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Juarez

by Michael Douglas Carlin

Many years back, I met a former Federale who worked for ten years in Mexico.

He is the only known American ever to have served as a Federale. Over the years, he has told me stories about his time across the border. I have often thought that his story would make a great feature film. Earlier this year, I started calling him for an hour at a time and writing an assemblage of short stories. I also traveled to meet him and video him telling this amazing slice of life history in the trenches in the American/Mexican War on Drugs.

He spent most of his time in Juarez, which is the most dangerous city in the world. Interview footage can be boring, so I thought that I would add production value by shooting some video in the old places that he used to frequent in and around Juarez.

When I told him my plan, he quickly agreed. "You know me, I am down for whatever." Many times during our conversations he told me that he said these words before engaging in a firefight (he was in over twenty-two of them) or apprehending some dangerous suspect. The meaning of those words was lost on me until now.

The specific plan was to enter Juarez on a Sunday morning to capture that footage. Lobo was going to take me on a tour. I intended to document the trip on video. The night before, I received a telephone call that Lobo was in the emergency room and was expected to undergo emergency surgery. I was left with a big decision: cancel or go it alone.

I prepared the camera and loaded four duffle bags of medical supplies to donate to the local clinic as a side trip. I woke up Sunday and decided that I would attempt to make the trip alone. I drove to a parking lot next to the Santa Fe Bridge located at the dead end of Stanton. Years ago, a line of taxicabs would be waiting for me. However, on this particular morning, none were present. I asked the parking lot attendant why there were no cabs, and she told me that there haven’t been any for a while. I asked her how could I find someone to take me to Juarez?

She cautioned me about going. "This isn’t like you might remember it."

When I pressed her, she pointed to a gentleman that might help. As soon as I asked him about getting a cab, he drove off to bring me someone to take me across. He returned with a cabdriver in tow.

I asked the cabdriver to take me over the bridge to Juarez. He told me that he had no intention of getting killed and refused to take me. He did offer to find someone who would embark on this adventure. I told him that I had medical relief to take over, and he asked to see it. I opened my car and unzipped one of the duffle bags. He told me that no one would agree to take this relief in. But the conversation changed from that point. He didn’t mind the video camera, but the medical relief was something he couldn’t comprehend. Why would an American bring relief to Juarez?

He didn’t want to be involved in it, but he couldn’t stop attempting to understand it. Clearly, he wasn’t American, and he wasn’t Mexican. I asked him if he was Muslim. He told me that he was from Jordan and that he had strayed from his religion. I asked him if he thought about going back to it. This led to a most interesting conversation. He told me that he had not done anything for humanity recently. After thinking back to his youth and his roots, he decided to take me to Juarez. Then reality set in. He started second guessing himself. I met his doubt with dollars. We agreed on a price, and the adventure was on.

Immediately upon crossing the border, I knew that this was very different from the many times I had been there before. There were barricades and bunkers with machine gun turrets. There were Federal Police, State Police, Municipal Police, and soldiers. The streets that used to be populated with hundreds of thousands of people were virtually empty. Storefronts were boarded up, and "For Rent" signs were everywhere. We drove through the various parts of the city. Everyone looked as I held the video camera—wondering what I was doing there shooting video. We attracted a lot of attention.

When we got out by the airport, we discussed coming back through the heart of the city. They were probably waiting for us. That wasn’t very comforting.

I suggested that we cut through the Barrio to the border highway. He cautioned that this was perhaps the most dangerous Barrio in the world. I agreed, but I said that, for that very reason, nobody would expect us to go through this area. He agreed, and we cut through. I was able to capture tremendous footage overlooking the El Paso side from the Juarez side. We got onto the border highway and, after about five hours in what could have been harm’s way, we made a turn onto the Santa Fe Bridge and back to safety in the United States of America.

The very next day, nineteen people were murdered in Juarez, many of whom were killed in the parking lot of the clinic where we would have delivered our medical relief. I had time to digest the trip and contemplate how this would have happened if I had gone in with Lobo. I called him and discussed it with him.

I said, "You were there for ten years."

He said, "Yeah."

I said, "What are the odds someone would have recognized you if we went to all of the places you used to hang out?"

He replied, "One hundred percent."

I asked, "What would have happened to us if they had recognized you?"

He said, "Oh, we would have been killed." I thought that was a pretty important detail to have had in the planning process. He told me, "Mike, I told you then and I’ll tell you now, I am down for whatever."

Ojinaga

by Michael Douglas Carlin

Lobo, my Federale friend, was responsible for killing Pablo Acosta. Since Pablo’s body had more than one bullet, it is possible that others also can claim that they had a hand in his death. The word came down from the top that he was to be put down–not arrested. I think we all know why. Dead men don’t talk. When the corruption is inherent in the system, people tend to want to protect themselves. Taking care of loose ends keeps the people in power happy and productive.

Pablo Acosta used to frequent Ojinaga. He was the head of the Juarez Cartel and chose to run the operation from the middle of nowhere, where it was easy to get drugs into the United States. Ojinaga sits on the Texas border across from Presidio. I needed footage for a documentary that I am working on. So, I thought I would travel to Presidio and find someone to take me on a tour.

I arrived In Presidio at about 10 pm. There are only two motels in town. I chose to stay at the one with a restaurant next door. I checked into my room and walked into the restaurant. I ordered food and sat for a few minutes at a table by myself. There was a long table along the wall. The Mexican Nationals were at one end, the Mexican Americans were in the middle and the Americans were at the other end.

A few minutes after I arrived, I was asked to join the Americans, and they bought me a beer. They asked what I was doing in Ojinaga—I guess not too many tourists wander in. I told them I was going to attempt to shoot some video and asked them if they knew someone who could take me on the Pablo Acosta Tour. At the mere mention of his name, the entire restaurant was suddenly silent, and all eyes were on me.

I shrunk inside. I felt like the biggest dumbass in the world. How could I be so careless? The Mexican-Americans immediately came down and told me that I should not travel to Ojinaga, because it was far too dangerous.

Rudolfo, who was born in Juarez but lives now in Houston, gave me a stern warning. "Mister, I don’t know why you are here but do not go into Ojinaga. There is no reason that is worth losing your life."

Others especially warned me about ever mentioning the name of Pablo Acosta in these parts. I took their advice seriously and told them that I would not venture over the border. I thanked them for looking out for me. Soon, the restaurant was back to normal activity, and I turned to one of the Americans who was there as a construction worker helping to build a new school. I quietly asked him how he would go about finding someone to take him over the border if I theoretically wanted to go there. He told me to go to the El Patio Restaurant and ask to speak with the owner. The owner would make the arrangements.

In the morning, I did just that. I got the camera ready early in the morning, and I loaded four duffle bags of medical supplies into the car. The Knights of the Order of Humanity collect single-use medical supplies from hospitals in the United States and take them to war-torn countries.

I arrived at the restaurant to order food and to make my inquiry. The call was made and my driver was on the way. I excused myself, because I wanted to retrieve my camera from the car. When I walked in with the high-definition camera, the owner looked slightly surprised.

The driver was a thirty-something-year-old woman driving an unmarked Suburban. She didn’t bat an eye at the camera. I asked her in my broken Spanish if we could also take in some medical relief to a local clinic, and she looked confused.

I took her to my car and opened up the hatch. I unzipped a duffle bag and showed her the contents. She agreed that we could take them with us to Ojinaga. On the way, she began making calls to find the right place for the supplies.

Mexican Customs was so preoccupied with the video camera that they paid little attention to the bags in the back. As soon as we cleared customs, I asked if she knew any of the history of Ojinaga and Pablo Acosta. She immediately made the Catholic sign of the cross and pretended not to know anything about this person, "whoever he is." I saw immediately that I had hit a nerve, and she was now uncomfortable with the trip. Her imagination was swimming, and I could see her thinking, "Who is this, and what am I involved in now?"

We got to the clinic. We waited for at least twenty minutes. Out came two women, a nurse and a doctor. They looked really confused as we began to explain to them what we wanted to do. They were also distracted by the video camera. These two beautiful women struggled to understand why an American with a video camera and a driver had arrived with medical relief. We took them out to the car and showed them the duffle bags. They got it, and immediately welled up inside.

Then doubt took over. "What do you want for these supplies? How much?"

I told them that they were a gift from America to the people of Mexico, and tears began streaming down their faces. As we carried the bags from the Suburban to the clinic, I’ll bet they said "Thank you" a thousand times.

When we got back in the car, my driver turned to me and told me what a great thing I had done for these women. She told me that we had made their day. A few minutes later, she brought up Pablo Acosta, Amado Carillo Fuentes, and El Chapa Guzman. She agreed to take me on my tour. She also explained to me that these men were heroes in this community and had provided jobs and money to the inhabitants. They had built clinics, schools and churches and had fed the people of Ojinaga. She warned me that I was not allowed to get out of the car where she was taking me. Her warning continued by telling me never to mention these names in this community if I wanted to live. People here would kill me to protect the memory of these sacred druglords.

We drove past homes that had belonged to the men. We also drove around the downtown area. I was allowed to get out briefly in the town center. It didn’t take long to shoot video of the entire village. On our way back, the driver asked me if I minded her stopping at the market for a few groceries. Now my imagination raced. I did mind but trusted my instincts not to let it show. She pulled up to the grocery store and exited the vehicle, leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine running. She disappeared around the corner and I sat in the idling vehicle. My senses were heightened for those fifteen or twenty minutes. I watched every mirror with great interest. I was prepared to jump over the hump and get into the driver’s seat to battle my way back to the border. I tried to be calm, but my heart was racing.

My driver emerged from around the corner carrying a couple of bags of groceries. She jumped into the vehicle, and off we drove to the border and safety…or so I thought. She took me back to the El Patio Restaurant and dropped me off at my car. She told me that I had done a great thing for those women but that it was now time for me to leave, because my life was in danger. From the way that she said it I knew she was telling me the truth. I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I got in my car and headed straight for El Paso.

I was followed the entire way from Presidio to El Paso by an unmarked blue van. When I got to the Lomaland exit, I got off and pulled into the Whataburger parking lot. I took a bunch of papers with me and my cell phone and started making calls and conducting business like I had not noticed the man following me. He was shorter than me, with a long ponytail, tattoos, and a pock-marked face. I pretended not to notice, and when he went to refill his drink I was out the door in a flash. I jumped in my car and disappeared down an alley. I had lost him, and I hope that I never see him again.

Border Mexico is dangerous enough right now without mentioning the wrong names. We may have freedom of speech here, but that doesn’t mean that saying the wrong thing might not carry with it consequences–severe consequences.

© 2013 Michael Douglas Carlin. All Rights Reserved.

The Cartel Continues

by Michael Douglas Carlin

The movie "American Federale" is about the only American ever to serve as a Mexican Federale. He tells us about corruption that exists across the border. If we learn one thing from him it is that the corruption is systemic. It is embedded in the culture of border Mexico. Apprehending the cartel boss may be a victory for law abiding citizens but the cartel will continue.

Forbes magazine listed the net worth of El Chapo Guzman at one billion. That seems a little light in that Acosta expanded the Cartel to new heights. In 2003 the estimated annual drug trade was 321 billion dollars. On February 22nd El Chapo Guzman was arrested; his cartel stretched across 50 countries. His drugs are responsible for 40% of all illegal drugs distributed around the world. His operation was able to outspend the government on training and equipment and for 13 years he lived in a network of safe houses many of which were designed with escape tunnels to flee from threats.

To put this in persepctive in April 1987, when druglord Pablo Acosta was killed he had a net worth of 25 billion dollars. That wealth allowed him to buy politicians, police, and military to protect his vast network of criminal enterprise. The film "American Federale" is available on iTunes, Amazon, and Google Play and it illustrates the scope of this corruption. Lobo worked for the Federal Government in Mexico and he spent half of his time collecting cash that was filtered up to the high officials with each person in the chain taking his or her pinch before sending it up the ladder. When orders came down to take down Pablo Acosta it was for good reason.

When Lobo was tracking Pablo Acosta they would receive information and by the time they passed it up the chain Acosta had been tipped off and was a few steps ahead. In order to execute him they needed to maintain a circle of secrecy. One day a tip came in and they coordinated with the FBI to make a daring dawn raid on his compound. They circumvented normal channels and kept the information close to the vest.

Guzman's aprehension was done in a similar fashion. Doubtful that many of the rank and file Mexican Marines even knew the identity of their target. The Army wasn't informed and neither were local officials for fear they would leak information to Guzman and he would simply slip away. Guzman was known for coming into a restaurant and collecting all cellular telephones. He would dine and pick up the tabs of every patron of the restaurant. I would bet that the Mexican Marines cell phones were all collected prior to the raid. The sincerest form of compliment is emulation. 

American Drug Enforcement Agents, U.S. Marshalls, and Mexican Federales joined forces to track Guzman. They observed the Mexican Marines make the bust without a gun battle. The cat and mouse game that happened with Pablo Acosta and continued with Guzman is now over. The difference that isn't being discussed is that Guzman is alive.

In "American Federale" Lobo tells us that the Mexican Government emphasized that Acosta was to be killed. Nobody wanted him talking about the innerworkings of the cartel. Guzman can provide Mexican and American authorities with insights into who, where, when, and how the cartel operates. 

We have all grown tired of the body count along the border. There is a true desire to end the corruption and this may be the first step. But we all know that power does not give up easily and if we are going to see a new era in the war on drugs be prepared for a long fight.

"American Federale" teaches us that corruption is at every level of society in Mexico. Uprooting it may take a few generations. We all need to be prepared to replace the income ordinary people can earn by participating in the drug trade with real opportunities to put food on the table, a roof over their heads, and a quality of life. Stopping Government officials from looting and fleeing the country will go a long way to keeping avenues of opportunity open in Mexico.

Many are citing this as the end of the war on drugs. I see this as a new beginning... a hopeful beginning...

Michael Carlin has worked in film production, journalism, and publishing for over 30 years.

Carlin recently directed the documentary feature film, “American Federale.” This film tells the story of the only American ever to serve as a Mexican Federale – the man who killed drug lord Pablo Acosta. Follow Michael Douglas Carlin on Twitter @MichaelDCarlin

© 2014 Michael Douglas Carlin. All Rights Reserved.