This week I am on assignment in Mexico City. As I meet contacts and interview others, I am running into so many lives touched by criminal violence—none of whom, by the way, are blaming American gun companies for the horrors they’ve experienced in Mexico. I am just using first names here, which have been changed, as I don’t want to bring attention to people who could be persecuted for telling their stories to an American journalist.
One such story that I’ve heard is what happened to Juan, a young engineer working in a northern Mexican city. He disappeared from his home while on the phone with his girlfriend who was then hundreds of miles away in Mexico City. That chilling winter’s day began a journey that would forever alter his family’s life. Lucía, his mother, living in Mexico City, didn’t imagine that her son’s disappearance would become a tragic chapter in the ongoing saga of organized crime in Mexico.
“In Mexico, people see it as normal when someone disappears. This is why they don’t help because it’s normal for people to disappear,” says Lucía, her voice tinged with sadness. “It’s not just one person disappearing; it happens often. It’s not something unusual.”
In a nation where such incidents have tragically become commonplace, Juan’s case stands as a grim example of the kidnapping and murder that has plagued the country for years, often with no justice to speak of. In the immediate aftermath, Lucía and her husband drove more than 12 hours and did everything they could to piece together what happened to their son. But an attorney warned them not to contact the police. The reality was that local authorities were either powerless or, more disturbingly, complicit with criminal groups—most notably, the brutal Los Zetas Cartel that controls large swaths of the northern border.
Frustrated by the lack of help, the desperate parents eventually filed a complaint. Threats against them soon followed. Authorities refused to help. The pain of their loss was met with apathy. No answers. No justice.
“The corruption has not improved,” says Lucía. “It’s the same, no changes at all.”
The situation was made even more unbearable because, she believes, the major company Juan worked for—still involved in some of Mexico’s largest state-funded engineering projects—is also intertwined with criminal organizations. Her son’s crime? Juan likely uncovered corruption within the company, only to be silenced before he could expose the truth.
The origins of Mexico’s crime epidemic are deep-rooted. They are tied to systemic failure, a lack of the rule of law and a government that has long paid no heed to the growth of criminal syndicates. Lucía’s sorrowful recollection of her son’s kidnapping and likely murder reveals the true cost of unchecked violence and government indifference, as criminal cartels are allowed to thrive unchallenged.
While cartel violence in Mexico has escalated in recent decades, its origins can be traced back to years of political negligence, economic disparity and endemic corruption. In a country where human life has become expendable, the challenge is confronting the criminals and dismantling the corrupt systems that protect them.
Despite the widespread corruption and inaction, the Mexican government continues to deflect blame, recently accusing and suing the United States and its gun manufacturers of fueling Mexico’s violence.
It’s impossible to ignore the hypocrisy. For years, the Mexican government has been complicit, disregarding the corrupt alliances between government officials and cartel leaders. The issue is not the availability of firearms but the systemic corruption that shields these criminals and their enablers.
Stats paint a grim picture: Mexico has one of the lowest rates of arrests and prosecutions for cartel-related crimes in the world. According to official data, only a fraction of kidnappings are solved, and even fewer criminals face justice. The state is more interested in scapegoating foreign countries than in addressing the violence and corruption that plague its own streets.
Rather than pointing fingers at America or its gun manufacturers, the Mexican government needs to look inward. The real battle is not against the U.S. or its citizens but against the deep-rooted corruption and criminal complicity that infects Mexican politics and law enforcement.
Despite the systemic failures, Lucía has refused to let her son’s disappearance fade into obscurity. Every weekend, she joins other grieving families, digging through dirt, pasting missing persons posters to random walls and relying on the community for support. Time has not dulled her determination to find answers.
“The authorities protect criminals, and they make deals to keep cases from being solved,” she says with frustration. “But there are many cases like mine, where families are left in the dark, unaware of their loved ones. It is incredibly painful to not know the truth.”
Her unwavering resolve is a testament to the strength of those who, despite the odds, refuse to let their loved ones become mere statistics in the war on crime.
