The Fight to Save Juárez Read online

  THE FIGHT TO SAVE JUÁREZ

  The Fight to Save Juárez

  LIFE IN THE HEART OF MEXICO’S DRUG WAR

  By Ricardo C. Ainslie

  University of Texas Press

  Austin

  Author’s Note: All quotations in this book are from public documents, newspapers, press conferences, personal interviews, or first-person observations. For Mexican sources, I drew most heavily from the newspapers El Diario (the Ciudad Juárez paper with the highest circulation), El Norte (Ciudad Juárez), Reforma (Mexico City), and El Universal (Mexico City), and Proceso magazine, among others.

  Copyright © 2013 by the University of Texas Press

  All rights reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

  First edition, 2013

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ainslie, Ricardo C.

  The fight to save Juárez : life in the heart of Mexico’s drug war / by Ricardo C. Ainslie. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-0-292-73890-4 (cloth : alk. paper)

  1. Drug traffic—Mexico—Ciudad Juárez. 2. Drug control—Mexico—Ciudad Juárez. 3. Violent crime—Mexico—Ciudad Juárez. I. Title.

  HV5840.M42C5822 2013

  363.450972'16—dc23 2012035822

  doi:10.7560/738904

  978-0-292-73891-1 (e-book)

  978-0-292-74871-2 (individual e-book)

  For my wife, Daphny, who has shown me the meaning of courage

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1: Christmas in Juárez

  2: The Saulo Reyes Affair

  3: A Meeting in Chihuahua

  4: The Strategist

  5: Public Relations

  6: Patiño

  7: La Cima

  8: The Mistress

  9: The General

  10: Twenty-Five Hundred Soldiers

  11: La Línea

  12: The Human Rights Activist

  13: Román

  14: The Pajama Chief

  15: The Journos

  16: Forty-Eight Hours

  17: Martial Law Undeclared

  18: Civics Lessons

  19: The Other War

  20: Addicts

  21: Los NiNi

  22: The Eagle’s Hill

  23: Villas de Salvárcar

  24: All the President’s Men

  25: The Visit

  26: Cibeles

  27: No Accidents

  28: The Federal Police

  29: The Election

  Epilogue

  List of Interviews

  Index

  There’s no one thing that is true. They’re all true.

  —Ernest Hemingway

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to thank my wife, Daphny Ainslie, for the many ways that she has supported me in this effort, from champagne upon landing key interviews, to reading drafts, to enduring my many trips to Juárez and so very much more. I also wish to thank my children, Roberto, Gabriella, and Jorge, whom I love dearly and whose love nurtures me and gives me strength.

  My agent, Jim Hornfischer, has a keen eye and worked tirelessly on my behalf. My dear friend Steve Harrigan, over countless lunches, helped me find the solutions to the puzzles and challenges I encountered in writing this complex story and read the manuscript with his exquisite sensibility. I owe him a great deal for these and other acts of kindness he has shown me over the years.

  John Burnett, a dear friend, National Public Radio correspondent, and fellow bandmate in WhoDo, our Austin-based “blues collective,” was extremely generous in sharing his insights as well as his contacts in Juárez and El Paso. We shared many conversations about this book and about Mexico’s drug war over the course of the three years that I worked on the book. Roberto Newell, of the Instituto Mexicano para la Competitividad, opened many doors for me in Mexico, helping me get interviews that would no doubt have been out of reach without his intercession. He is a lifelong friend—our parents were friends as well—and I am grateful for all he did to support this project. Another childhood friend, Gary Richmond, has been a foundation for all of my work in Mexico, always extending his friendship, advice, and hospitality during my many stays in Mexico City. My cousin Alejandro Ainslie and his wife, Monica, have given me excellent advice, suggestions on translations, insights into the Mexican political process, and bottomless support. My brother Robert Ainslie was a steady beacon throughout and has always been an enthusiastic supporter of my projects. My niece Cristina Ainslie is part of our (that is, my wife’s and my) “kitchen cabinet,” and her wisdom and advice is extremely valued on many fronts. My friends Jim Magnuson, Robert Bryce, and Larry Wright have been helpful and generous with their insights. “Brother Bill” Ferris, Tom Palaima, Bryan Roberts, and John Phillip Santos wrote me letters of support that readers found sufficiently compelling to grant me life-changing awards. I really appreciate the generosity of time and spirit from these friends.

  I’m grateful to Jake Silverstein of Texas Monthly, Julián Aguilar of the Texas Tribune, Clay Smith of the Texas Book Festival, and Bill Booth of the Washington Post for their ideas, leads, and conversations about the project.

  Richard Schmidt, federal judge in Corpus Christi, and Omar Zamora, a former DEA agent, helped me make important contacts related to this story. Peter Ward and Charlie Hale helped me secure an interview with Alejandro Poiré; Hugo René Oliva, deputy consul, Mexican Consulate, Austin, Texas, also played a role in this interview. Samuel Schmidt, PhD, Fundación Universidad de Guadalajara, EUA, was also generous with his views about key players in the Juárez political scene.

  A very special thanks to Dave Hamrick, director of University of Texas Press, and my editor, Theresa May, both great people with a great commitment to the wonderful enterprise of the written word.

  In the course of my research I have received support from many quarters, generous support that has, at times, left me breathless. The following institutions, foundations, and individuals have each played a very significant role in this effort and I thank them from the bottom of my heart: the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation; the Rockefeller Foundation Bellagio Residency; and at the University of Texas at Austin, the Department of Educational Psychology; Manuel Justiz, PhD, dean of the College of Education; the Lozano Long Institute for Latin American Studies; Ed Emmer, PhD, chair, Department of Educational Psychology (until 2011); Cindy Carlson, PhD, chair, Department of Educational Psychology; Linda Williams and Regina Smuts, administrative associates, Department of Educational Psychology; Jena Crim, executive assistant, Department of Educational Psychology; Paloma Diaz, Lozano Long Institute for Latin American Studies.

  The following Mexican scholars have been writing about these issues for years. I was humbled to meet them, to have the benefit of reading their works, and to have the opportunity to talk with them about my work: Jorge Chabat, professor of international studies, CIDE (Center for Research and Teaching in Economics); and Luis Astorga, researcher at the Institute for Social Research, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM).

  The following individuals were essential resources in helping me sift through the millions of words that have been written in American and, especially, Mexican newspapers, as well as in researching other aspects of the story: Molly Molloy, research librarian for Latin America and the border at Ne
w Mexico State University and creator of the Frontera List; and my doctoral students Alicia Enciso, Annie Farmer, and Luis Sandoval, who have been terrific. Finally, on several occasions Olga Valenzuela Ortiz of the Secretariat for Public Security was kind enough to take my fact-checking calls and clarify incidents, dates, and other elements.

  THE FIGHT TO SAVE JUÁREZ

  Prologue

  The first time I saw José Reyes Ferriz was on March 16, 2009. The Mexican Army had just arrived in force and Reyes Ferriz, the mayor of Ciudad Juárez, was swearing in a new police chief, his third chief in less than a year. Security surrounding the event was tight and the tension in the expansive room at police headquarters palpable. The city was on the verge of anarchy. Dozens of Juárez police had been assassinated over the course of the preceding year and the force’s collusion with the drug cartels was so intractable that Reyes Ferriz had found himself compelled to disband the force entirely. As I stood behind a phalanx of television cameras, photographers, and journalists, the thought occurred to me that I was watching the most beleaguered man in all of Mexico.

  It would be some months later before I had the opportunity to interview Reyes Ferriz. The interview took place in his office at the Presidencia Municipal, the Juárez city hall. That day the offices of the mayor’s communications director, Sergio Belmonte, were chock-full of journalists from all over the world waiting in queue to speak to the mayor. When it was my turn, I was escorted past armed guards and into an ample office on the second floor. The interview covered the typical topics: his understanding of the origins of the drug war in Juárez, the impact of the Mexican military patrolling the streets of the city, his aims for rebuilding the fractured police force. I had the impression that this was well-traveled terrain for the mayor, but for me it was a useful overview for understanding how the city’s leadership was engaging the present crisis.

  On prior visits I’d had the opportunity to observe the mayor being interviewed by others in impromptu encounters at public events. That day in March 2009, when the mayor had sworn in the new police chief, stood out. The director of a German documentary film crew had slammed Reyes Ferriz hard about the fact that the Juárez municipal police was rife with corruption and challenged the legality of using the military to intervene in the city. The interviewer was accusatory, hostile, and confrontational. While that wasn’t my style by temperament, or perhaps by profession (as a psychologist-psychoanalyst my reflexive instinct is to find an empathic engagement with my subject, whether or not I agree with their actions or worldview), I also had the feeling that it wasn’t good journalism; the assumptions at work were too evident and facile. There was something else, as well. My gut instinct about Reyes Ferriz, as I observed him at these public events, was that this man was not the evil, corrupt politician that I, too, had expected. Quite to my surprise, I found that I liked the man.

  By the time of that first interview in the summer of 2009, Reyes Ferriz had already been the object of numerous death threats. As events unfolded in the city, the cartels periodically threatened to kill the mayor and to behead him and his family. The heavily armed bodyguards that accompanied Reyes Ferriz’s every move were ample evidence that the threats were taken seriously: Juárez was a city where officials were being executed routinely.

  An exchange occurred during my interview with the mayor that opened the door to an opportunity to understand what was taking place in Juárez through his eyes. It came toward the end of the conversation, when I asked him about the death threats against him. He was circumspect about them, but I pressed the point, saying, “I imagine that there must be moments when you must feel terribly afraid.” The mayor played it off as just a part of his job, although he acknowledged that he’d moved his family across the river to El Paso for security reasons. My impression was that there was something in that interaction, in that gesture toward his humanity, that seemed to have caught him by surprise. Whatever it was, it went unspoken, but I was granted a second interview upon my next visit to Juárez. Subsequently, I took advantage of every opportunity to interview the mayor or to observe functions at which he was presiding—press conferences, public ceremonies, speeches, and the like. It was in this way that José Reyes Ferriz gradually emerged as the central character of this book.

  . . .

  There are many who see in Mexico’s present drug war the shadows of age-old culprits: government corruption and official collusion with the cartels. Stereotypes die hard. That’s especially true when they draw from an infinite array of experiences and observations that reiterate and reaffirm the same truth. Given those facts, it is difficult to arrive at a conclusion other than what one has always known. So it is with the view that Mexico is a corrupt nation run by corrupt people whose primary interest is to engorge their bank accounts and to position themselves, their families, and their friends so as to profit from opportunities that if not seized will simply be seized by others. The examples that populate this notion are endless and go back to the birth of modern Mexico, if not before. Mexican presidents, cabinet ministers, legislators, governors, and mayors have fed at the public trough so voraciously and with such abandon that the very notion of public figures who would be honestly motivated to serve verges on the incomprehensible. In Mexico, there are few templates to draw from for this idea. The avarice has been indulged with such arrogance (the kind that comes from unfettered power), that the public’s scorn saturates virtually every part of the political process and anyone associated with it. The same is true for many of the country’s institutions, but none more so than law enforcement and the judiciary.

  In Mexico, where it was once said that not even a leaf fell from a tree without the president’s permission, the power of political office has eroded significantly over the last nineteen years. The first clear sign of this was a horrific act of violence. On March 23, 1994, Luis Donaldo Colosio, the presidential candidate for the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI by its Spanish initials), was wading through a crowd of well-wishers on a campaign stop in a poor Tijuana neighborhood when a man walked up to him and shot him at point-blank range. Colosio’s assassination shook the nation. It was partly the brutal act itself in a country where no president or presidential candidate had suffered such a fate in modern times, but it was also the fact that Colosio was enormously popular because he was campaigning on a promise: he would end the PRI’s “anointing” process of selecting presidential candidates, the process that made the notion of democracy in Mexico a sham, a mere posture, a dissimulation that no Mexican failed to see through. Colosio was committed to transforming Mexico into a real democracy, and many believe that it was that ambition that forced the hand of the PRI’s old guard, who felt their power eroding. In short, it is a commonly held view in Mexico that Colosio’s democratic ambitions led to his execution.

  Ernesto Zedillo, Colosio’s successor in the campaign, became Mexico’s next president, and he helped usher in the reforms that Colosio had championed. In the next Mexican presidential election, in 2000, Vicente Fox of the Partido Acción Nacional (or PAN by its Spanish initials) became the first president since the 1910 Mexican Revolution to come from an opposition party. The PRI’s uncontested rule, with which it had governed Mexico for seventy years, was over. Felipe Calderón, the author of the current war against the drug cartels, assumed the Mexican presidency following Vicente Fox in December of 2006. He is also from the center-right PAN party.

  The PRI continues to exert a powerful influence in contemporary Mexico. The majority of the thirty-two state governors are from the PRI, for example. But in the spring of 2012, the PAN had eight governors while the PRD (Partido de la Revolución Democrática by its Spanish initials), the other (center-left) main opposition party, had three governorships as well as the all-important Federal District, where Mexico City lies. The three parties have mayors in municipalities all over the country. Every election since 1994 has brought real shifts in the distribution of power among the political parties. Though brittle, fragile, and still rife
with problems (including corruption), Mexico is emerging as a fledgling democratic state.

  . . .

  In 2009 I interviewed Fernando Castillo Tapia, the director of communications for the federal attorney general’s office (Procuraduría General de la República, or PGR by its Spanish acronym). The meeting took place in Mexico City in a modern building near the Historic Center. Mr. Castillo was polite if circumspect, and he took umbrage at my referencing “Mexico’s war against the drug cartels,” making it a point to correct me. “This is not a war,” he clarified. “It is a law-enforcement action.”

  The distinction was not convincing. For one thing, the main force being deployed around the country was the Mexican Army. In addition, at the very start of his six-year administration, while visiting a military base in his native state of Michoacán in December of 2006, Felipe Calderón, the Mexican president, had actually used the word “war” in declaring his intentions to go after the drug cartels. By 2008, throughout the country one had the feeling that Mexico was, indeed, at war. For example, while driving from Puebla to Mexico City in 2008, I was struck by the steady stream of public-service announcements coming over the radio waves, such as, “Your federal government reminds you that it is a federal crime to buy property in the name of another person or to carry large sums of cash for others.” Or, “Your federal government reminds you that it is a federal crime to be in possession of weapons that are for the exclusive use of the military [a reference to assault weapons].” Or the listing of drug war–related arrests: “In the last month your federal government arrested the following lieutenants from the Sinaloa, Gulf, and Juárez cartels.” For years now, print and electronic media have been awash with daily accounts of army and federal police operations taking place all over the country as well as the ever-present shock waves of bloody cartel actions that include hangings, beheadings, torture-executions, and mass killings.