It begins with the hacking of websites and personal accounts, and with insults, threats and phone calls. Suspicious vehicles idle outside your home, followed by a “burglary” in which nothing is stolen. If you still don’t get the message, a beating might follow. After that, kidnap and murder.
It is hardly worth calling the police, who are almost certainly in on the job. Their “exhaustive” investigation will yield arrests, “suspects” and perhaps even a “culprit”, but hidden behind all that will be the real author of the crime: a mayor or legislator keen to be rid of a threat to his good standing and future ambitions.
According to Reporters without Borders, the Mexican state of Veracruz, on the country’s east coast, is one of the 10 most dangerous places in the world to be a journalist. In the past four years 11 reporters have been killed, four more disappeared, five forced into exile and many more left living in fear.
Yet the chief tool for controlling Mexico's media is money, not violence. The Mexican government spent €300 million "promoting" its activities around the country last year. The money is dispensed without regulation to TV and radio stations, newspapers and magazines. In rural areas the stipend is repaid with positive coverage of official events. Individual journalists are also offered "gifts" such as cars and holidays, the media equivalent of plata o plomo – silver or lead, Mexican slang that means take the money or face death. Journalists who remain independent are known as los incómodos, because they make life uncomfortable for the government.
Moisés Sánchez Cerezo launched a small freesheet, La Unión, in the late 1990s, printing and distributing 1,000 copies a week. He researched and wrote the articles, took the photographs and distributed the paper, helped by three teenagers seemingly motivated more by pity than by solidarity.
Sánchez wrote about local issues: too little street lighting, too many potholes, difficulties in getting pensions paid on time. “My father didn’t just write about these things,” his son Jorge Sánchez says. “He also acted on them.”
Sánchez covered costs by driving a taxi, which also served as a way to gather information. When he felt strongly about an issue he followed it up, issuing writs and pursuing officials.
He increased his readership by printing large-format articles, creating a “newspaper mural” that could be posted in strategic locations. Sánchez also installed a loudhailer in his taxi, broadcasting as he drove around.
When the police banned him from driving and broadcasting he continued his work by bicycle. Sánchez was courted by campaigning politicians who envied his influence. On the most recent campaign trail Omar Cruz, a conservative candidate for mayor, called by to seek his support. Sánchez congratulated each new mayor in the pages of La Unión, then presented them with a list of things to be done.
Budget constraints forced the paper to become an online-only publication. The site was hacked several times, and much of its archive was lost.
In mid December a businessman was shot dead close to Sánchez’s home; a father and son were shot and injured in a separate incident. Medellín de Bravo, Sánchez’s neighbourhood, has been co-opted by crime organisations, which force businesses to pay them a weekly “tax”.
Fear and insecurity
Sánchez, who wrote about the fear and insecurity that gripped his barrio, organised neighbours into nightly patrols and met police, the army and the mayor to demand greater security. The police handed out emergency phone numbers, and Mayor Cruz pledged support, but he also asked the locals to disband the patrols.
On December 30th Sánchez told his family that he had received a message from the mayor, warning him that he was going to “teach him a lesson”.
On January 2nd, at 6.55pm, three vehicles pulled up outside Sánchez’s house as his grandchildren played in the yard. Six men rushed into the house. “I couldn’t speak with the fear,” says María Ordóñez Gómez, Sánchez’s wife. The men seized a laptop and camera before going upstairs and grabbing Sánchez, who had been resting in bed. Seconds later they were gone.
Neighbours called the rapid-response numbers the police had given them, but no one answered.
“If the search for a kidnapped person does not begin within seconds the initiative is lost,” Jorge Morales of Ceapp, a government task force that liaises with journalists in danger, says. “The police should immediately mount roadblocks, search vehicles and block exit points.” None of these measures was taken, according to lawyers who saw police records.
The entire local force was arrested under arraigo organised-crime laws, which allow authorities to hold suspects for up to 40 days. Two of the officers were on duty around the corner from Sánchez's home when the crime was committed and watched the convoy of vehicles speed by, weapons visible.
Paulina Gutierrez, the legal representative of the Sánchez family, complains that federal investigators from Feadle, the office of the special prosecutor for crimes against freedom of expression, wasted valuable time sending questionnaires to local media, to establish whether Sánchez had ever worked for them.
Luis Bravo, the state prosecutor, initially described Sánchez as a “taxi driver and activist”, acknowledging his role as a reporter only after protests by Sánchez’s colleagues.
On January 24th Bravo announced the discovery of Sánchez’s body, badly disfigured and showing signs of torture. Jorge Sánchez expressed doubts about the identity of the body and demanded independent forensic tests.
A day earlier Veracruz police arrested Clemente Noe Rodríguez, a former police officer, who confessed to the killing. Rodríguez said that Martín López Meneses, the mayor’s chauffeur and bodyguard, had ordered the abduction and murder.
The mayor, who gave a statement to investigators on January 12th, is in hiding as the state parliament deliberates whether to strip him of his immunity and open the door to his arrest.
Under pressure from family members, who in turn cited threats and strange vehicles outside their home, Jorge Sánchez received the body from federal investigators after further tests were carried out on it. The funeral of 49-year-old Moisés Sánchez took place on February 6th.
Tourists still enjoy the public squares, scenic villages, beaches and remarkable food that give Veracruz state its proud identity. Mexico’s deputy secretary of tourism, Guillermo Herrera Mendoza, spoke out last month. “I categorically reject the notion that Veracruz is a violent state,” he said, mentioning the Central American and Caribbean Games held last year and the nine million visitors. “If there was that much violence we wouldn’t have that many visitors.”
Tourists are safe in Veracruz, but locals are not, and local journalists are even less so. Official figures acknowledge more than 900 disappearances in Veracruz; the real figures are estimated to be twice that.
The Hay literary festival has cancelled its annual event in Xalapa, the Veracruz state capital, after 300 writers demanded a boycott because of the atmosphere of intimidation and violence.
"The government sees journalists as enemies of the state," Sayda Córdova, a former journalist at Notisur who lost her job after expressing support for Sánchez, says. "Veracruz has become a silent zone."
Je Suis Moisés Sánchez
On my way out of town I pass an exhibition of cartoonists in Xalapa with a Je Suis Charlie sign in the window. I go inside and chat with the woman in charge. Has she ever thought about putting up a Je Suis Moisés Sánchez poster? "That's a very interesting idea," she says, handing me a magazine while bundling me out the door.
It is an expensive, glossy affair, and as soon as I open it I understand why. Almost every page carries colour photographs of government officials and a smiling state governor, Javier Duarte.
Two police vehicles are still parked outside Sánchez’s home. One of the officers on duty was among those who failed to respond to the emergency call the night of the kidnap.
Jorge Sánchez has two bodyguards, three surveillance cameras and a panic button. At least five of the killers are still at large, and his family has requested relocation, fearing the assassins will return.
This is the first of a number of reports from Mexico by Michael McCaughan. The articles continue next week in the World News pages of The Irish Times
