The early morning raids were carefully calibrated. Teams of heavily-armed agents donned protective gear in the darkness, then struck at homes in California, Texas and New Jersey using battering rams and bolt cutters. Those analysts watching on screens at the federal command centre in northern Virginia saw scores of gangsters rounded up, along with huge quantities of drugs.
This wave of assaults last week marked the end of phase one of ‘Project Python’, a previously-secret mission to confront one of Mexico’s most terrifying drug cartels. It led to the capture of more than 600 people linked to the gang. “They promise hope and they deliver despair,” one Drug Enforcement Administration official told a receptive journalist. Agents boasted they’d seized 20,000 kilograms of drugs along with $22m in cash and other assets.
Their target had been the Jalisco New Generation (JNG) cartel, a gang that stands out for its hideous savagery even by the debased standards of the Mexican drug war. It is led by Nemesio ‘El Mencho’ Cervantes, a former police officer with a $10m bounty on his head, whose bodyguards once shot down a military helicopter to prevent his arrest. His moustachioed face stares down from billboards across California, as the authorities appeal for help in re-capturing a shadowy figure once jailed for three years in San Francisco on drug charges.
This highly-disciplined character leads a group that has used appalling violence to become probably the world’s key trafficker of heroin, fentanyl, cocaine and crystal meth; it controls at least one-third of the lucrative United States market. Using extortion, kidnapping, torture and murder it has muscled in on several other key sectors of the Mexican economy, from farming to mining — as I saw for myself last month, while visiting the state of Michoacán.
Cervantes was born here 54 years ago, one of six boys in a poor family of avocado farmers. I was there to report on how the drug cartels have muscled on production of the fruit as a new source of cash. Initially, they used avocado farming as a way to launder their mountains of money, but soon found it had become as lucrative as heroin, thanks to growing demand from Western consumers. Mexico grows almost half the avocados sold globally — and most of its ‘green gold’ comes from Michoacán.
This fertile state was already at the core of cartel operations. I was staying in Uruapan, home to a club where five decapitated heads were rolled across the dance floor in 2006, in a move which kick-started Mexico’s war on drugs. The day I arrived, 11 bodies were found in a shallow grave. The following day, as I walked to my hotel, I stumbled across the scene of a mass shooting that had left nine teenagers dead. Soon after my departure, another farmer was kidnapped from his avocado orchard and killed, then 24 more corpses were discovered nearby with several of them showing signs of torture.
It is like the Wild West. Farmers speak of being extorted, indigenous people are armed with semi-automatic weapons to protect forests, trucks are hijacked daily and even taco sellers pay protection money. One journalist described fleeing the country after being summoned by a cartel chief who said he would pay $50,000 a month to have his public image improved. Vigilantes ran one town, boasting of having 2,000 weapons to protect 15,000 people. Police are distrusted since many are in the pay of cartels. Yet corruption is complex: as one source explained to me, often officers don’t have any choice, since if they refuse to help the gangs they — or their children — are killed.
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