Mexican Cartels: The End of Impunity?

“Sol Prendido” for Borderland Beat 

Less than 200 km west of Mexico City, the state of Michoacán is a war zone, a strategic territory for drug trafficking to the United States, contested by several criminal groups. We are traveling its roads because one of the world's most powerful cartels, usually silent, has exceptionally agreed to speak with us. 

Several trips will be necessary to finally meet these men, members of the cartel's special forces, in the dead of night and on their terms. 

"We are the Jalisco New Generation Cartel. We are at war. It's them or us." If they have agreed to speak for once, it is to deliver a message. The state has allegedly declared a merciless war on them, a corrupt state, according to them, allied with other criminal groups to eliminate the Jalisco cartel. This is proven. 

The government supports our enemies: the other cartels, the congressmen, the senators, the mayors, the federal government—they are all corrupt to the core. Yet, for several months now, the Mexican government has been claiming to be taking a firm stance. 

Yes, yes, it's taking a firm hand. But I ask you, a firm hand against whom? It's not going after the other cartels. It's not attacking our enemies. It's not attacking the Templarios cartel, nor the Reyes or Tepeque cartels. It talks about taking a firm stance, but it's only against us. It's protecting the other cartels. 

If the Jalisco cartel is accusing the government in this way, it's because for months it has been the target of repeated military operations. In 10 years, he steadily expanded his control to become the most powerful of the Mexican cartels. So, the authorities made it their priority. On February 22, 2026, they even planned to deliver the final blow by executing him. 

The governor of Jalisco, Pablo Lemus, was declared a state of maximum alert to the population. Its founder, Nemessio Osegera Servantes, better known as El Mencho, had just been killed by the Mexican army, supported by American intelligence. 

The death of the founder and leader of the Jalisco Nueva cartel generated an immediate and violent reaction; part of the country erupted in flames. Within hours, more than 60 people would die in the clashes, including 27 members of the security forces and about thirty cartel hitmen. 

We have been impacted, but that won't stop us. We will redouble our efforts. The cartel is above everything. It's a huge machine that doesn't depend on a single person. At the head of state, however, it is one person who has changed the game. Since her election, the government of Claudia Schenbaum, the new president of Mexico, has declared the fight against the cartels as one of its main objectives. 

We have approached the Mexican presidency and the Ministry of the Interior to discuss their actions. They refused.

2,000 km north of Michoacán, on the border with Texas, lies the most strategic hub for the cartel's trafficking. 

"If the devil grants me an interview, I'll go to hell to meet him."

This is where Louise Chaparo lives under constant protection. For over 10 years, this independent journalist has been investigating the links between politics and organized crime. His life has been threatened because of his revelations. 

"Those trucks—black, powerful, fast—are always ominous because they're the ones used by the cartel's hitmen. I can see my bodyguards are on edge. They’re sticking close to my car so there’s no gap between us."

Hello. Every morning, Monday through Friday, Louis Chaparot goes live on YouTube for hundreds of thousands of viewers. The information he broadcasts daily—about cartels, the border, or political corruption—proves that the fight against organized crime will be a hard one to win. 

Hello, everyone. Welcome to *Pie de Nota*. I’m Luis Chaparo, and we’re live. Today, we’ll be talking about criminal groups that operate with the consent—and even on the orders—of the authorities. We often picture armed men wearing tactical vests with their cartel’s name emblazoned on them. 

But a cartel is about more than just that. It handles security. It protects territory, specific activities, or the organization's leader. But what really makes up a cartel is, for instance, the lawyer who says, "He’s landed in jail? I’ve got connections; I’ll get you out." It’s also the businessman: "You’ve got the cash? 

Leave me 10%, and I’ll launder it. It’ll come out clean." And then there’s the politician who says, "Give me the money to become mayor, and I’ll hand you the keys to the city." Oh, and while you're at it, take out two or three of my political enemies. Then there’s the criminal. He manages drug trafficking, illegal logging, and mining operations. The cartel is made up of many people from the white-collar world. 

Three hours from where we’re meeting the Jalisco cartel lies Uruapan—a city of 350,000 people. It’s one of the deadliest cities in the world, having become a symbol of what happens when you stand up to the cartel. That day, the area was cordoned off by law enforcement. It was *Día del Niño*—Children's Day. Grecia Itzel Quiroz García wasn’t prepared to become the mayor of Uruapan. 

Please make way. Thank you.

But her husband had established himself as a leading voice in the fight against the mafia. He had become a figure who was too troublesome. On November 1st—All Souls' Day—Mayor Carlos Manzo was assassinated in public. Authorities pointed the finger at the Jalisco cartel. Today marks one of the first times Quiroz García has mingled with the crowds since taking charge of the city. 

“How are all the children of Uruapan? You must make the most of this stage of your life—it’s the best one. I wish I could be a little girl again and not have all these worries. And to you, the parents: you can count on us. You can count on me. We will keep moving forward despite the difficulties. I love you all dearly, and my husband, Carlos Manzo—wherever he is now—will continue to love and watch over us. May God bless you all."

“I have to keep going out into the streets and staying close to the residents. People ask for a photo or want to exchange a few words, and I need to give them the attention they deserve. I suppose that, ultimately, even with all the security measures in the world, I’m not truly safe. But still, I have to accept these protocols for my own safety and that of my children." 

In Uruapan, Carlos Manzo became a martyr. The shockwave of his death served as a reminder that no one in Mexico is safe from cartel violence. Michoacán is a state rich in natural and agricultural resources—foremost among them being "green gold": avocados. 

It is the world's leading producer and exporter. Organized crime doesn't stop at drug trafficking; for years, they have also sought to seize land—like that of the Orozco family, who are small-scale avocado growers. 

"This is my husband, Leonel Orozco Ortiz. He disappeared on July 3, 2008. And this is my son, Leonel Orozco Medina. He was a high school student, just 17 years old. He is also missing, and we have had no news of him. And sadly, he passed away in 2020 as a result of that attack."

The tragedy facing Laura Orozco and her mother has been going on for nearly 20 years. To seize their land, criminals—with the complicity of local authorities—made all the men in the family disappear one by one: the father and the three brothers. 

He is among the victims of a mass atrocity in Mexico. Like them, more than 130,000 people have been abducted and never found—neither alive nor dead. Their loved ones are unable to find closure. Today, the large family home feels empty. Yet, despite the fear, Laura and her mother, Maria, refuse to leave. 

"Here is the dining room. My husband would always sit right here in his wheelchair. We would sit together. We were always a very close-knit family. So, even as time goes by, the thought that he no longer exists is inconceivable. And honestly, it is incredibly difficult. You can't live like this." 

And what do you fear most today? 

"That our families, our children, and our nephews will continue to live in the horror of enforced disappearance—or even that one day, they too might become victims." 

In Mexico, one scourge fuels murders and enforced disappearances more than any other: impunity. 95% of crimes go unsolved. Yet, year after year, security forces are deployed in ever-greater numbers across the country, failing to halt the continued expansion of organized crime. 

Right on the border with Texas, Ciudad Juárez is one of the major border cities facing the United States. It is a stronghold for criminal groups that rule through corruption. One of the city's police officers agreed to speak openly. 

Why shouldn’t people recognize you? 

“My safety depends on it—I don't want to face retaliation.  It has a very clear name: organized crime. And it is perfectly organized—even better than the authorities themselves. Here in Ciudad Juarez, they sent in the National Guard, the army, and the state police. But the war against organized crime can never be won because everything is decided at the highest levels. As long as corruption exists, and as long as they have the best weapons, the best vehicles, and the best equipment, we will never be able to stand up to them.”

When you say everything comes from the top, what does that mean? 

“It means that everything is decided above us. At the top of the hierarchy... one time, we arrested someone who had just committed a murder, and immediately we received a call from a superior.”

"Let him go." We replied, "But he's the culprit." "Let him go right now, and don't forget to give him back his weapon." All this without any explanation, and right in front of the killer. 

And how did you feel in that situation? 

“Powerless and angry. It’s humiliating. The cartels are growing ever stronger thanks to their economic power. They buy everyone off. They have the means to improve living conditions for many people. Mexico is clearly suffering from a cancer. It is the cancer of the cartels, and it has metastasized.”

“El Mencho was killed, but the Jalisco cartel continues to operate perfectly. Smuggling, extortion, illegal logging, and illegal mining. Everything carries on as if nothing had happened.”

“That’s the Minimi. It’s a machine gun. We use it in assault operations, and this one is for stopping the enemy's armored vehicles. It’s the most powerful weapon—a .50 caliber rifle.” 

The Jalisco killers want to show us that their organization hasn't been weakened. That day, they’re also going to announce the names of their new bosses. El Mencho will no longer be our boss, but "03" is our commander now."

What does El Mencho represent for you?

“He has a big heart for all his people. Let me be clear: beware those who challenge his power, for they will be punished. We will punish anyone who crosses that line in the severest possible way.”

This is new information; until now, the identity of the new supreme leader had not been confirmed by the cartel itself. A crucial detail about "03" is that he is an American citizen. 

So, if he becomes the top leader of a major Mexican cartel, it ceases to be merely a Mexican cartel and becomes a transnational organized crime organization. This marks a turning point in the history of Mexican cartels—the first time the largest among them is led by an American citizen. 

"03"—whose real name is Juan Carlos Valencia Gonzalez—is El Mencho's stepson. He was born and partly raised in the Los Angeles suburbs in the United States. The mafia is thus taking root on the other side of the wall as well—right at its base in Arizona. 

US law enforcement agencies possess state-of-the-art facilities for surveillance and combating drug trafficking. This cocaine is evidence from an ongoing investigation; it involves drugs originating in Mexico that arrive directly at the border. 

People like using cocaine, and as long as there are consumers, there will be dealers. Police are facing a new phenomenon: an increasing number of American citizens are participating in the trade. These organized crime accomplices don't fit a single profile. 

I’ve arrested people from Texas; they come from all over the country to traffic drugs here. I arrested a 15-year-old—a minor with no driver's license—and I’ve dealt with 65-year-olds. These people just want to make quick money. 

The officers' chief is Sheriff Mark Danels, an official who likes to demonstrate his toughness for the cameras. A Donald Trump supporter who has been stationed at the border for 15 years.

While on patrol, he spots a car that looks suspicious; it is speeding—doing 145 km/h in a 100 km/h zone. "Where do you live?" "Tucson." "What are you doing so far from home?" "I'm picking up a friend." "Step out and stand over there. You don't have anything illegal on you?" "No, just my phone." 

“We see all ages, all backgrounds—even police officers. I hate to admit it; it’s a disgrace to our profession, but we really see it all. Cartels can buy off agents. They target people in precarious situations—vulnerable individuals who see an opportunity but fail to see the bigger picture. 

They corrupt local police, as well as state and federal law enforcement. They seek out those who lack ethics. It’s an American problem. When Americans engage in criminal activity with a cartel, it’s an American problem.” 

Here’s the gun shop. Let’s take a look. It’s empty. There’s nothing left. The owner of this shop is accused of colluding with drug traffickers. Across the U.S., there are gun shops that supply the cartels. It’s un-American; it’s treason. Total treason. 

In recent months, several gun shops in Arizona have been shut down for allegedly supplying weapons to Mexican criminal organizations. Mexico has officially asked the U.S. to put a stop to this trafficking. 

Every year, tens of thousands of murders are committed using weapons legally purchased in the U.S. and then smuggled into Mexico, where gun ownership is much more strictly regulated. 

In Ciudad Juarez, we made contact with a player involved in this trafficking route running from north to south. He agreed to speak with us after considerable hesitation. For him, the threat comes just as much from the authorities as from his competitors in this lucrative market.

“This one is mainly for robberies and assaults; it’s easy to conceal. Everything I have comes from the United States. I have contacts—Americans—who transport them to El Paso, Texas. From there, other people get them into Mexico.”

And what kind of people do this? 

“Completely ordinary people—almost exclusively Mexican women with U.S. visas. That way, no one questions them, since they cross the border every day. A gun like this costs $600 or $700 in El Paso, and once it’s here, I can resell it for nearly triple that amount.”

Every month, this trafficker moves about ten guns of various calibers into Mexico. 

And do you know who uses these weapons afterward? 

“Once I sell them, it’s no longer my problem. But generally, they end up in the hands of people involved in illegal activities.”

Unarmed but courageous, Laura Orozco and her mother—despite the fear and threats—refuse to surrender their avocado orchard to the cartel. 

“This branch doesn't need outside support; there’s hardly any legal representation involved. Across Mexico, everyone knows a family that has suffered just as we have. If we leave or stay silent, the criminals will impose their own version of events.”

To combat organized crime, the government has opted for force. But Laura—like millions of others in Mexico—knows the long history of the war on cartels all too well: skyrocketing homicide rates, forced displacement, and mass disappearances. For twenty years, whenever authorities have militarized their response to organized crime, it is the civilian population that has paid the price.

Source: ARTE