Violence is on the rise again in Culiacán, the capital of Sinaloa—a city long known as the heart of cartel power. The recent surge can be traced back to the capture of Ismael "El Mayo" Zambada, the co-founder of the Sinaloa cartel, whose arrest prompted fierce clashes between rival factions.
Since Zambada's arrest on July 25, reports indicate more than 400 people have died amid the cartel's violent power struggle, as infighting escalates between those loyal to Zambada and the faction led by his rival, Joaquín Guzmán López, son of the infamous Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán. This internecine warfare has left Culiacán residents—numbering around 800,000—gripped by fear.
On November 25, the situation was starkly illustrated as gunfire erupted through Culiacán's streets for nearly twenty minutes. Reports soon flooded in of casualties, with at least seven confirmed dead from various shootouts. The atmosphere became even more chilling as bodies showing signs of torture surfaced, and threats to public safety grew. Residents held their breath as battles erupted nightly.
The street violence has had severe repercussions on daily life. Many business owners lament over empty storefronts and shuttered windows, evoking a sense of loss and despair. Miguel Taniyama, who operates Clan Taniyama, stated, "Life in Culiacán has almost disappeared." Once-thriving establishments now stand desolate as customers flee the streets for fear of gang violence.
The heightened activity of cartel violence has forced even educational institutions to react. The Autonomous University of Sinaloa had to cancel classes after bodies were found outside its premises. The grim climate has seen some businesses even revert to remote working, reminiscent of the pandemic's peak.
It's not just Culiacán feeling the repercussions. The entire Sinaloa region is grappling with the fallout. State authorities reported more than 519 murders since September, highlighting the atmosphere of terror permeated by threats of abductions and open shootouts. Smoldering wreckage of burnt vehicles and businesses serves as visible reminders of the chaos.
But the story is not just about numbers. Each death signifies life lost and families torn apart. Rosa Lidia Felix's plea for her missing son, who disappeared on November 1, epitomizes the human cost of this violence: “Please, I want my son back,” she wept. Tear-stained hope floats through the streets as each family absorbs the loss.
Culiacán is no stranger to violence; its history runs deep with tales of cartel battles. Yet, this recent wave feels different, more brutal. The public health crisis is amplified by deteriorations not just physical but mental. Locals are increasingly suffering mental health fallout, as attested by the bookstore owner who noted, "We are suffering a mental health epidemic here." Such sentiments echo through the barren streets.
Despite the Mexican government's attempts to reinstate order—working with armed forces and conducting numerous arrests—the violence persists unabated. Secretary of Security Omar García Harfuch claimed the situation was "contained," stating there were more thefts reported than violent confrontations following increased military presence. Yet, many scoff at this narrative; the palpable fear among citizens tells another story.
Toying with irony, the populous is left reeling from the paradox of the government's declarations of containment and the shadow of violence shadowing their daily activities. Even shopping districts once filled with promise lay empty and quiet, as people prefer safety over commerce.
Culiacán's plight has caught the attention of various media outlets, spotlighting the gruesome reality of cartel warfare. Gruesome symbols have emerged amid the chaos. Bodies are sometimes left with pizza boxes and sombreros, mockingly highlighting the brutality. Such heinous acts serve as stark warnings within the cartel's battle for dominance.
To counteract the violence, local chef Taniyama organized festivals to entice residents back outdoors, hosting events filled with music and traditional cuisine. Despite these efforts, fears loom large. People often find themselves affected by spillover violence even when they walk out seeking normalcy.
Nationally, the Sinaloa cartel remains notorious not just for its historical dominance but for its role as one of the major suppliers of fentanyl fueling the opioid crisis across the United States. Law enforcement authorities have identified this cartel as the primary distributor responsible for the influx of lethal drugs.
The U.S. government complicates matters with its own failings. Engaging in the war on drugs has often been about enforcing strict measures rather than remedying the root causes of the trade. Critics argue this one-size-fits-all approach only emboldens the cartel's power.
Meanwhile, the cartel’s gruesome practices continue unabated as power dynamics shift among gangs. Experts note the increasing brutality might be linked to younger, more volatile members now entrenched within the organization. Areas once strictly governed by cartel rules have become harbors for unrestrained violence.
The situation looks grim for Culiacán, and many fear this might just be the beginning—especially with the looming specter of renewed U.S. policies under the prospective Biden administration. The community watches and waits, trying to navigate this treacherous maze of violence, uncertainty, and fear. "We’re just trying to survive," said one local, encapsulating the reality on the ground.
Current clashes exemplify factions tearing apart not just the drug trade but the fabric of society itself. Amid the carnage, families struggle to cope with the mental scars, burdened by uncertainties about the future as the echoes of gunfire become their new reality. Whether or not Culiacán will recover remains to be seen as the war for control continues to escalate, and the streets remain silenced by fear and grief.