Latin America

Jalisco, Mexico No one seems to know exactly how El Mencho was killed. We are told the feared leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel was captured by the Mexican army during a firefight in late February, and subsequently died of his wounds. Beyond that, there is very little information. Why are the Mexican and US governments being so secretive about his death? El Mencho – real name Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes – was 59 when he died. He was Mexico’s most-wanted man; US authorities had offered a $15 million reward for information leading to his arrest. I decided I had to go to Jalisco, where El Mencho made his last stand, to look for answers. Most of Mexico’s airspace had been closed after his death, such was the level of unrest.

For as long as there has been a Mexico, there have been cartels. Geography is not always destiny, but in Mexico’s case it has been stubbornly close. For centuries, states have tried to impose order on Mexico’s northern frontier. None have succeeded. Power in Mesoamerica always radiated outward from the Valley of Mexico. The Aztecs built their empire there. The Spanish consolidated their rule there. The modern Mexican state governs from there. To the north lies a harsher landscape – arid, mountainous, thinly populated and historically resistant to centralized control. Deserts and mountains provide space. Space creates autonomy. Autonomy, in weakly governed regions, creates opportunity for dissent, for rebellion, for smuggling, for criminal enterprise.

Mayhem has erupted across Mexico after security forces eliminated Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, the drug lord widely known as El Mencho, in a gun battle in the town of Tapalpa. El Mencho was the head of one of Mexico's most violent and sadistic organizations, the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG). Henchmen forced passengers out of their cars before setting the vehicles alight, leaving them as burning roadblocks Their reaction was about as solemn and dignified as you’d expect. Henchmen forced passengers out of their cars before setting the vehicles alight, leaving them as burning roadblocks. Scorched sedans and toasted trucks lined the highway to the World Cup stadium in Guadalajara, Mexico’s second-largest city that is set to host the tournament this summer.

Yesterday, El Paso, Texas, was placed under severe restrictions from the Federal Aviation Administration. For unspecified reasons of national security, no aircraft would be allowed in or out for ten days. Washington sources soon confirmed what many suspected: the cause was hostile drone activity from Mexico. Then there was an about turn. Within a few hours, the flight ban was lifted. What actually happened? We know that the Department of War has been working on an anti-drone system for some time, using lasers to shoot down craft. One of these laser systems was actually deployed near El Paso and officials claim a drone was indeed shot down. The FAA, concerned with possible threats to civil aviation, then imposed the ten-day flight ban.

From the very start, there was something weird about Operation Absolute Resolve. The official story went something like this: after a whirlwind air attack, which included the use of suicide drones for the first time, special operators from the US Army’s renowned but shadowy SFOD-D unit (“Delta Force”) were helicoptered into the Fuerte Tiuna military complex in the south of Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. They defeated the local garrison, used “massive blowtorches” to breach heavy metal doors in a fortress-like residential site within the base, captured the President of Venezuela, Nicolás Maduro, and his wife, then spirited them back to the helicopters and flew them out to face charges in the United States.

Cockburn stumbled into The Spectator’s New York office this morning afflicted with that annual January woe: the post-holiday blues. He was having a serious pout at his desk before he was chastened out of this gloom by his northern colleagues' new neighbor: Nicolás Maduro. No one had a worse Christmas season than the deposed Venezuelan presidente. First, he and his wife were woken in the middle of the night by American soldiers knocking on their door; then they were forced to move into the worst borough in New York: Brooklyn. But despite all this, Nick is holding onto a positive mental attitude. Just look at this post-capture image: Here we have a man on the verge of life in prison, and he still finds the inner strength to lift a Siskel and Ebert-certified two thumps up.

One of the few benefits of being an anthropologist is the uncanny exhilaration one feels watching novel current events as re-runs from previous episodes in the history of mankind. Donald Trump’s capture of Nicolás Maduro, President of Venezuela, is no exception. Kidnapping Latin American emperors is a continental tradition. It’s simply the most practical method for breaking the chain of command in the region. It triggers succession chaos, enables the extraction of resources and keeps the rest of the hierarchy more or less intact. In earlier centuries, it was Spain and Portugal. Today, it’s the United States. In the colonial era, the objective was to secure enough gold to beat European rivals.