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When it rains it pours: The devastating impact of hurricanes Eta and Iota in Honduras

December 15, 2020

Juana Tabora knew she had to help her neighbours when the water began to flood the streets, blocking the exits in La Lima, her city in northwestern Honduras.

“We were surrounded by water, people started saying ‘help us, we want to come in’, so we opened the door downstairs so that people could get in,” says Tabora, the owner of a two-storey funeral home that she turned into an improvised shelter. Around 30 families took refuge there after losing their homes to the hurricanes Eta and Iota, which devastated large swathes of Honduras, Guatemala and Nicaragua in the first weeks of November.

When it rains it pours in Honduras, a country that had already suffered multiple crisis in recent years: state repression, gang violence, economic problems, environmental destruction, mass emigration and, most recently, the COVID-19 pandemic. The two hurricanes left at least 94 dead affecting almost 4 million people across the nation, and analysts say they could cause the level of poverty to rise by 10%, surpassing 70% of the population. While the arrival of two such powerful storms just two weeks apart was an almost unprecedented natural disaster in Honduras, many of the affected believe the authorities have abandoned them to their fate.

‘The worst thing we’ve ever been through’

The impact of the hurricanes was so severe that it made many people forget, at least momentarily, about the pandemic that has changed the world. Tabora had already buried many COVID-19 victims and even had to close her business for a while because of the pandemic, but she immediately put her concerns to one side to shelter those who needed her help.

“I understand that there are people who came with small children, saving their babies, and they didn’t remember their masks because of the anguish,” she says. “When we saw the distress people were in we didn’t even think about these things… [I thought] come on, maybe they could be saved here, even if there’s not much room.”

Many of those affected have suffered post-traumatic stress due to everything they’ve been through since Eta, the first hurricane, approached. “You feel a nervousness, a tension among us,” Tabora reflects. “Worry at knowing what’s coming, as the media says it’s something huge and super dangerous.”

With the water up to his chest, Sergio Donaire, a 35-year-old upholsterer, arrived at the funeral home with his wife and three daughters after fleeing their house, which was practically destroyed. Two weeks later, it’s still raining hard and the family remains in the funeral home, without any support from the state. “There’s no food, nowhere to bathe, no electricity,” Donaire says. “My daughters have fallen ill. They’ve had a cough and the flu. Even I had a fever for two days. We’re all scared… it’s the worst thing we’ve ever been through.”

San Pedro Sula, the nation’s second biggest city, was devastated. The stench of mud and dead animals lingers everywhere. Surreal scenes abound, like in the Chamelecón neighbourhood to the south of the city,

where the river overflowed and flooded the cemetery, forcing open graves and leaving coffins floating in the water.

Two weeks after Eta struck, about 60 families were still living beneath a bridge on a highway to the southeast of San Pedro Sula. Alberto López Ocampo, a farmer from the Asentamientos Humanos neighbourhood, has been sleeping on a mattress there for 15 days, beside the 11 geese, 25 hens and 40 ducks he was able to save from the roof of his house. Another 25 sheep of his drowned when the property flooded.

“I came racing out with my four children when the water started to rise at eight in the evening,” says López, who had to later to separate from his family to look after their livestock. “I arrived at the shelter but they told me to set [the animals] free. How can I set them free when they’re all I have? I have nothing, I lost everything. My house is still flooded, it flooded again when Iota struck. It’s going to need repairing because it’s sinking, it’s full of mud and it has dead animals inside.”

The families sheltered beneath the bridge bathe in the rainwater that falls on the highway and relieve themselves in the sewers. “Some of the churches and other people who are helping out donate toilet paper but there’s no government aid here,” López explains. “They don’t want to help in any way… they could easily give us umbrellas, at least with an umbrella we could get by, but the way things are right now, look, more rain is coming and there’s nothing we can do.”

The state response

Two days before the first hurricane arrived, the Honduran government was still promoting a tourism fair to revive the economy, instead of warning the population to take preventive measures. Since then, it has faced accusations of not doing enough to protect the health and dignity of those affected and to guarantee their access to humanitarian assistance.

The national authorities say they saved 34 people stranded on rooftops using military and civilian helicopters, as well as carrying out two aquatic rescues. The Colombian Air Force has also offered its support, evacuating 97 people in a Black Hawk helicopter. Marlon Matute, of representative of the San Pedro Sula mayor’s office, affirms that the local government has opened 100 municipal shelter across the city and is providing financial support, food and hygiene products to those affected. President Juan Orlando Hernández has visited affected families to deliver humanitarian aid and has declared the construction of dams a national priority. “The Honduran people must know that Operation ‘You Are Not Alone’ will reach every last corner affected by the storms to give us back the dignity that was muddied, but has not been lost,” he wrote on Twitter. On 26 November, he announced that he had sent the Free Vaccine for All Against COVID-19 law to the National Congress, to “ensure that everyone has access, voluntarily and without cost”.

Dinorah Nolasco, director of health in the Cortés region where San Pedro Sula is located, says the area has suffered constant crises in the last two years: “First we had a dengue emergency, then a COVID emergency and now we have this tragedy. It’s a disaster we’re living through, but we’re trying to get back on our feet.”

With clouds of mosquitos, large bodies of water and animal corpses everywhere, plus the lack of sanitation due to the storm damage, Nolasco is on the alert for possible outbreaks of malaria and leptospirosis. But the main concern remains the pandemic that has claimed nearly 3,000 lives and brought more than 100,000 cases of COVID-19 to a nation of 9.5 million people.

“All the shelters are conducting daily medical evaluations and testing every patient suspected of having COVID, both with rapid antigen tests and real-time PCR tests,” Nolasco says. “We try to give them advice, we try to isolate them and we try to give them as much psychological counselling as we can, because obviously right now there has not only been material damage and human loss, but the population has also suffered a lot of psychological damage.”

Solidarity within the LGBT community

In a phone interview from Tegucigalpa, the nation’s capital, Erick Martínez Salgado, a defender of the rights of the LGBT community, affirms that the government response to the hurricanes and the pandemic has been weakened by a lack of planning and the historic corruption of state institutions. Martínez laments that the government has not taken differentiated measures that take into account the needs of LGBT people, as well as those of other marginalized populations, such as indigenous peoples and people with disabilities.

The defender explains that the pandemic and the hurricanes have exacerbated the poverty experienced by many members of the LGBT population in Honduras, which has historically suffered high levels of discrimination, exclusion and violence – particularly transgender people who are disproportionately dependent on the informal economy and sex work. He also warns that “in the temporary shelters they are not applying differentiated protocols for transgender women… They should not put them in places where there are only men… this could lead to discriminatory actions or violence against the LGBT community.”

Martinez speaks with pride of the solidarity the LGBT community has shown with trans women in the coastal areas worst affected by the hurricanes. He says the Movimiento de Diversidad en Resistencia group raised a thousand dollars to buy them food, clothing and shoes, while transgender refugees in US cities such as Washington DC and Miami have sent them money to buy supplies. However, Martínez questions why “citizens are replacing the government’s role in providing humanitarian aid.”

A new wave of migration

The destruction in Honduras, combined with the effects of climate change that have made subsistence agriculture difficult in recent years, plus a possible change in the immigration policy of President-elect Joe Biden’s new administration in the United States, could drive a new wave of migration.

Sandro Mejía has been living in San Pedro Sula for 20 years, but now sees no other option than to seek a better life in the United States. He says he almost drowned when the water first began to rise. Now his only roof is a bridge.

“Yesterday was my 58th birthday and I couldn’t even celebrate with a Coca-Cola,” Mejia says. “I have nothing, I’m broke now. First I lost money due to the coronavirus pandemic, and then these two storms hit. You can’t live in this country anymore… I’ve been out of work since the pandemic, when everything shut down. I haven’t worked for almost a year now because there are no jobs in this country. We’ve lost everything… we’re being buried alive here.”

Mejía accuses the government of having abandoned those affected by the hurricanes. “The people have no rights, no health, no work, no nothing,” he adds, as he savours a baleada donated by a passer-by. “The only option I have left is to emigrate to the United States. I couldn’t get in when Donald Trump was in charge…

he didn’t give anybody a chance to work there, but now things are going to change with Joe Biden.”

Sat on a red sofa beneath the bridge, Zaida Ramos, a single mother of two, agrees: “The government hasn’t given us a bite to eat around here, it’s just the people helping the people. Honduras is lost.” She too would like to seek asylum in the United States, which she considers “a land of opportunities”.

Victims of the lack of environmental protection

Bertha Zúñiga Cáceres, daughter of the environmental defender Berta Cáceres, who was murdered in 2016 because of her opposition to the Agua Zarca hydroelectric dam, believes the destruction caused by the hurricanes was exacerbated by recent Honduran government policies. The native Lenca activist, who succeeded her mother as general coordinator of the Civic Council of Popular and Indigenous Organizations of Honduras, has pointed out that the proliferation of mining and monoculture in recent years has damaged the natural barriers that used to protect the country against extreme weather.

“The weather conditions that we’ve experienced in recent weeks in our country are linked to the mismanagement of natural resources, which are seen as commodities to be excessively consumed for the benefit of certain economic groups,” Zúñiga says in a voice message. “It’s a clear sign of imbalance and an urgent warning to seek a more harmonious and respectful relationship with nature. It’s a prompt to take action against this and listen to what indigenous peoples and the organizations fighting for climate justice have been saying.”

In Honduras, opposing the exploitation of the land, and the violation of the rights of its inhabitants, means risking one’s life. According to Global Witness, 14 environmental defenders were murdered there last year, the highest per capita rate in the world. However, the government has so far refused to sign the Escazú Agreement, a regional treaty on environmental rights and the protection of environmental activists, which has been ratified by 11 Latin American and Caribbean countries since its adoption in 2018. Citing the scientists who have linked climate change to the extreme force of the hurricanes that have hurt Central America so badly in recent months, Zúñiga affirms that “we must hold accountable the large countries and economic powers who have produced these results, as well as the process of so-called ‘modernization’, so that the people who have contributed most to the defence of the earth stop suffering the effects of the pollution caused by those who shirk their responsibility.”

Zúñiga concludes by warning that “as long as the pollution continues, as long as the depredation continues, as long as the rights of those who continue defending the earth are not recognized, our prospects will remain bleak. That’s why we intend to continue raising awareness among the people who live in [larger ad wealthier] countries so that they make more serious and genuine efforts to mitigate the environmental destruction that the whole world is suffering. Solidarity and the embrace between peoples will always be the way to reach the world we dream of.”

I cowrote this feature with the photojournalist Encarni Pindado, who was in Honduras. It was published in the December 2020 edition of Newsweek México

The Mexican government must protect the press instead of endangering it

November 20, 2020
Mexican authorities have achieved some convictions this year in the emblematic cases of Javier Valdez and Miroslava Breach, who were murdered in 2017, but the vast majority of killings go unpunished

Monday 9 November was a sad day for Mexican journalism.

That morning, the reporter Israel Vázquez Rangel was investigating a crime scene in Salamanca, a small industrial city in the central state of Guanajuato, when armed men arrived and shot him at least five times. He died in hospital hours later.

Then, that evening, police in the tourist city of Cancún opened fire to disperse a demonstration against the high level of femicides that plague the nation. Two journalists suffered gunshot wounds and the police beat two others during the repression of the protest.

Mexican journalism has been through too many sad days. In the 11 days before Israel was killed, another two journalists were murdered. On the night of 29 October, Arturo Alba Medina, a TV news presenter in Ciudad Juárez, died after being shot at least 10 times while he was driving home. Five days later, the reporter Jesús Alfonso Piñuelas was shot while riding a motorbike in the northern state of Sonora and died instantly

Besides those three dead journalists, another 135 of their colleagues have been murdered in Mexico since the year 2000, according to the NGO Article 19. The Mexican authorities have achieved some convictions this year in the emblematic cases of Javier Valdez and Miroslava Breach, who were murdered in 2017, but the vast majority of killings go unpunished. This vicious cycle of impunity and violence has turned Mexico into one of the world’s most lethal countries for journalists. 

Of course this problem has existed since long before the current government’s mandate, but that does not absolve it of its obligation to protect journalists and guarantee their rights to life and freedom of expression. Yet, instead of taking urgent and decisive measures to ensure that they can carry out their work in an environment free of violence, the government is putting them in situations of even greater risk.

In order to allocate more resources to combatting the COVID-19 pandemic, on 21 October Mexico’s Congress approved the elimination of 109 independent trust funds that distributed public resources to support a wide range of causes, from scientific research to natural disaster responses. The Fund for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists is among the trusts that were shut down.

This fund was financing the protective measures granted to more than 400 journalists and almost 900 human right defenders who are under threat, providing them with access to bodyguards, satellite phones, panic buttons, armored cars and safe houses. Although we at Amnesty International have documented that these measures are imperfect and sometimes insufficient, the government must take great care not to weaken them even more. On the contrary, it should strengthen them through consultation with the defenders and journalists in need of protection.

The Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists now faces an uncertain future. It will depend directly upon the Secretariat of the Interior to finance the protective measures but, as Jan-Albert Hootsen, Mexico representative for the Committee to Protect Journalists, has warned, the funding for these measures “may become vulnerable to political whims and the trading of favors”.

Besides the risk associated with the disappearance of the trusts, several high-ranking Mexican officials have also verbally attacked the press. President Andrés Manuel López Obrador has consistently attacked certain media outlets during his daily morning press conferences, stigmatizing journalists and exposing them to threats and harassment. We have also seen the governors of states such as JaliscoPuebla and Baja California doing the same. 

According to a study by Article 19, public officials were responsible for 199 of the 406 acts of aggression against journalists and media outlets registered during the first half of this year, while politics and corruption proved the most dangerous topics to cover. These aggressions vary from harassment and cyber attacks to displacement and killings. From January to June there was a 45% rise in aggressions compared to the same period of 2019, equivalent to an attack against the press every 11 hours. If this continues, there will be more aggressions against the press in 2020 than any year in the last decade.

This disturbing panorama encourages self-censorship and has grave implications for press freedom, the right to information and accountability in Mexico. 

The government must stop treating the press like an enemy. If it genuinely cares about human rights, it will recognize the importance and legitimacy of the work of journalists and take swift, concrete and effectives measures that allow them to carry it out without fear of reprisal.

This op-ed was published by El Faro in English and Spanish

Mexico’s new National Guard is breaking its vow to respect human rights

November 8, 2020
The López Obrador government has continued the militarization of public security in Mexico

Jessica Silva and her husband Jaime Torres were driving through Delicias, a town in the northern state of Chihuahua, late on 8 September when members of Mexico’s National Guard attacked them.

That afternoon they had joined thousands of agricultural workers in a tense protest at La Boquilla, a nearby dam, to defend their right to water. The National Guard fired tear gas at the demonstrators, who were armed with bats, poles and rocks. Undeterred, the protesters managed to seize control of the dam, forcing the soldiers to retreat. 

As Silva and Torres made their way home that night, members of the National Guard opened fire on their vehicle. A witness told Amnesty International he saw two National Guard trucks pass by and heard five or six gunshots. Torres, a walnut and alfalfa farmer, was seriously wounded, while Silva, a 35-year-old homemaker and agricultural worker with three teenage children, died instantly.

Founded last year, the National Guard was supposed to herald an end to the militarized approach to public security that left an estimated 200,000 people dead and tens of thousands missing under Mexico’s last two governments. Upon inspecting a barracks in February 2020, President Andrés Manuel López Obrador declared it a “very important new institution to guarantee peace, but without excesses, without authoritarianism, respecting human rights.”

The early signs suggest this has not been the case. The new force was unable to stop Mexico registering record numbers of murders last year and it stands accused of hundreds of human rights violations, including killing Silva and wounding her husband.

The National Guard initially said it had “repelled [an] attack” by “armed civilians in several vehicles” but Torres has denied he was carrying a weapon. Neither victim appeared to be armed in a photo that showed Torres behind the wheel, blood soaking his white t-shirt, with Silva’s body slumped beside him, her black facemask still covering her face.

Luis Rodríguez Bucio, the head of the National Guard, later said it was “a disgraceful, unfortunate accident” and on 27 October the National Guard admitted there was “evidence that suggests the guilt of some members of our institution”. The same day, the federal attorney general’s office announced that it had arrested six members of the force and charged them with homicide and attempted homicide.

“It’s not fair that people who are supposed to protect their safety have taken [Jessica’s] life and almost killed Jaime,” Silva’s aunt, Alma Rodríguez, told Amnesty International. “They took the life of a wonderful, hard-working person, someone who was not a criminal, who didn’t steal or kill, whose only defect was having gone to protest to stand up for her rights.”

The continued militarization of Mexico

There is ample evidence that the deployment of military forces has coincided with an increase in human rights violations and in levels of violence across Mexico. A 2016 government survey found that the armed forces are more likely to abuse detainees than Mexico’s federal, state or municipal police, with 88 percent of people detained by the Navy and 86 percent of those arrested by the Army complaining of torture or other ill-treatment.

Instead of fulfilling his pledge to return the armed forces to their barracks, López Obrador has extended their role in enforcing public security until 2024 and entrusted them with pet projects such as building a new airport for Mexico City and parts of a controversial tourist train connecting Mayan ruins. The government has also deployed the armed forces to aid Mexico’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic and announced plans to hand control of the nation’s ports and customs to the Army and the Navy.

The National Guard was born into this context of militarization. Although an amendment to Mexico’s Constitution established that it must be “civilian in nature”, it is an overwhelmingly militarized force. Led by the former general Rodríguez Bucio, its members are armed with Mexican-made FX-05 Xiuhcoatl assault rifles and Sig Sauer 9mm pistols, and ride Chevrolet pickups backed by Black Hawk helicopters.

In response to reports that the government had handed operational control of the National Guard to the military in October, Mexico’s Secretariat of National Defense told Amnesty International they “work in a coordinated manner in response to the specific situation in each state” and that the armed forces can only carry out “public security tasks in an extraordinary, regulated, controlled, subordinate and complementary manner” for a period of five years “while the National Guard develops its structure, capacities and territorial implementation”.

Yet doubts remain over whether it is a truly “civilian” force.

“Past experience shows it’s dangerous for the military to operate without civilian oversight,” says Sam Storr, a consultant with the Citizen Security Program at Mexico’s Ibero-American university, who warns that the National Guard has not fulfilled its legal obligations in terms of making information public, in particular regarding how many of its troops are still employed by the armed forces.

As of July 2020, the National Guard was comprised of approximately 90,000 troops, of whom 51,101 had transferred from the Army, 10,149 from the Navy and 26,376 from the now-defunct Federal Police, according to an investigation by Animal Político. The Army and Navy had been responsible for all recruitment and continued to pay the wages of their former members who joined the National Guard. Only 20 percent of members and just 0.3 percent of new recruits had reportedly passed background checks and been trained and certified to carry out police work.

“The wider context here is the lack of investment in good police forces and the lack of strong civilian institutions in Mexico, and this is only going to worsen the problem over time, so that takes the country in potentially a very dangerous trajectory,” Storr warns.

While the armed forces are often portrayed as less corruptible than Mexico’s police – a narrative weakened by the arrest of the former National Defence Secretary, General Salvador Cienfuegos, in the United States in October – the National Guard has already been implicated in multiple scandals. Its members have been exhibited extorting an alleged drug trafficker in Sonora, dining with alleged members of criminal groups in Puebla, misusing firearms in an apparent state of inebriation in Jalisco, and inviting sex workers to a party at a barracks during the COVID-19 lockdown in Guanajuato.

Concerns over lack of transparency and unlawful use of lethal force

Mexico’s ombudsman’s office, the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH), logged at least 219 complaints about the National Guard between 26 May 2019, when the force was formally established, and August 2020. These included allegations of 51 arbitrary arrests, 28 cases of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment, three cases of torture, two unlawful killings and two enforced disappearances.

Yet experts say it’s difficult to ascertain the full number of human rights violations that the National Guard is committing due to a lack of transparency from the authorities, the absence of a specialist independent watchdog, the fact that victims are often afraid to denounce security forces for fear of reprisal, and the dangers that inhibit journalism in parts of the country.

Lucia Chavez, a researcher at the non-governmental Mexican Commission for the Defense and Protection of Human Rights (CMDPDH), says the actual number is likely much higher, particularly in states that have experienced high levels of violence like Tamaulipas, Veracruz and Durango, where few complaints are typically made due to “distrust in the authorities and the ombudsman figure”.

The National Guard also faces reduced accountability after the Mexican government passed a National Law on the Use of Force last year that did not restrict the use of lethal force or require that it only be used as a last resort in order to protect life, or even mention the need to protect third parties.

Although by no means complete, the information available in the press is enough to set alarm bells ringing over the National Guard’s use of lethal force. As of late September 2020, media reports compiled by the CMDPDH since 2019 indicated that 11 members of the National Guard had died in 128 violent confrontations in which 178 alleged criminals or bystanders were killed, as well as 11 members of other state security forces. In the troubled states of Guanajuato, Michoacán and Tamaulipas alone, the National Guard reportedly suffered four deaths in 52 confrontations that left 84 alleged criminals or bystanders dead, along with one police officer and two Navy personnel.

While this may appear like evidence of the efficiency or superiority of the National Guard, experts from the group Lethal Force Monitor have established that if there are 10 or more deaths for every member of the security forces killed in confrontations “this constitutes a clear indication of excessive use of force”.

Torture and sexual violence against migrants and asylum seekers

Although ostensibly created to improve public security, the National Guard’s most visible role to date has been in stopping Central American migrants and asylum seekers from traveling up through Mexico to the United States.

The CNDH has denounced the deployment of the National Guard to enforce immigration law before Mexico’s Supreme Court, arguing that it is unconstitutional, will cause multiple human rights violations and effectively criminalizes migration and perpetuates xenophobic conduct. Meanwhile, the force has raided migrant sheltersharassed migrant rights defenders and used tear gas while arresting hundreds of migrants who crossed Mexico’s southern border in January.

In one incident, on 23 March, about 20 members of the National Guard entered the Siglo XXI migrant detention center in Tapachula, a small, steamy city in the southern state of Chiapas. Dozens of Central American migrants and asylum seekers had started protesting and asking to be released for fear of contracting COVID-19 while locked up there.

Flanked by Mexican immigration agents, the National Guard allegedly assaulted the migrants over several hours, stripping some of them naked and attacking them with their shields, fists, boots, hoses, fire extinguishers, pepper spray, Tasers, bats and knuckledusters, according to transcripts of interviews that the Fray Matías de Córdova Human Rights Center conducted with witnesses and shared with Amnesty International.

“They dragged them by their hands, by their feet, naked, with their faces disfigured and beaten, broken even… they threw them to the floor and started beating them with their fists and electrocuting them,” said one Honduran man. “I’ll never forget the screams of those people, as I watched them vomiting blood.”

Another man, who had fled his home in Guatemala after surviving an attempt on his life, said he almost suffocated from the pepper spray and felt scarred by the brutality he witnessed: “I’d never experienced anything of that magnitude, violence of that kind.”

Eventually the National Guard dragged a group of migrants onto a bus and drove them away, without revealing their destination. Salvador Lacruz from the Fray Matías Center says he eventually learned that they were transferred to other migrant detention centers in the states of Chiapas, Tabasco and Veracruz. Lacruz says the witnesses’ testimony is “evidence of torture and ill-treatment”, while other local human rights groups suggested the abuses fit the definition of enforced disappearance under international human rights law, given that authorities refused to reveal their location or destination during the events.

On another occasion, when the CMDPDH’s asylum coordinator Daniela Reyes visited themigrant detention center in Hermosillo, in the northern state of Sonora, last December she was struck not only by the severe overcrowding and oppressive heat, but also by the detainees’ reluctance to speak to her and her colleagues. Migrants at other detention centers had always been quick to approach them, Reyes told Amnesty International, but in Hermosillo she found they had been silenced by a culture of fear and intimidation.

As the migrants began to open up, they told her the National Guard had beaten, threatened and pointed their firearms at them during an inspection of the facility, in retaliation for starting protests or hunger strikes to denounce theirliving conditions. The violence was gendered, with 13 women, mostly from Cameroon and Central America, telling Reyes that members of the force sexually assaulted them. 

“We gathered their testimony on the first day, but when we came in the next day, they wouldn’t even look at us. They didn’t want to talk,” Reyes says. “Finally, one person told us that members of the National Guard had come in that morning and physically attacked the people that agents of the National Migration Institute had identified as having talked to us.”

The CMDPDH is also representing several migrants who say they suffered torture and threats of enforced disappearance at the hands of the National Guard in Mexico City’s Las Agujas migration detention center in October 2019 and February 2020.

Mexico’s Secretariat for Security and Citizen Protection did not respond to requests for comment on the allegations against the National Guard, which, combined with its militarized nature and the lack of transparency and civilian oversight, contrast with the president’s proclamations about the nature and significance of the force.

After 18 months in operation, there is little to suggest that the National Guard represents a change to Mexico’s security strategy or a new era of respect for human rights.

This feature was published in the November 2020 edition of Newsweek México