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Will Mexico’s disappeared ever be found? Cartels and the state are equally to blame

Over 100,000 Mexicans are currently missing (Photo by RODRIGO ARANGUA / AFP)

Over 100,000 Mexicans are currently missing (Photo by RODRIGO ARANGUA / AFP)


September 27, 2024   5 mins

On Friday 26 September 2014, a group of Mexican students boarded buses in the town of Iguala. Members of the Ayotzinapa Rural Teachers’ College, in the southern state of Guerrero, they were hoping to reach Mexico City for an event marking the anniversary of the infamous Tlatelolco massacre. On that day in 1968, hundreds of students were gunned down by the security forces, while others were tortured and falsely imprisoned. Some were simply disappeared, and never seen again. The outrage itself would soon be followed by a monumental cover-up, and ultimately become the defining event of recent Mexican history.

Little did the Ayotzinapa students know that history was about to repeat itself. As night fell, their buses were stopped by police barricades. There, on a lonely stretch of highway, they were set upon by officers and members of the local drug cartel. Many of the students were shot, a number were hospitalised, and one was found dead by the roadside, a part of his face ripped away. It was only the following morning, however, that the full scale of the horror became clear: 43 students couldn’t be accounted for. A decade on from their disappearance, they’re presumed dead. Their bodies have never been recovered. 

If the Tlatelolco massacre became the defining moment of Mexico’s authoritarian past, “the 43” have come to symbolise the country’s stumbling democratic transition. There are, after all, over 110,000 desaparecidos (“disappeared ones”) right across Mexico, anonymous men and women who vanished one day and never came home. You’re reminded of them everywhere you go, their faces peering out at you from countless monochrome posters. Each, of course, represents a private tragedy. But just like Tlatelolco, the case of the Ayotzinapa students has gained vigour through the years, and ten years on represents abuse of state power at its most absolute.

“The case of the Ayotzinapa students has gained vigour through the years, and on its tenth anniversary represents abuse of state power at its most absolute.”

Though Mexicans were disappeared in the Nineties, the modern epidemic of vanishings really started in 2006. That year, President Felipe Calderon declared a war on drugs. As gangs defended their turf, from both the police and each other, the republic was drowned in an ocean of blood. Over the next 18 years, Mexico suffered some 431,000 homicides, from random shootings to organised beheadings. Alongside the violence, disappearances have been normalised too. Alongside those 113,000 desaparecidos, after all, 4,000 clandestine graves have also been found. 

Mexico’s drug cartels are clearly to blame for the mayhem — yet it’s not quite right to see them as straightforward criminals. Their influence is so powerful that it’s nowadays impossible to draw clear lines between cops and crooks. At every single level of government, from the police to the judiciary, there have been countless examples of collusion between officials and the cartels. Indeed Los Zetas, one of the most powerful and brutal of all the gangs, actually emerged out of an elite battalion of soldiers. Trained in counterinsurgency and drug war tactics, the troops then used that knowledge to become one of the most feared cartels around. 

Given these blurred lines, it makes sense that investigations into the missing 43 have gone nowhere, and have instead been met by denial, impunity and red herrings. Only six weeks after the outrage, Mexico’s attorney general famously presented what he called the “historic truth” — and announced the students’ bodies had been incinerated by a cartel, with their remains thrown down a nearby ravine. Yet forensic investigators from Argentina, leading experts in finding desaparecidos after their own country’s history, soon dismissed these claims.

In 2021, meanwhile, drone footage showed the apparent site of mass murder being prepared. First taken by the Mexican Navy, it later shows their presence alongside soldiers and the attorney general. The families of the victims had long suspected official involvement in the massacre, a position later taken by an independent enquiry into the event. Led by the Interdisciplinary Group of Independent Experts (GIEI), it concluded that the disappeared 43 amounted to a “state crime”.    

Despite accepting some involvement, however, the Mexican government continues to insist that the truth of the disappeared is ultimately a case of cartel violence, and perhaps a few corrupt politicians and police officers seduced by the violent glitz of drugs. A timely reminder of this has been the recent re-arrest of Gildardo Lopez Astudillo. Kingpin of the Guerreros Unidos cartel, he was detained just a few weeks before the tenth anniversary of the Ayotzinapa attack, with the authorities presenting his capture as a definitive win in the search for truth. 

As obfuscation over Ayotzinapa persists, meanwhile, all Mexico suffers. In a study on Colombia a nation with over 100,000 desaparecidos of its own the former US ambassador coined the phrase “narco-statization” to refer to a situation in which every aspect of life is shaped by the violence and corruption of the drug trade. That’s clear enough from one of the leading GIEI investigators into the Ayotzinapa disaster. As Carlos Beristain has publicly noted, the moment his inquiry got too close to pinpointing state involvement, and especially military involvement, requests for information went unanswered.

Considering all this, it’d be easy to see the case of the 43 is a quintessential example of state failure. Yet in his compelling book, Modernity and the Holocaust, Zygmunt Bauman showed how the first systematic attempt to disappear an entire people couldn’t happen without meticulous planning and organisation. Disposing of human life isn’t straightforward. Rather, it requires a monstrous organisational effort to ensure the dead remain hidden. What we see in Mexico is not state failure, in short, but state excessiveness and impunity. 

That’s especially true when you recall that violence doesn’t actually come easily to humans. We are far from natural born killers. As with other forms of systematically enforced and culturally normalised violence, rather, disappearance thrives when it’s a learned practice. This requires us to situate the disaster in Mexico in a far broader historical and geographical framing.

In mapping out the global topography of disappearance, our journey could plausibly begin in Nazi Germany. From there, we might follow ex-Nazis down the so-called “ratlines” to safety in South America. Certainly, not enough attention has been given to links between former National Socialists and the Argentinian junta, who also disappeared a number of Jewish activists and intellectuals through the Seventies. Then, like Che Guevara, we could travel up the spine of the Andes, learning how disappearance was remastered and exported, and how many of its advocates were students at the US military training facility now infamously called the “School of the Americas”.

Like all violence, the practice of disappearance has taken new forms as societies have changed. As Latin American countries have been transformed by the globalising logic of the free market, for instance, violence itself has been privatised. Just like global capital, meanwhile bloodshed has moved with the markets, from Colombia to Mexico to the frontiers of the US itself.

The geography of violence, in turn, has shaped how it’s counted. Keen to show how he brought peace and stability to Mexico, President Andreas Manual Lopez Obrador came to power promising to find the 43. Along the way, he founded the National Search Commission, and in one of his final official acts tasked it with reorganising Mexico’s disappeared into a more “accurate” picture. Unsurprisingly, the numbers fell dramatically. At just 12,377, the National Search Commission clearly used a politically motivated methodology. Families, for their part, responded to this development by decrying “the disappearance of the disappeared”. 

This is far from just a Mexican problem. A few months ago, I was part of an organising committee leading an international conference on disappearance in Belfast. Hosting the event in Northern Ireland was significant not least given the acknowledgment the UK isn’t immune to the practice either. As Padraig Og O Ruairc’s recent book on the disappeared of Ireland vividly shows, it’s a technique the British government (and its opponents) have employed for centuries, and on a scale unknown even during the Troubles. The Belfast event was opened by testimonies from two women. The first, Elizabeth Santander, described how her husband was vanished by the Colombian state in the Eighties. Dympna Kerr, for her part, explained how she’s still searching for her 19-year-old brother Columba McVeigh, murdered and secretly buried by the IRA in 1975. 

Having spoken with such courage about the weight of absence, I was especially struck by how both women ended their testimonies with poetry. Apart from the beauty of their words, it reminded me how important art has become for the vanished of Mexico, with no local artist more dedicated to confronting the horrors of disappearance than Chantal Meza. In splattered flashes of red and grey, her paintings are a howl of grief for the 43 and every desaparecido. It’s appropriate, then, that today her extensive State of Disappearance collection is unveiled in the Chancellors Building at the University of Bath. A decade on from their final bus ride, it’s heartening to know that the Ayotzinapa students haven’t fully been forgotten.


Professor Brad Evans holds a Chair in Political Violence & Aesthetics at the University of Bath. His book, How Black Was My Valley: Poverty and Abandonment in a Post-Industrial Heartland, is published with Repeater Books.


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Seb Dakin
Seb Dakin
8 days ago

Implying the British government ‘disappears’ people a-la Latin American narco-state is a bit of leap. They’re prosecuting their own aging ex-soldiers for heat-of-battle incidents for heaven’s sake. To then give as an example someone who was disappeared by the IRA is disingenuous in the extreme.

Lancashire Lad
Lancashire Lad
8 days ago
Reply to  Seb Dakin

I think you’re right about that. The horrifying systematic nature of state complicity the author lays out in South America is one thing, although it immediately brings to mind the issue of migration into the US – the thorny “border security” open wound that each US election picks at. It’s obvious why many Mexicans would seek to escape such tyranny, but also poses an additional security threat of those involved taking their murderous ways into the US.

It then transpires the author is publicising an art exhibition. He’s entitled to draw attention to that, and i’ve no doubt there’s a good deal to be said in its favour as a means of keeping the memory alive of those who’ve disappeared and their loved ones. The art itself (if the link is followed) may or may not be to one’s taste, although the form of abstraction does resonate personally but how much impact it’ll have in the relative gentility of Bath, UK is another matter. I hope it’s a ‘success’ in its own terms.

I wonder if that’s why the author seeks to draw parallels with the Troubles? As if to say: it’s happened here too, hence it’s legitimate to hold the exhibition here. As you say, it seems a stretch too far, even if a few examples could be provided which still gives no credence to the involvement of the British state in any deliberate policy or practice. Not to be naive about this, but it just reads as if the author has that didactic purpose with his concluding paragraphs.

One final point. I’d challenge his assertion that humans aren’t “natural born killers”. History would strongly suggest orherwise. The events of less than a year ago in Israel, where the killers gloated online about their deeds, is just one reminder that there’s a strain of viciousness (however engendered) in humans that just can’t be ignored. State sponsorship of that strain merely facilitates it, not induces it.

Point of Information
Point of Information
8 days ago
Reply to  Lancashire Lad

Agree the final two paragraphs are distinctly odd, as you say they come across as a plug in an otherwise factual analysis.

The rest of the article is useful, though.

Christopher Barclay
Christopher Barclay
8 days ago

‘Cartels and the state are equally to blame.’ This suggests that they are independent organisations. They are not. Historically, the Mexican cartels have operated within parameters set by the Mexican state (not to be confused with its elected government). The cartels have often called on the Mexican armed forces for support in resolving their disputes. Cartels have come and gone, while the Mexican state remains. Mexico and not Colombia is the true narco-state.

Mark O'Neill
Mark O'Neill
8 days ago

Tangential to this piece but I’m yet to read a convicing explanation for the sheer level of violence in South and Central America.

Other places have drugs, poverty, colonialism, resource curse, dailances with socialism and despotic leaders but S American cities always crowd out the others in lists of most violent places in earth.

Why?

Roberto Sussman
Roberto Sussman
8 days ago

The author did not mention the full context that prevents finding a true (or at leasst most accurate possible) description of the Ayotzinapa case. The outgoing president Andés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO) has embraced the military in ways not known in Mexico before him. He has granted the military full control of many civilian areas: customs, ports and airports, they are now owners of an airline and have access to a lot of public resources in complete opacity. Thousands of soldiers plan, direct and work in large infrastructure projects involving thousands of millions of dollars. AMLO has also militarized public security, replacing the previous Federal Police (a sort of Mexican FBI), with a National Guard taken from recruited military personnel without real police training. AMLO has also declared since 2018 a policy of “abrazos no balazos” (hugs not bullets) as his strategy to deal with cartels, based on the assumption that they prosper and get recruits because of poverty. Meanwhile, his administration ends with 200,000 casualties. Even if we assume that 90% of them were criminals or cops or soldiers, 20,000 innocent civilian deaths is a war zone statistic.

Under these conditions, AMLO has protected the military from any search or inquiry, has refused the investigators of the Ayotzinapa case any access to material or evidence that involve the military in that tragedy. The parents of the 43 students (teacher trainees) and people helping and advising them decry this situation. The outgoing president and his government are turning Mexico into a dictatorship where state officials, the military and the cartels witll be able to act with full impunity. Many hope that his successor Claudia Sheinbaum (a women with a PhD in engineering) would change this disastrous situation, but she has given clear signals that she will follow AMLO’s authoritarian policies.

0 01
0 01
6 days ago

Disagree on the privatization of violence as a new phenomenon on Latin America, It’s been a recurring thing since the colonial era. The conquest of Latin America by the Spanish was done largely by private militaries of the conquistadors operating with approval from the Spanish government. The South American Wars of Independence were fought largely by private militaries that were technically part of the revolutionary government but we’re actually creatures of the landowners. That state of affairs continue after Independence in which regional strongman controlled armies that were nominally part of the national government, which led to disunity and chaos through much of the 19th century. Paramilitaries backed by The wealthy and elements at the states in the form of death squads were also something of a normality during the Cold war era that were used against communists elements and insurgents within their countries. Finally, we of course have the drug cartels and their own Armies of gunmen existed in Latin American countries. Private armies have been a mainstay of Latin American throughout its history. This point still a problem that as always plagued the region, strong men but weak states.