It is ten minutes before midnight; I’ve already reported on ten crimes in fewer than six hours. Today, fifteen people have died. To remember the exact number of muertitos—little dead people, in the very particular journalistic jargon of Ciudad Juárez—I have to look at my notes…
It was past midnight, in the first minutes of Tuesday, August 18, 2009, when my cell phone rang with a call from the newsroom of El Siglo de Torreón, the daily in Torreón, Mexico, where I work as editor-in-chief. I thought it was a routine call about a breaking story. In a way it…
More than 60 Mexican journalists have been murdered and dozens more have disappeared since 2000, more than 30 in the past four years.
Every journalist in Mexico—sometimes even I, an American journalist—wakes up to ask the following questions: How far should I go today…
English + Español
Ever since that afternoon when schoolteacher Gloria Lozano stared at her only son riddled with bullets on an empty lot next to the bodies of twelve other young people, all victims of a hit squad —among them, a first-time dad embracing his infant—ever since then, neither she nor any of the other families of the “Creel martyrs” would ever be the same. /Desde aquella tarde que Gloria Lozano vio a su único hijo rafagueado en un terreno baldío junto a los cuerpos de otros 12 cuerpos jóvenes –entre ellos un papá primerizo abrazado a su bebé, todos víctimas de un comando de sicarios–, ni ella, ni las demás familias de los “mártires de Creel”, volvieron a ser las mismas.
