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A day of terror after the killing of Mexican cartel boss El Mencho

ETZATLÁN, Mexico — There are two sides of the town on Jalisco’s tequila route.

One is a charming foothill pueblo lined with neat rows of agave cacti. In the central square, you’ll see strips of hand-woven fabric draped like canopies over cobblestone streets; Sprinkles of pink, blue, yellow and green offer welcome shade in the afternoon heat. Local people are proud of it cielo tejido It is world famous and was even once exhibited in Dubai.

The other version of Eztatlán is the one most people are afraid to talk about.

This is where cartel foot soldiers set fire to a gas station as well as a bus depot, a state-owned bank and dozens of vehicles last week, and where residents hid in their homes during a 24-hour reign of terror.

Many remain fearful in the aftermath, wondering whether a sense of normalcy will return and expressing frustration with local authorities who seemingly did nothing to intervene amid the chaos.

This region was once the domain of Mexico’s original cartel kingpins; among them was Rafael Caro Quintro (“El Numero Uno”), who was said to have a residence nearby. Today it is owned by the Jalisco New Generation cartel. The latest turmoil followed a Mexican military operation on February 22 in which the group’s leader, Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes, known as “El Mencho,” was killed.

Aerial view of the Etzatlán bus terminal, which was burned in retaliation for the military murder of Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes.

Retaliatory attacks became widespread, hitting at least 20 states, and days after the chaos, charred car shells and Oxxo convenience stores were still visible as I drove west towards the Pacific from the state capital, Guadalajara.

Reaching Etzatlán, pronounced Etts-at-LAN, takes about 90 minutes by car from Guadalajara. It was among the places most affected in terms of material damage. Official statistics are hard to come by, but residents of the town, many of whom were asked to be identified only by their first names to protect their safety, estimate that about 80 cars were set on fire in a municipality of 20,000 people alone.

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“It’s not just a vehicle, it’s your whole life, how you get to work,” said María, a retiree who lives in a modest house a short drive from the city’s historic center.

The main sectors other than tourism are farming and agriculture, and most residents do not have insurance for their vehicles. María recalled that in the early hours of Sunday, February 22, word spread on WhatsApp that cartel members had set fire to the town. They threatened to burn down any business that opened that day. Nearly a week later, schools were still closed.

He and other townspeople said municipal police and firefighters were nowhere to be seen. Those who started the fires were teenagers on motorcycles and did not carry weapons or bother to mask their faces.

“The only things they had were gas canisters and stones to break the windows,” María said. “The night did not end with explosions. The next day there was a great silence.”

When The Times visited Etzatlán in the days after El Mencho’s death, María was among locals sweeping up ashes and trying to clear burn marks from streets and buildings.

As a police truck approached and threatened to interrupt the cleanup efforts, Maria stood in the street, defiantly blocking the road with her hands on her hips.

“We won’t let you pass” he told the officers. “Get out of here! We don’t want you here! The government should have been here before, if only to help us clean up.”

The police truck stopped for a moment before turning back down the street, drawing applause from the crowd on the block.

A row of parked cars was set on fire, with flames leaping from the pavement to the doorstep of a family’s home. The front door was charred and the entryway smelled of smoke and soot.

Head of household Sylvia, 64, said it took five hours of dousing with buckets to extinguish the flames. The house is more than 200 years old and was built by Spanish ancestors, he said, with a tiled courtyard in the middle and Moorish accents on the walls. Repairing the damage will require special materials and money that they don’t have. His daughter’s car was among those burned and there was no way she could go to work.

three women pose for portrait in their home

The family rearranged the bedrooms with their daughter and grandchild so no one could sleep in the smoke-damaged room overlooking the street.

Sylvia, a former teacher whose job took her to rural towns, said some of her students would talk about the drug business being carried out in the shadows — poppy fields hidden deep in the mountains, landing strips for planes coming from Colombia. But these were simpler times.

“Everything was different back then,” he said. The cartels were left on their own. “They never mixed with the public”

Following the murder of a U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agent in 1985, the cartel, then known as the Guadalajara cartel, disintegrated with the capture of its leaders. Sinaloans led by the infamous Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán rose to power, then splinter groups formed and fought each other; El Mencho’s team emerged as the dominant force in the 2010s.

Generations of migration have occurred along the way, with many families from Jalisco now spread across California. There is a “Little Etzatlán” in Sylmar, and there are other immigrant groups from the town in other parts of the San Fernando Valley.

As fires burned following El Mencho’s murder, Etzatlán’s videos spread widely on TikTok and Instagram. Locals said it was a way to call for help while local authorities were on standby.

Things were relatively calm in Etzatlán. There were rumors of paramilitary training camps in the mountains, but the sinister presence mostly existed just below the surface. Then last year Rancho Izaguirre was discovered just 45 minutes down the highway; Here bone fragments, clothing and other evidence showed that the cartel had disposed of the bodies.

Authorities had raided the farm before, but the extent of the horrors at the “extermination camp” did not become apparent until a group led by civilians began scouring the area looking for the remains of the missing.

Yet life continued in Etzatlán until the sense of peace was shattered. Residents wonder why so much of their town burned down. Questions also remain about the police station and the homes of local officials, which were left untouched.

No one seems to have much hope that those responsible will face any consequences.

“Other parts of the world call this terrorism,” said María, a retiree who prevents police from preventing street cleaning.

Mexico’s president, Claudia Sheinbaum, disagreed. When asked about the consequences of El Mencho’s death at a news conference last week, Sheinbaum said blocking roads and damaging property is certainly a crime, “but it has nothing to do with terrorism.”