In the heartland of Mexico's Sinaloa cartel, the old ways have changed and violence rages

MEXICO CITY (AP) — Cellphone chats have become death sentences in the continuing, bloody factional war inside Mexico's Sinaloa drug cartel.

Cartel gunmen stop youths on the street or in their cars and demand their phones. If they find a contact who’s a member of a rival faction, a chat with a wrong word or a photo with the wrong person, the phone owner is dead.

Then, they’ll go after everyone on that person's contact list, forming a potential chain of kidnapping, torture and death. That has left residents of Culiacan, the capital of Sinaloa state, afraid to even leave home at night, much less visit towns a few miles away where many have weekend retreats.

“You can’t go five minutes out of the city, ... not even in daylight,” said Ismael Bojórquez, a veteran journalist in Culiacan. “Why? Because the narcos have set up roadblocks and they stop you and search through your cellphone.”

And it’s not just your own chats: If a person is traveling in a car with others, one bad contact or chat can get the whole group kidnapped.

That’s what happened to the son of a local news photographer. The 20-year-old was stopped with two other youths and something was found on one of their phones; all three disappeared. Calls were made and the photographer’s son was finally released, but the other two were never seen again.

Residents of Culiacan had long been accustomed to a day or two of violence once in a while. The presence of the Sinaloa cartel is woven into everyday life there, and people knew to stay indoors when they saw the convoys of double-cab pickups racing through the streets.

But never have they seen the solid month of fighting that broke out Sept. 9 between factions of the Sinaloa cartel after drug lords Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada and Joaquín Guzmán López were apprehended in the United States after flying there in a small plane on July 25.

Zambada later claimed he was kidnapped and forced aboard the plane by Guzmán López, causing a violent battle between Zambada’s faction and the “Chapitos” group led by the sons of imprisoned drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzmán.

Residents of Culiacan are mourning their old lives, when the wheels of the local economy were greased by cartel wealth but civilians seldom suffered — unless they cut off the wrong pickup truck in traffic.

Juan Carlos Ayala, an academic who studies the anthropology of the drug trade at the Autonomous University of Sinaloa, said that following the arrests of Guzmán López and Zambada in July, a new generation of younger, more flashy and cosmopolitan drug lords have taken over.

They fight with extreme violence, kidnapping and cellphone tracking — not the old kind of handshake deals their elders used alongside shootouts to settle matters.

“There is a new generation of leaders of drugs and organized crime here, that has other strategies,” Ayala said. “They see that the tactic of shootouts hasn’t worked for them, so they go for kidnapping.”

“They catch one person, and he has messages from the rival group,” said Ayala. “So they go after him to squeeze more information, and that starts a chain of hunting, to catch the enemy.”

The new tactics are reflected in the huge wave of armed carjackings in and around Culiacan. Cartel gunmen used to steal the SUVs and pickups they favor for use in cartel convoys; but now they focus on stealing smaller sedans.

They use these to go undetected in their silent, deadly kidnappings.

Often, the first a driver knows is when a passing car tosses out a spray of bent nails to puncture his tires. Vehicles pull up front and rear to cut him off. The driver is bundled into another car. All that is left for neighbors to find is a car with burst tires, the doors open, the engine running, in the middle of the street.

The State Council on Public Safety, a civic group, estimates that in the past month there have been an average of six killings and seven disappearances or kidnappings in and around the city every day. The group said about 200 families have fled their homes in outlying communities because of the violence.

Culiacan is no stranger to violence — shooting broke out across the city in October 2019 when soldiers mounted a failed attempt to arrest another of Chapo Guzmán’s sons, Ovidio. Fourteen people were killed that day.

A few days later, civic activist Estefanía López arranged a peace march and 4,000 residents turned out for it. When she tried to do something similar this year, she could get only about 1,500 people to attend a similar demonstration.

“We got a lot of messages beforehand from a lot of people who said they wanted to join and march, to support the cause, but who were afraid to come,” López said.

There’s reason to be afraid: Last week, gunmen burst into a Culiacan hospital to kill a patient previously wounded by gunshots. In a town north of Culiacan, drivers were astonished to see a military helicopter seeking to corral four gunmen in helmets and tactical vests just yards from a highway; the gunmen were shooting back at the chopper.

The government’s response to all this has been to blame the United States for stirring up trouble by allowing the drug lords to turn themselves in, and to send in hundreds of army troops.

But irregular urban combat in the heart of a city of 1 million inhabitants — against a cartel that has lots of .50-caliber sniper rifles and machine guns — is not the army’s specialty.

Squads of soldiers went into a luxury apartment complex in the city’s center to detain a suspect and they wound up shooting to death a young lawyer who was merely a bystander.

López, the peace activist, has been asking for soldiers and police to be posted outside schools, so children can return to classes — most are currently taking classes online because their parents judge it too dangerous to take them to school.

But police can’t solve the problem: Culiacan’s entire municipal force has been temporarily disarmed by soldiers to check their guns, something that’s been done in the past when the army suspects policemen are working for drug cartels.

The local army commander recently acknowledged that it's up to the cartel factions — not authorities — when the violence will stop.

“In Culiacan, there is not even faith anymore that we will be safe, with police or soldiers,” López said, noting that that has had a clear effect on daily life and the economy. “A lot of businesses, restaurants and nightclubs have been closed for the past month.”

Laura Guzmán, the leader of the local restaurant chamber, said about 180 businesses in Culiacan have closed, permanently or temporarily, since Sept. 9 and almost 2,000 jobs have been lost.

Local businesses tried to organize evening “tardeadas” — long afternoons — for residents who were afraid to go out after dark, but they didn’t draw enough customers.

“Young people are not interested in going out right now,” Guzmán said.

For those looking to get away from the violence temporarily, the seaside resort of Mazatlan used to be only 2½ hours away by car. But that’s not an option since last month when cartel gunmen hijacked passenger buses, forced the tourists off and burned the vehicles to block the road to Mazatlan.

That leaves just one option, and one only open to some.

“Those who have the economic resources get out of the city by airplane to take a break,” Guzmán said.

Follow AP’s coverage of Latin America and the Caribbean at https://apnews.com/hub/latin-america

National Guards patrol a street in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

A musician collects tips from motorists in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

A waiter arranges a table outside the restaurant The Old Portales of Culiacan where a sign advertises two-for-one prices on drinks for women on Thursdays, in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

National Guards cordon off an area where a corpse lies on a street in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

A resident pats a National Guard on the arm after picking a child up from school in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

National Guards patrol the streets in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

Caution tape surrounds a body lying on the street Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

Musicians play for tips from motorists in Culiacan, Sinaloa state, Mexico, Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

GUADALAJARA, México (AP) — Guadalajara is the capital of a Mexican state that is home to tequila and Mariachi music. It is also considered the birthplace of a less flattering tradition — a homophobic soccer chant that has cost Mexico hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines over the past two decades.

It came as no surprise that the chant, a one-word slur that literally means male prostitute in Spanish, was heard from the crowd in Guadalajara’s Akron Stadium in the first half of a match between Mexico and the United States on Tuesday night.

The Mexican fans yelled it at Matt Turner in the first minute and they did it again in the 12th minute. After that, the public address system played “Cielito Lindo,” a popular folk song, to drown out the chant.

The fans continued with the chant again in the second half, even with Mexico up 2-0.

Referee Keylor Herrera did not stop the match.

After Mexico’s second goal, some fans in the upper deck started jumping and singing a homophobic song, but they stopped after a couple of minutes.

Multiple sanctions from FIFA and campaigns by Mexican soccer officials to educate fans have not been able to stamp it out. The chant persists in both club and national team soccer in Mexico, not least in games between the two North American rivals who will host the 2026 World Cup together with Canada.

Before Tuesday's match, the screens at the stadium urged fans not to use the chant and a banner in the stadium asked them to yell “Mexico” instead.

When the U.S. men’s team played Mexico, in the CONCACAF Nations League final in Texas in March, the referee stopped the game twice due to homophobic chanting by Mexico fans. Last year, a game in Las Vegas between the two sides was cut short for the same reason.

In Guadalajara, a city with a strong soccer tradition which has two teams in Mexico’s top soccer league and another two in the second division, many local fans told The Associated Press that they considered the chant to be harmless and only meant to poke fun at opposing teams.

“Soccer is still a party, and the chant is just for fun. People who yell it mean no offense to the rival,” said Luis Gallardo, a 38-year-old who was wearing the Mexico national team’s black away shirt. “It’s been going on for years and I don’t think it’s going to change.”

The slur, typically used when the opposing goalkeeper takes a goal kick, is hardly the only offensive chant heard in soccer stadiums worldwide, but its persistent use at international tournaments has become a costly embarrassment for the Mexican soccer federation.

The federation has been fined countless times by FIFA for “discriminatory behavior” by supporters, including 100,000 Swiss francs ($114,000) for two incidents during the 2022 World Cup in Qatar. Mexico has appealed those penalties.

The Mexican soccer federation long argued that the chant wasn’t aimed at gays and that the word had different connotations in contemporary Mexican culture. However, in recent years the federation launched campaigns to make it go away, with stadium announcers urging the crowd to refrain from discriminatory chants and eliciting the help of soccer stars and other celebrities to get the message across.

The federation in 2022 threatened fans shouting the slur at games with five-year stadium bans. At the time, then-federation president Yon de Luisa said regardless of the intention of those using the slur, what matters is how it’s received by others.

“If it is discriminatory, we should avoid it,” said De Luisa, who later resigned after Mexico’s poor performance in Qatar where the team was eliminated in the group stage.

The origin of the chant is somewhat unclear, but it’s been traced back to a 2004 Olympic qualifier between Mexico and the U.S. in Guadalajara, the capital of the state of Jalisco. It then spread to stadiums across Mexico with fans of Guadalajara soccer club Atlas.

Francisco Acuña, a 55-year-old Atlas fan, said the chant was a way for fans to express emotion during the game and shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

“The people who know soccer they know that the game is intense and even players get hot-headed on the field and then they hug each other at the end of the match,” he said.

Alejandro Oliva, a 40-year-old soccer fan in downtown Guadalajara, said he didn't understand why some people find the chant offensive.

“It amazes me that outside of Mexico people believe that it’s a homophobic chant. In Mexico it’s normal and it does not offend anyone,” he said. “I think that even people from the gay community use the word, and they don’t get aggravated.”

Not everyone sees it that way.

“It’s clearly homophobic because you are degrading a person with an insult of sexual and negative connotation,” said Andoni Bello, an LGBTQ+ activist and outspoken critic of the chant who played for Mexico in amateur soccer tournaments organized by the International Gay and Lesbian Football Association.

He said Mexico must get rid of the chant by the 2026 World Cup when the world’s eyes will be on the country. Mexico is set to host 13 World Cup games, including four in Guadalajara.

Bello urged tournament organizers to reach out to the LGBTQ+ community for help in dealing with the issue.

“It’s not just taking their pictures and saying that they are against the homophobia in the stadiums,” he said. “There is a real opportunity to educate the Mexican fan. In the World Cup in ’86 we were world famous because of the ‘Mexican wave.’ We exported a good celebration, let’s hope to eradicate the chant because being known for homophobia is very sad.”

AP soccer: https://apnews.com/hub/soccer

FILE - A message on the video board warns fans to not chant a homophobic slur during an international friendly soccer match between Mexico and Iceland, May 29, 2021, in Arlington, Texas. Mexico won 2-1. (AP Photo/Brandon Wade, File)