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Returning migrants find Mexico transformed by drug cartels and violence

Adrián Ramírez hasn’t been to his hometown in western Mexico in more than two decades. When he finally returned there early last year after being deported from the United States, he found the place had changed.

The town was lively, Ramírez recalled. However, the discotheque where he danced at night in his 20s no longer existed. The lively evening market, where locals gather to eat tacos, now empties early. After 10 p.m., cartel members using military-grade weapons take control of the streets.

“It’s not the Mexico of my childhood anymore,” said 45-year-old Ramírez, who asked to be named by his middle name and surname for security reasons. “There was more joy, more freedom. But that’s not the case anymore.”

Anyone returning to their hometown after decades away will notice the changes; Old businesses close and new ones open, some people move away and others die. Adapting to such changes has long been part of the Mexican immigrant experience.

But many of the tens of thousands of people deported to Mexico by the Trump administration have spent decades in the United States and are discovering that their country, too, has changed much more profoundly.

Criminal groups that are better armed and better organized than in the past now control about a third of Mexico’s territory, according to a U.S. military analysis. Gangs have gone beyond drug trafficking to extort money from small businesses, dominating entire industries such as the avocado and lemon trade. In some areas, criminals collect taxes on almost everything, including tortillas, chicken, cigarettes and beer.

Military forces provide security during a meeting on the Michoacan Peace and Justice Plan at Morelos barracks facilities at Military Region XXI in Morelia, Micoacan, Mexico, in November.

(Enrique Castro/AFP via Getty Images)

Parts of Michoacán, the state where Ramírez is from, now resemble a literal battlefield, where criminal groups fight each other with grenade launchers, drones rigged with explosives and improvised land mines.

Returning migrants are vulnerable to violence because they stand out. Many speak Spanglish. Their stylish haircuts, often with side fades, set them apart in rural communities. So are their gringo-style attire, like slacks and T-shirts that feature their favorite sports teams (Dodgers, Raiders, Dallas Cowboys). Ramírez said even his changing demeanor from years in the north immediately identified him as an outsider.

Cartels select returning immigrants for kidnapping or extortion because they are thought to have money, said Israel Concha, who runs Nuevo Comienzos, or New Beginnings, a nonprofit organization that supports deportees in Las Vegas and Mexico City. Returnees often do not know how to navigate cartel-controlled checkpoints or local rules set by criminal groups.

“We are an easy target,” Concha said.

Concha said he was kidnapped and tortured by cartel members after he was deported to Mexico in 2014. He said that 16 immigrants from his organization’s support group have been assassinated or disappeared since he founded his organization.

10 of these cases occurred last year.

In May, a recently returned man disappeared after leaving his job at a hotel in the central state of Querétaro, Concha said. Losing hope of finding him alive, his parents held a funeral and mass for him in October.

Ramírez left his town in Michoacán state for the United States when he was 21, hoping to save money so he could return home and build his own house.

But life happened; Ramírez married and had three children, and she stayed. Before he was deported, he was washing cars and driving for Uber in Nashville.

Returning to Michoacán was bittersweet. He cried with happiness while hugging his mother and siblings for the first time in years. However, he was soon interrogated on the street by a cartel member who wanted to know his name and what he did. Another cartel member took a photo of him walking around the town square.

The town he lives in was once famous for its cheese production. Its most dominant industry now is fuel theft, a multimillion-dollar enterprise thriving in Mexico. Ramírez said criminals in the Jalisco New Generation cartel recently burned down the town’s two gas stations and killed the owner to gain control over the pueblo. They then set up their own illegal stations, leaving the locals with no choice but to buy from them.

Authorities were not helpful.

Ramírez learned from his family that the mayor had been hand-picked by the cartel. The police also collaborate with criminals. Ramírez said that after a relative had an accident, police officers intervened and extorted money from him.

Ramírez began to fear for his life. He wondered if it was time to leave, and if so, where to go.

Data shows that a growing number of Mexicans have been forced to flee their communities due to violence. Particularly high levels of displacement were seen in the conflict-ridden states of Michoacan, Chiapas and Zacatecas.

Immigrants who return to war-torn communities often have to leave again, said Israel Ibarra, an immigration expert at Northern Border College.

“They don’t just become deported people,” he said. “They will experience double forced displacement.”

That’s what happened to a man who returned to a town in the mountains of Michoacán, a few hours away from where Ramírez grew up. A local farmer hired the immigrant to manage his cattle herd.

Contracting with foreigners requires review and approval from the cartel’s regional group; But the farmer did not do this. Due to cartel requirements, no locals dared to help the farmer repair his fence and tend his flock, leaving the farmer with a limited employment pool.

The immigrant, who declined to give his name out of fear for his life, did not fully realize the power the cartels had and accepted the job. The rancher also paid better than others, much to the consternation of the Jalisco cartel, which controls wages in the area.

One morning, sikarios He came to the immigrant’s house and fired bullets into the building one after another. When the armed men entered, the worker escaped through the back door.

“They left me miserable,” he said. “They took everything.” He went into hiding in the capital of Michoacán.

Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum touts data showing homicides have dropped in her first year in office. But the number of disappeared people has increased across the country, especially in cartel-controlled areas. And shocking acts of violence continue to make headlines.

“Many of the people who left long ago are returning to communities that are much more violent than when they left,” said Andrew Selee of the Washington, D.C.-based Migration Policy Institute.

In Michocán in the fall, the Jalisco cartel is accused of assassinating a prominent mayor who had promised to hold criminals accountable. In December, the group detonated a car bomb in a municipality on a busy cocaine trafficking route, killing four police officers.

Deportations to Mexico were fewer last year than in the previous two years, according to data from the country’s National Immigration Institute. But experts said President Trump’s strict deportation campaign means fewer immigrants being sent back to Mexico are trying to return to the United States.

The Sheinbaum government launched a reintegration program called México te Abraza, or Mexico welcomes you with open arms, that provides limited support for returnees, according to immigrant advocates.

Within the scope of the program, immigrants must be given approximately $100 and a bus ticket to their hometown. But Concha said some are not getting the money and immigrants need much more help. “The program is not working,” Concha said. “We need something more comprehensive that also supports emotional and mental health.”

Ramírez wants to return to the United States to be with his family, but he is afraid of being detained there.

He misses his children and dreams of buying plane tickets so they can visit them. But he is afraid of exposing them to Mexican violence. “It’s a very different life here,” he said. “What happened makes me sad.”

A few months ago he decided to leave Pueblo. The town he currently lives in seems quieter, even though it is also controlled by the Jalisco cartel. After taking a job at Tortilleria, his new employer warned him: Cartel members might stop by to ask him where he was from.

This article was published in collaboration with Puente News Collaborative, a nonprofit bilingual newsroom. covering stories from Mexico and US-Mexico border.

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