Mexico’s narco terror ranch is a brutal call to action

By Juan Pablo Spinetto

The discovery in early March of an apparent training and extermination camp in Jalisco state, just 60 kilometers west of Guadalajara, has traumatized Mexico and brought to life the country’s worst torments. It’s a huge test of the new security strategy of President Claudia Sheinbaum, who is trying to toughen the fight against organized crime and narcotrafficking after the disastrous soft-handed approach of her predecessor Andrés Manuel López Obrador.

Sheinbaum needs to deliver concrete improvements in Mexico’s domestic security, no ifs or buts. This isn’t a question of US President Donald Trump demanding action as a quid pro quo to avoid trade tariffs or because this level of violence is embarrassing for the country’s business environment and international image. No, Sheinbaum needs to tackle this problem head on because the nation’s future depends on it.

The Rancho Izaguirre story resonates because it exposes the deep-seated rot of a system in which local officials collude with criminal gangs that lack an iota of humanity. The facility lies in a quiet rural community in an area where the drug cartels have ruled over life and death for decades. Inside the ranch, human remains and clandestine graves were found along with piles of personal belongings that suggest hundreds, probably thousands, passed through this massive torture center where criminals forcibly trained new recruits.

Local authorities say they are committed to locating the disappeared, amounting to about 15,000 people just in Jalisco (and more than 120,000 nationally), but you wouldn’t be wrong to second-guess what authorities say: The evil nature of this camp emerged only thanks to the tenacious collectives (known in Spanish as “buscadores”) that crisscross Mexico trying to find their missing loved ones. In fact, the local prosecutor and the National Guard had secured the location in September, but for some reason — quelle surprise! — they didn’t proceed with an investigation.

Just when the political finger-pointing and attempts to conceal the case were heating up — including an (unverified) bizarre denial of involvement by alleged members of the powerful Cártel de Jalisco Nueva Generación, or CJNG — Sheinbaum changed course: On Monday, she announced measures to help the families of all the missing in an implicit admission of the government’s responsibility.

“Addressing the problem of the missing and unaccounted persons is a national priority,” the president said. “We will act within the law and with the full force of the state.”

This amounts to a positive step, not least because it acknowledges that the drama of the disappearances is real and can’t be ignored. These are usually teenagers lured by juicy false job offers, in places like bus stations or through social media ads, who end up in training camps, something that authorities had known for years.

For Sheinbaum, a feminist and leftist humanist, clashing with these collectives — typically led by mothers who lost their sons — carries clear political risks. She has the popularity and political strength to do the right thing if she decides to, but the question is how forceful she can advance without triggering more violence.

The context is complex: The ambushing of kingpin Mayo Zambada last year unleashed a war within different narco factions in Sinaloa; the government in February sent the legendary Rafael Caro Quintero and 28 other drug lords to the US while the Trump administration designated six Mexican cartels (including the CJNG) as foreign terrorist organizations; the Pentagon is increasing its surveillance of Mexico with the deployment of navy warships and aircrafts amid speculation about US unilateral action against the cartels.

It’s also true we have been here before in many other dramatic cases, with governments grandstanding and swearing they wouldn’t wash their hands, yadda-yadda, only to wait cynically for the political storm to pass, betting on society moving on until the next scandal, oblivious to the barrage of gruesome news. There is also the temptation to think that if a problem isn’t talked about much, it doesn’t exist — which may explain why disappearances are up even as the number of murders is slowing down. Yet the opposite is correct: As painful and shameful as it may be, Mexico needs to confront the barbarism of its drug cartels; otherwise the problem will continue to metastasize and families won’t find solace for their missing ones.

Earlier this month, the fantastic I’m Still Here became the first Brazilian movie to win an Oscar, receiving the Best International Feature Film award. It tells the true story of a happy family — a couple with five kids — disrupted forever when in 1971 the father is kidnapped, killed and his body disappeared by the armed forces under the Brazilian dictatorship. The mother, Eunice Paiva, spends her life fighting to discover her husband’s final moments and only gets an official certificate of his death from the Brazilian state 25 years later.

Mexico produces an Eunice Paiva every hour, every day. The perpetrators of this violence are organized crime colluding with authorities instead of an old-fashioned junta, yet the pain inflicted on these families is very much the same, multiplied thousands of times. And this isn’t a movie.