Monterrey emerging from drug violence
The headline-grabbing horrors that exploded three years ago in Monterrey, Mexico — the running street battles, the dumped or hanging bodies — are less common. Crime is down. A new state police force patrols the streets. But nobody’s proclaiming victory yet.
Los Angeles Times
MONTERREY, Mexico — It is one of those small, hopeful signs that this traumatized city may be awakening from the nightmare of Mexico’s drug wars: Armando Alanis once again feels safe enough to stop off for a late-night nosh at Tacos Los Quiques, a beloved sidewalk food cart.
“We couldn’t have done this two years ago,” Alanis, a 44-year-old poet, said recently as he chowed down on tacos gringas in the dim glow of inner-city streetlights. “It would be wrong not to recognize what we have regained.”
But Alanis, like most residents of Monterrey, knows that he lives in a city that is only half-saved. That night, he would drive over the cobblestone streets of Barrio Antiguo, once the premier night-life zone, pointing out the near-lifeless streets that previously were packed with revelers. He pointed to the bullet holes in the Cafe Iguana, where four people were slain in May 2011.
Later, he would drive to the Casino Royale, where the ruthless Zetas drug gang set a fire that killed more than 50 people that year. The building remains a burned-out husk, its fence adorned with white crosses commemorating the dead.
These days, the headline-grabbing horrors that exploded three years ago — the running street battles, the dumped or hanging bodies — are less common. The number of homicides has plummeted, on track to be less than half this year what it was in 2011. A new state police force, vetted and well-paid, patrols the streets in place of the old corrupt one.
A delicate situation
The conversation about just how far Monterrey has, or hasn’t, come recently has been revived by a series of grisly crimes that appear to be linked to business owners’ failure to pay “protection money” to criminals: The butcher shot in the head Sept. 5. The bakery supply salesman slain Sept. 24. The four patrons of a bar killed by gunmen Sept. 26, their deaths apparently a message to the owner to pay up.
“The situation continues to be a delicate one,” said Gilberto Marcos, a Monterrey businessman and the president of a neighborhood coalition. “We’re not ready to proclaim victory.”
The new state police agency, called the Civil Force, has been touted by Mexican President Enrique Peña Nieto as a model for the country. But lingering challenges in Monterrey, the capital of Nuevo Leon state, demonstrate that solving Mexico’s deeply ingrained organized-crime problem will require more than just swapping out old cops for new.
Moreover, many here believe that the plummeting homicide rate is the result of one group of organized criminals — the Gulf cartel and its allies — defeating its rival, the Zetas, in the bloody struggle for control of the city. Implicit in that theory is skepticism about the government’s ability to affect the drug war at all — a suspicion that officials would have as much luck trying to control the weather.
The bad years
Though trouble had been brewing for years in Monterrey’s rougher neighborhoods, the peace was fully shattered in February 2010 as the Zetas, the former armed faction of the Gulf cartel, began fighting its former bosses for control of the city’s retail drug trade and lucrative drug shipment routes to the border, less than three hours north.
The city’s homicide rate skyrocketed by 300 percent from 2010 to 2011, reaching 700 deaths. Residents, and the nation, were shocked: Monterrey had long been one of Mexico’s wealthiest, safest cities and home to important textile, beer and construction industries. Many members of the business-owning elite fled to Texas or Mexico City. The U.S. government ordered the children of its diplomats to leave town. Get-togethers with friends and relatives moved from public to private spaces.
It was a reality that many swaths of Mexico suffered, and continued to suffer. But Monterrey took advantage of its wealth and the strength of its business community, which agreed to higher taxes to fund the Civil Force after many police officers in the old force were found to be collaborating with the cartels or otherwise untrustworthy.
The Civil Force, now 2 years old and 3,500 officers strong, is the defining achievement of Nuevo Leon Gov. Rodrigo Medina, a member of Peña Nieto’s Institutional Revolutionary Party. Applicants must pass relatively strict background tests and must never have worked as police officers. The unit’s members live in barracks for weeks at a time; their pay is high by Mexican standards; and their perks include scholarships for their children, good health insurance and subsidized housing in police-only neighborhoods.
Today, the helmeted, heavily armed officers their blue pickup trucks are a common sight on the streets of Monterrey. Medina said he plans to double the size of the force in the next two years, and it is hoped that the officers will replace the undisclosed number of army, navy and federal police personnel who continue to patrol here, perhaps the most overt reminder that normality has not fully returned.
Father Agustin Martinez, a Roman Catholic priest in the crime-ridden neighborhood of La Independencia, said the new police, while not perfect, have proved to be more vigilant and trustworthy than their predecessors.
When he arrived three years ago, Martinez said, “there were streets you couldn’t pass after 7 p.m., because the bad guys would block them off.”
In his state of the state address recently, Gov. Medina cited polling that showed 83 percent of residents approve of the Civil Force. He said business robberies were down 54 percent, vehicle thefts down 80 percent and that a new anti-kidnapping unit had resolved 96 percent of the cases that had been reported to authorities. His tone was hopeful, but modulated by reality, as he acknowledged “the great problems that we recognize, and that we still have to resolve.”
After his tacos, Alanis drove to his little house downtown. A few years back, he built a two-story wall that totally obscures the building, after a bout of gunplay left a dead stranger bleeding on the pavement a few steps from his front door.
It was after midnight. Alanis gave a wave to his next-door neighbors, who were out drinking beer in their concrete yard. They were exposed to the street, but locked in behind an iron gate — half-cautious, half-bold, a calculation well-suited to the times.
Cecilia Sanchez of the Los Angeles Times’ Mexico City bureau contributed to this report.