Uno mas con el mismo tema. Es del NY Times hoy.
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URUAPAN, Mexico ? Norte?o music was blaring at the Sol y Sombra bar on Sept. 6 when several men in military garb broke up the late night party. Waving high-powered machine guns, they screamed at the crowd to stay put and then dumped the contents of a heavy plastic bag on the dance floor. Five human heads rolled to a bloody stop.
?This is not something you see every day,? said a bartender, who asked not to be named for fear of losing his own head. ?Very ugly.?
An underworld war between drug gangs is raging in Mexico, medieval in its barbarity, its foot soldiers operating with little fear of interference from the police, its scope and brutality unprecedented, even in a country accustomed to high levels of drug violence.
In recent months the violence has included a total of two dozen beheadings, a raid on a local police station by men with grenades and a bazooka, and daytime kidnappings of top law enforcement officials. At least 123 law enforcement officials, among them 2 judges and 3 prosecutors, have been gunned down or tortured to death. Five police officers were among those beheaded.
In all, the violence has claimed more than 1,700 civilian lives this year, and federal officials say the killings are on course to top the estimated 1,800 underworld killings last year. Those death tolls compare with 1,304 in 2004 and 1,080 in 2001, these officials say.
Mexico?s law enforcement officials maintain that the violence is a sign that they have made progress dismantling the major organized crime families in the country. The arrests of several drug cartel leaders and their top lieutenants have set off a violent struggle among second-rank mobsters for trade routes, federal prosecutors say. The old order has been fractured, and the remaining drug dealers are killing one another or making new alliances.
?These alliances are happening because none of the organizations can control, on its own, the territory it used to control, and that speaks to the crisis that they are in,? said Jos? Luis Santiago Vasconcelos, the top federal prosecutor for organized crime.
Attorney General Daniel Cabeza de Vaca said a steadily rising tide of drug addiction within Mexico had spurred some of the murders, as dealers fought for local markets. At the same time, more and more honest police officers are trying to enforce the law rather than turn a blind eye to drug traffickers, often paying with their lives, prosecutors say.
But those assessments, other authorities say, are overly rosy and may explain only part of the picture. Some experts say the Mexican police forces, weakened by corruption and cowed by assassinations, are simply not up to the task of countering the underworld feuds unleashed by the arrests of cartel leaders over the last six years.
Many of the dead made their living in the drug trade and perished in a larger struggle for territory between a federation of cartels based in Sinaloa, on the Pacific Ocean, and the Gulf Cartel from the northeastern state of Tamaulipas, federal prosecutors say.
The five men beheaded in Uruapan, in Michoac?n, were street-level methamphetamine dealers, addicted themselves to the synthetic drug. They were linked loosely to the Valencia family, which once controlled most of the drug trade in the state and is a part of the Sinaloa group, the police say. The killers came from a gang called The Family, believed to be allied with the Gulf Cartel.
A day before, the killers had kidnapped the five men from a mechanic?s shop they had been using as a front for selling ?ice,? as crystal methamphetamine is called on the street. They sawed their victims? heads off with a bowie knife while they were still alive shortly before going to the bar, law enforcement officials said.
?You don?t do something like that unless you want to send a big message,? said one United States law enforcement official here, speaking on the condition of anonymity.
The beheadings, in fact, have become a signature form of intimidation aimed at both criminal rivals and federal and local authorities. In the tourist town of Acapulco, killers from one drug gang decapitated the commander of a special strike force, Mario N??ez Maga?a, in April, along with one of his agents, Jes?s Alberto Ibarra Vel?zquez.
They jammed the heads in a fence in front of the municipal police station. ?So you will learn to respect,? said a red note next to them.
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?This year has been one to forget, a black year,? said Jorge Valdez, a spokesman for the Acapulco police. ?It?s the most violent year in the last 50 years, and the acts are barbaric, bloody, with no trace of humanity.?
The dumping of five men?s heads last month at Sol y Sombra, a club in Uruapan, was just another grisly turn in the drug wars raging in Mexico.
The violence is by no means limited to Acapulco. In mid-July, about 15 gunmen attacked a small-town police station in Tabasco State at dawn with grenades, a bazooka and machine guns in an attempt to liberate two of their gang members, who were arrested after a bar fight the night before.
Two police officers died in the assault. The authorities said the attackers were dressed in the commando outfits of federal agents and belonged to the Zetas, former soldiers who work for the Gulf Cartel.
One reason for the wave of law enforcement killings is that the Mexican police do a poor job of protecting their own. Arrests have been made in only a handful of the assassinations of police officers this year. The overwhelming majority remain unsolved because witnesses fear testifying against drug traffickers. Even seasoned investigators are afraid to dig too deep into the murders.
?There is an atmosphere that affects us, of distrust, of terror inside the police force,? said Jes?s Alem?n del Carmen, the head of the state police in Guerrero, where 22 law enforcement officials have been brutally assassinated this year.
One of the officers killed was Gonzalo Dom?nguez D?az, the state police commander in P?tzcuaro, Michoac?n. In February, he received a death threat from a local businessman who law enforcement officials say has links to the Valencia crime family.
The threat came just minutes after Commander Dom?nguez arrested two men on weapons possession charges. He arrived home that night pale and shaken, said his widow, Fanny Carranza Dom?nguez. His anxiety grew over time, after prosecutors released the men he had arrested, for a lack of evidence, his wife said.
In early May, he told his wife that he had heard on the street that gunmen were looking for him. ?He said, ?I know that if I arrest them I am risking my life,? ? she recalled. ? ?I bring them to the capital, and they let them go.? ?
On May 8, a car cut off Commander Dom?nguez?s police car as he was driving home alone about 6:30 p.m. Within minutes, he was shot point blank in the head with a 12-gauge shotgun and twice in the chest with an AK-47. He never unholstered his sidearm. So far, prosecutors have made no progress in solving his murder. He was 47, the father of three.
?I think the commanders that haven?t been killed are in the game, and the ones that have been killed, it is because they attacked crime,? Mrs. Carranza Dom?nguez said.
?The prosecutor seems asleep here,? she added. ?He doesn?t do anything but collect his salary and go home.?
Commander Dom?nguez was one of 16 state and federal police commanders assassinated this year across Mexico, along with 2 judges handling drug cases and 2 federal prosecutors. Local police chiefs have also been targets. Eight have been murdered, most of them in Michoac?n.
Most were ambushed in their cars or outside their homes by men with machine guns. A few were kidnapped by men posing as federal agents. In these cases, the bodies were found later, shot full of holes, often showing signs of torture.
Commander C?ndido Vargas, 40, the second in command of the state police in Uruapan, died that way in August. Prosecutors say he was walking to his car when he was surrounded by about 15 heavily armed men dressed in black commando outfits like those used by federal agents. It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and he was just 100 yards from the police headquarters.
The men hustled him into one of their vehicles and sped off. He was found the next day on a nearby ranch, shot 25 times. A sign next to his body read: ?For playing with two bands.?
No one from the police department visited his wife and three children, who live in another town, to tell them of his death. ?We found out through the newspaper,? said Paula Vargas, his wife of 23 years. ?It was as if the whole world fell down on me.?
The state prosecutor in Uruapan, Ram?n Ponce, says he has found no evidence of Commander Vargas?s being corrupt. Neither does he have any leads, he said. ?The atmosphere is very tense,? Mr. Ponce said. ?It?s very difficult.?
While attacks on the police have risen, they have been far outpaced by grisly gangland killings. In Michoac?n, The Family is believed to be responsible for the beheadings of a dozen people besides the ones they delivered to the Sol y Sombra bar. The heads have often been accompanied by cryptic messages declaring the killings divine justice, accusing the victims of crimes, or daring their rivals to send more henchmen.
Nearly every day, new victims are found in states along the major drug shipment routes, especially Quintana Roo, Michoac?n, Guerrero, Tamaulipas and Baja California. Most are bound, gagged and shot to death, their bodies dumped on lonely roads.
In the towns hardest hit by the gangland warfare, the fear is palpable. For two years now, Nuevo Laredo has been the main battleground for a fight between gunmen loyal to Joaqu?n (Chapo) Guzm?n of Sinaloa and the remnants of the Gulf Cartel, whose leader, Osiel C?rdenas, is in prison awaiting trial.
?I wouldn?t be human if I said I wasn?t afraid,? acknowledged Elizabeth Hern?ndez Arredone, a state prosecutor in Nuevo Laredo who has taped to her door a photograph of a female judge who recently disappeared.
The effects are everywhere. Many local journalists have stopped covering drug violence for fear they may become targets themselves. Tourists used to spill across the border from Laredo, Tex., to swig tequila, buy trinkets and run wild. Not anymore.
Church attendance is down, said the Rev. Alberto Monteras Monjar?s of Santo Ni?o Church, because even a Sunday morning can be dangerous.
?People used to sleep outside on the porch if it got too hot,? he said. ?Not anymore. You stay inside, and you put three or four locks on the door.?
