NYTimes | While the global media is fascinated by billionaire kingpins like
Joaquín Guzmán Loera, known as El Chapo, who was recaptured on Jan. 8
after his second prison escape (and a secret interview with the actor
Sean Penn), the war is evolving far beyond the drug trade. Cartels now
fight for political power itself. After arresting two of the men
suspected of killing Ms. Mota, the police said the murder was part of a
regional campaign by Los Rojos to control town halls and rob the towns’
resources.
Five days after the killing, Ms. Mota’s mother, Juana Ocampo, joined a march through Temixco along with hundreds of residents dressed in white. Ms. Ocampo, a veteran community activist, knew her daughter had taken a dangerous job; hired killers, known as sicarios, have killed almost 100 mayors in Mexico in the last decade. But Ms. Mota had been undeterred.
“Since Gisela was a child, she wanted to get into politics, to change things,” Ms. Ocampo told me. Ms. Mota had called for an end to corruption in Temixco and for police reform, which may have made her a target. Still, Ms. Ocampo said, “I had never imagined that something like this could happen.” Ms. Ocampo, her face strong, held back her pain and tears. “I hope there is justice. Or we will have to take actions to demand that justice is done and the case is cleared up.” Marchers held banners proclaiming, “I am Gisela.”
Ms. Mota’s murder is the latest turn in the evolution of the Mexican drug business, a process that American and Mexican officials seem unable to grasp. For a decade, Mexican troops have worked with American agents to pursue kingpins, in what is known as the cartel decapitation strategy. Flamboyant gangsters with nicknames like “Tony Tormenta,” “the Engineer” and “the Viceroy” have been shot down or arrested. El Chapo, or Shorty, has been detained twice in less than two years. Yet while these kingpins rot in prisons and graves, their assassins have formed their own organizations, which can be even more violent and predatory.
Five days after the killing, Ms. Mota’s mother, Juana Ocampo, joined a march through Temixco along with hundreds of residents dressed in white. Ms. Ocampo, a veteran community activist, knew her daughter had taken a dangerous job; hired killers, known as sicarios, have killed almost 100 mayors in Mexico in the last decade. But Ms. Mota had been undeterred.
“Since Gisela was a child, she wanted to get into politics, to change things,” Ms. Ocampo told me. Ms. Mota had called for an end to corruption in Temixco and for police reform, which may have made her a target. Still, Ms. Ocampo said, “I had never imagined that something like this could happen.” Ms. Ocampo, her face strong, held back her pain and tears. “I hope there is justice. Or we will have to take actions to demand that justice is done and the case is cleared up.” Marchers held banners proclaiming, “I am Gisela.”
Ms. Mota’s murder is the latest turn in the evolution of the Mexican drug business, a process that American and Mexican officials seem unable to grasp. For a decade, Mexican troops have worked with American agents to pursue kingpins, in what is known as the cartel decapitation strategy. Flamboyant gangsters with nicknames like “Tony Tormenta,” “the Engineer” and “the Viceroy” have been shot down or arrested. El Chapo, or Shorty, has been detained twice in less than two years. Yet while these kingpins rot in prisons and graves, their assassins have formed their own organizations, which can be even more violent and predatory.
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