“La China”: The Woman Who Took Down the Sinaloa Cartel 

Welcome—welcome to the sixth, and now penultimate, episode of the seventh season of *Territorio Rojo*. I am Óscar Valeras, author of the column *Nación Criminal*, and in this new season, we are examining the profiles of seven kingpins who changed the landscape of organized crime forever.

In the previous installment, I told you about Jesús Amezcua Contreras and his brothers, Luis and Adán—who, together, formed the Colima Cartel. Although this group no longer exists, it was a pioneer in looking toward Asia to source chemical precursors and manufacture synthetic drugs—a complete game-changer on Mexico’s criminal chessboard.

And in this sixth episode, I will tell you about a woman who grew fed up with having her advancement within organized crime stalled simply because she was a woman. She challenged the patriarchal structures of Mexico’s criminal enterprises—taking on figures such as Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán—shattering the glass ceiling, albeit with gunfire.

You are listening to the exclusive video podcast from MBC Noticias covering organized crime and public security. Let’s begin. *Territorio Rojo* with Óscar Valeras. Season Seven: Mexico.

For every 100 executive positions in domestic companies listed on the stock market, only three are held by women. The corporate world is a “boys’ club,” and the women who have managed to reach the highest ranks have done so by overcoming far more obstacles than any man.

This holds true for both legal enterprises and illegal ones—what we formerly referred to as drug cartels. Gender roles carry just as much weight as bullets. And when we think of women involved in organized crime, we typically picture them in low-to-mid-level roles.

They serve as cooks in safe houses, street-level drug dealers, lookouts, or perhaps warehouse caretakers. Men, conversely, typically occupy the roles of *jefes de plaza* (regional bosses), financial operators, or the instigators of violence.

A *capa* is always a long, loose-fitting garment; a *capo*, on the other hand, is the leader of a criminal group. And those beliefs were put to the test by the protagonist of this episode, Melisa Margarita Calderón Ojeda—the youngest person featured in this seventh season, whose birth certificate was signed in Sinaloa in August 1984.

There are many stories told about her, and those that align recount that, while still a teenager, Melissa decided that the door to an honest living had been shut in her face. As a child, she had dreamed of becoming an actress, a model, or a singer.

All those professions that tend to reward beauty. She grew up hearing, time and again, that she was pretty—graceful, with an enviable figure. But the stories told in Sinaloa suggest that this blessing turned into a curse when no one seemed to take her seriously, despite her intelligence.

Her teachers and employers saw in her nothing but the stereotype of the young woman from Sinaloa—one who grows up believing that falling in love with a man is her ultimate life goal: the typical *buchona*, the trophy girlfriend of a capo.

And at one point, Melissa actually bought into that lie. That narrative was repeated to her so many times that she came to accept it as her manifest destiny. Her place, she believed, lay within the world of organized crime. Yet, while she pondered where she might fit in, two men were busy changing the face of Mexico.

In 2001, a criminal and a public official crossed paths. On one side stood Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán; on the other, Dámaso—*Licenciado* López. The two forged a bond when the former—who, following his capture in Guatemala, had become one of the most notorious inmates at the Federal Center for Social Readaptation No. 2 in Puente Grande, Jalisco—found himself under the authority of the latter.

For the latter served as the prison’s Deputy Director of Security—the absolute master of the keys that unlocked its gates. In that pivotal year of 2001, Dámaso López—the *Licenciado*—accepted a multi-million-dollar bribe in exchange for orchestrating an elaborate escape route for El Chapo Guzmán.

He choreographed the movements of guards and administrative staff, orchestrating a “dance” of calculated omissions and shared culpability that—according to the most widely told version of the story—enabled Joaquín Guzmán to escape that maximum-security facility hidden inside a laundry cart.

Realizing that his involvement was glaringly obvious—and that he would never be able to shake off the accusation of complicity—Dámaso López fled and sought refuge within the Sinaloa Cartel, where he established his own division: the FED (Dámaso Special Forces), an armed wing of the organization.

The trouble with the FED, however, was that by 2002, it was not nearly as robustly staffed as the other armed factions operating within the Sinaloa Cartel. It is worth remembering that Dámaso López was not a career criminal with a long history in the underworld; rather, he was a newcomer to organized crime—a man who had made the leap directly from the prison system itself. Lacking a social base, the organization initiated a massive recruitment drive; searching high and low, they eventually stumbled upon a young woman named Melisa. She was somewhere between her 20th and 21st birthdays when she enlisted in the Damaso—or López—corporation.

It was already 2005, and—thanks to the fact that the organization wasn’t particularly overcrowded at the time—”La China” quickly rose to the rank of *sicaria* (female assassin), a position usually reserved exclusively for men.

And the notion that she was “good for nothing” quickly proved to be a lie; for the young woman was indeed highly skilled—specifically at killing, and doing so with a ferocity that suggested she wanted to depopulate all of Mexico. As the preferred assassin for the Damaso Special Forces unit, she killed dozens of people.

And that tally, she claims, doesn’t nclude those she merely ordered to be killed, but only those she personally executed with a Kalashnikov (AK-47) or an AR-15—her preferred long guns. She would later develop a distinct *modus operandi*, but I’ll tell you about that a little later. Whether this is an exaggeration or an accurate count, we will never truly know.

According to the accounts, La China began a meteoric rise within the criminal underworld. The body count ran into the hundreds. This was followed by *corridos* (narco ballads) sung in her honor, fanciful tales regarding her sadism, and the emergence of female characters in direct-to-video narco-dramas—characters that appeared to be carbon copies of La China herself.

She was a star within her own cosmos, and with that fame came her ultimate promotion: becoming the *Jefa de Plaza* (territorial boss) for the Sinaloa Cartel in Baja California—a state where she had previously operated with complete impunity. Baja California serves as a critical hinge connecting two distinct illicit economies: the demand for narcotics in the United States, and the production and transit of those narcotics in Mexico.

The state concentrates historic land routes for smuggling operations, while the port of Ensenada provides a strategic maritime dimension. Unlike most other states, Baja California possesses a unique combination of urban border zones, highway corridors, and port access—factors that transform this otherwise quiet state into a high-value logistical hub for the cartels. And there, La China thought she would become the monarch. She had earned it—at least by her own tally of bodies—but she ran up against the patriarchal pact. Although she had proven herself more effective and more loyal than many others, she could rise no further.

The position she coveted would go to someone else—someone less qualified and less trustworthy—for it was to be filled by a man who had even served time in prison: the one nicknamed “Big Abel”—Abel Naún Quintero Manjarrés.

The affront was twofold. You see, not only was La China left stagnating while watching a man with a far less extensive criminal record surpass her, but the “Big Guy”—the one set to replace her—represented a personal grievance: the newly appointed *plaza boss* for Baja California had, years earlier, murdered one of La China’s boyfriends, Dábalos von Borstel.

The message coming from the upper echelons of the Sinaloa Cartel was loud and clear: at the very top, there was no room for women. La China, therefore, began to explore her options. She could stay on and work for others, or she could become her own boss—the very same dilemma that countless women face every day.

But she faced this choice within the shadows of the underworld, amidst extreme violence, and she chose the latter path. She publicly broke ties with the “Special Forces Ladies”—announcing her split via *narco-banners* to ensure her decision was irreversible—and moved permanently to Baja California.

I’m going to pause here for a moment, as I want to share a point made by journalist Débora Bonelo, author of the book *Narcas: The Rise to Power of the Secret Female Bosses of Organized Crime*.

It isn’t that there are no female leaders in organized crime—they have always existed, and in the highest positions at that—but they are simply ignored because they are not *conceived* of in such leadership roles. The popular imagination confines them to the roles of victims of some domineering capo, or beauty queens serving as arm candy for a boss.

Yet Melicia Calderón Ojeda forged a third path: that of the boss of her *own* cartel. For when she moved permanently to Baja California, the very first thing she did was establish her own criminal structure—one that answered solely to her own desires.

Her boyfriend—nicknamed “El Chino” simply for being *La China’s* boyfriend—was relegated to a secondary position in the chain of command. Next, Sergio “El Scar” Beltrán became the chief of hitmen, while Rogelio “El Tyson” Franco was placed in charge of the cartel’s logistics; finally, Pedro “El Peter” Cisneros became the head of drug sales and body disposal. A criminal structure emerged there with “La China” at its helm as CEO, and she immediately embarked on a brutal killing spree. Her enemies turned out to be her old associates within the Sinaloa Cartel, and she began systematically purging Baja California of her rivals. 20, 50, 100 dead.

Her *modus operandi* became notorious. She would dismember the bodies of her enemies—severing their arms and legs—and leave the torsos of her victims on the doorsteps of their relatives’ homes.

To ensure her criminal brand was firmly established, she gave her own group a distinct identity. Her pack of killers always moved in red vehicles—motorcycles and cars painted a vivid crimson—serving as the unmistakable sign that one of La China’s hit squads had arrived in your neighborhood.

And it was precisely this strategy that precipitated her downfall. When La China learned that her armed criminal cell was in the crosshairs of the authorities—both state and federal—she grew concerned. She began seeking new vehicles and ordered her logistics chief, “El Tyson,” to purchase a specific SUV just for her—one that was white, not red, so as not to arouse suspicion.

El Tyson, who should have handled this task personally, delegated the responsibility to two hitmen who fancied themselves quite clever. They received the money to purchase the vehicle, but decided it would be better to simply pocket the cash.

They arranged a meeting with two of Tyson’s friends who were willing to sell them an SUV; however, just as the deal was about to be finalized, the hitmen murdered the sellers in cold blood.

“El Peter”—La China’s designated body disposal expert—took the corpses to a clandestine burial pit. When El Tyson discovered that his innocent friends—who had merely gone to buy and sell a vehicle—had been brutally murdered, he was so enraged that he threatened to go to the police. La China, incensed by this potential act of betrayal, ordered that Tyson’s arms be severed, and then had him buried alongside his friends. China’s violence against his own allies horrified his people. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when La China ordered the kidnapping of his own friend, “El Tocho”—a drug dealer—because she suspected him of skimming from the drugs she sold; yet it was nothing more than a hunch.

But she had him kidnapped. And *El Tocho* escaped by a miracle; however, *La China*—enraged—abducted his girlfriend and brutally tortured her for days before killing her. By then, even *La China’s* own group believed she had gone completely unhinged.

She bound and tortured people just because—simply because she could. And *El Chino*, her boyfriend, spiraled into paranoia. At any moment—he thought—the slightest slip-up could mean he would be the next to die. So he chose his poison: die at the hands of his girlfriend, or turn himself in to the police. He chose the latter.

*El Chino* surrendered at a police station in Baja California, and when he was transported to Mexico City for interrogation at the old Attorney General’s Office building, he asked to cut a deal.

He would reveal his partner’s crimes in exchange for a reduced sentence and better prison conditions. A protected witness—an institutionalized snitch. And when federal agents took him at his word, *El Chino* spilled everything about *La China*.

Her madness, her ambition, her obsession with what she herself called the “vest cut”—that is, severing her victims’ arms and legs. He even revealed that during her drunken nights, she would send messages—via intermediaries—directly to Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán himself, whom she had threatened with death.

Every horror story told about *La China* was independently corroborated against the testimony of *El Peter*, who had been arrested just days earlier. The stories checked out—as did the addresses of safe houses and hideouts.

The Mexican government then decided to put an end to *La China’s* killing spree, which was rapidly transforming the once-peaceful Baja California into a blood-soaked territory. From that moment on, the net began to close around *La China’s* life of freedom.

Authorities first pinpointed her clandestine forces, then her safe houses, her signature red vehicles, and her weapons caches, until only one task remained: going in to get her. On September 19, 2015, *La China* was finally taken into custody—without a single shot being fired. It happened on a Saturday night as she was attempting to flee Baja California from the Cabo San Lucas airport. Her first stop was the jail in La Paz—a city she had controlled just months earlier—before she was transferred to Mexico City, where she still faces multiple pending trials involving over 100 homicides.

And here is a fact that sends shivers down my spine: the Baja California Attorney General’s Office itself admitted that *La China’s* killing spree was able to persist for so long—and reach such a scale—because no one was looking for her.

To the authorities, the very notion that a female cartel boss could exist was inconceivable—it was unheard of—which is precisely why no one was pursuing her. The authorities seem far more comfortable with the gender roles women occupy within their own mental constructs of organized crime: either as victims trapped by kingpins, or as decorative mistresses to criminal power.

But the reality is far more uncomfortable—and far more complex. Women have participated at every level of the trade since the very inception of organized crime. They are neither an anomaly nor a recent fad; rather, they constitute a structural component of the familial and economic networks that underpin these cartels.

The life and downfall of *La China* serve as proof that if one actually looks, one *will* find ruthless and brutal female cartel bosses. Thank you for joining us for this sixth episode of the seventh season of *Territorio Rojo*.

In the next episode—the seventh and final installment—I will tell you about a man who fundamentally and permanently altered the very nature of criminal groups in Mexico: a cartel that was no longer focused on narcotics, but rather on natural resources.

Source: MVS Noticias