have the economic resources get out of the city by airplane to take a break,” Guzmán said.
Source: CBS News
