Brigadier General Memphis Domínguez Marrufo is Mentioned On Video Agoin

“I am an infantry soldier from the 86th Infantry Battalion in Nayarit. I have served for four years and am 24 years old.”

Chapter 2: CJNG Interrogates Soldier and Releases Video

A captured soldier directly accuses a general of being on the payroll of the Zambada family in Nayarit. Meanwhile, in Jalisco, the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG) intercepts federal intelligence agents and—in an act of total humiliation—escorts them out of their territory as if the cartel were the true authority.

These two events reveal that control of the country doesn’t reside in the offices of Mexico City, but rather in the backroads and highways where a federal badge apparently no longer carries any weight. Let’s get straight to the details.

The moral decay within the ranks of the Mexican Army has reached a critical point in northern Nayarit. Recently, the circulation of a video jeopardized the credibility of one of the country’s most respected institutions.

The central figure is Ismael Álvarez Partida, a soldier assigned to the 86th Infantry Battalion based in Acaponeta; however, he doesn’t appear here delivering a report or participating in an official ceremony. Instead, he appears subdued—intercepted by a cell of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel—after having been reported missing in a zone where a military presence should serve as a guarantee of order.

In what appears to be a confession given under duress, Soldier Álvarez Partida drops a bombshell that reverberates through the corridors of the SEDENA (Secretariat of National Defense). He identifies by name and rank Brigadier General Memphis Domínguez Marrufo, a General Staff Officer. The accusation is extremely grave.

Through the testimony of the captured soldier, the CJNG asserts that General Domínguez—the zone commander—maintains direct ties to the faction led by Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada, specifically the organizational structure currently headed by his son, “El Mayito Flaco.”

And remarkably—according to this soldier’s testimony—the general allegedly not only receives periodic payments but also places the battalion’s logistical capabilities at the service of the “Mayiza” faction. We’re talking about providing him with pickup trucks, weaponry, and—most valuable of all in a zone controlled by *La Mayiza*—safe passage. Acaponeta is no ordinary municipality on the criminal map. It is a critical transportation hub—the junction of Federal Highway 15 and the natural gateway to the mountains.

It serves as the security filter determining who enters Sinaloa from the south and who descends from the mountains of Durango. If this security filter is compromised, the Mexican State has effectively handed the keys to its state border over to organized crime.

So, tell me: what sense of security can a citizen possibly feel when the State’s own armed wing stands accused of acting as a bulwark, enabling one cartel to advance upon another?

The narrative put forth by the Jalisco group alleges that General Memphis Domínguez utilizes his troops to conduct patrols that serve as an advance guard for the Zambada faction, thereby preventing the CJNG from seizing control of the region in Nayarit.

“I am Infantry Soldier Partida, assigned to the 86th Infantry Battalion in Acaponeta, Nayarit. I have served on active duty for four years and am 24 years old. Well, the controversy currently brewing within the battalion is that Infantry Sergeant (Second Class) Gamón—and, from what I’ve been told, General MFI as well—have ties and connections to the MZ faction. They provide them with support whenever we are stationed at base camp; the Sergeant assists them in moving personnel in and out of the area by turning a blind eye and refusing to send out patrols. Consequently, off-duty soldiers from the battalion have subsequently encountered members of the MZ faction at various points along the mountain roads in that region. Furthermore, they have stopped these soldiers, recording all their details—including their team designation and military ID credentials.”

This is, indeed, a propaganda war—but one grounded in a reality that the residents of Acaponeta and Tecuala report on a daily basis. Convoys of the *Mayiza* faction circulate with a degree of impunity that insults any basic intelligence. 

General Memphis Domínguez Marrufo is no amateur; in fact, he is a high-ranking officer with a distinguished record of service in zones of extreme conflict, such as Guerrero and Michoacán.

His mention in this video constitutes a deliberate tactic by the CJBG to pressure the military command into relieving him of his duties. It is the age-old strategy of “burning”—or discrediting—a commanding officer who proves inflexible to their interests, or worse yet, who is aligned with the opposing faction. Yet, the silence from SEDENA (the Secretariat of National Defense) regarding this incident is deafening.

As of this moment, there has been no official update regarding the whereabouts of Soldier Álvarez Partida, nor has an internal investigation been announced. This institutional silence often serves as a prelude to a discreet personnel rotation—a method of “cleaning house” without ever having to admit that organized crime has infiltrated the very ranks of the military uniform.

Pay close attention to the geography of this conflict.” This military scandal unfolds just as Wahikori is solidifying its position as the logistical lifeline for the Zambada’s. It is a region of deep forests and rugged mountains—an ideal terrain for establishing fentanyl laboratories and nearly impenetrable safe houses.

Whenever pressure mounts in Sinaloa—as we witnessed this past weekend with the killing of “El Seis de los Torres” in Cosalá—commanders from the *Mayiza* faction retreat toward Guajicor and Caponeta. There, under the alleged protection of this military cordon, they find the breathing room they need to regroup.

And mind you, this is nothing new. As far back as 2025, a video circulated showing two military personnel being intercepted by the CJNG. In that footage, they detailed what was dubbed “Operation Apertura”—a scheme in which military units received orders to clear specific zones of any Jalisco cartel presence, thereby allowing cells belonging to “Los Rusos” or “Los Cabrera” to move in and take control without firing a single shot.

It was in those videos that the term “MayoZetas” was coined—a label the Jalisco cartel uses to disparage its rivals, implying that they have adopted the terror tactics once employed by the defunct *Zetas* cartel. It is a war of labels, of bullets, and of betrayals reaching the very highest echelons of the military hierarchy.

While the Army remains under a cloud of suspicion in Nayarit, in Jalisco, the civilian intelligence branch of the Secretariat of Security and Citizen Protection suffered a public humiliation. 

Chapter 3: The CJNG Detains Intelligence Agents. 

This incident occurred recently in Tecolotlán, a municipality that serves as a vital transit point between Guadalajara and the coastal region of Autlán.

An armored SUV—a dark-colored Chevrolet, unmarked but equipped with state-of-the-art technology—was driving through the urban area. Inside were high-ranking investigative agents—allegedly from the National Anti-Kidnapping Coordination (CONASE), or the CNI (National Intelligence Center)—conducting intelligence operations targeting a high-priority objective. What followed was a scene straight out of a fiction film—yet it represents the stark, brutal reality of life in Jalisco.

The intelligence unit was detected within minutes by local lookouts. These aren’t just youths on motorcycles; it is a counter-intelligence network that monitors every radio signal. A three-vehicle squad from the CJNG cut off the federal agents right in the middle of the street.

The circulating video captures the tense—let’s call it—negotiation. Masked hitmen, clad in tactical gear, surround the federal investigators, demanding that they identify themselves and explain what they were doing in the cartel’s territory.

Intelligence sources suggest the agents were attempting to extract geolocation data on a high-value target: Juan Carlos Valencia González—alias “El 03″—or one of his lieutenants operating in the Sierra de Amula region.

The surveillance van was equipped with devices known as IMSI Catchers—tools designed to intercept mobile phone signals in order to pinpoint the precise location of a specific handset.

They were on the verge of capturing the signal, but the cartel moved faster. And tell me: what hope does federal intelligence have when organized crime possesses superior antennas and more eyes on the street than the State itself?

The agents managed to verify their credentials—though it didn’t do them much good. They were not killed, but neither were they permitted to proceed. They were forced to leave Tecolotlán under escort—provided by the very hitmen who had intercepted them.

The message is devastating. In this corner of Jalisco, a federal badge carries no authority. National sovereignty is no longer measured by borders; today, it is measured by who grants whom permission to travel along a federal highway.

This incident in Tecolotlán exposes a total operational blindness. If investigative teams cannot enter the municipalities of the Sierra de Amula without being intercepted, the federal government has lost its capacity to conduct surgical operations.

It now relies on massive deployments of the National Guard—deployments which, as we already know, merely cause the targets to flee into the mountains before the first helicopter has even left the ground. The events in Nayarit and Jalisco are linked by a common thread: the weakening of “Mayito Flaco’s” organizational structure and the counteroffensive launched by the Jalisco Cartel.

By exposing General Memphis in Nayarit, the CJNG seeks to corner the Zambadas within their sanctuary zone in Guajicori.

By humiliating federal intelligence forces in Tecolotlán, they demonstrate that their stronghold in Jalisco remains impregnable. It is a three-cushion shot—a complex maneuver—in which the only loser is the Mexican State, finding itself outmaneuvered by propaganda in the north and by brute force in the west.

The whereabouts of Private Ismael Álvarez Partida remain a mystery. His “confession”—in quotation marks—has already achieved its objective: to cast a shadow of doubt over the 86th Battalion and over a general who must now explain why his name was uttered by a subordinate held captive by the enemy.

Meanwhile, in the remote trails of Escuinapa and the streets of Tecolotlán, the war runs its course, heedless of official pacification rhetoric—words that never reach the places where the asphalt gives way to dirt roads.

We will be closely monitoring the response from SEDENA and the SSPC regarding these events—events which are not merely “isolated incidents,” as they claim, but rather symptoms of a metastasizing malignancy within the national security system.

For ultimately, when the watchman stands accused of complicity, and the investigator is escorted by the very criminal he seeks to apprehend, what remains is a country where the law exists merely as a concept written in books—never to be enforced upon the streets.

Sources: Nación y Frontera, Cartel Insider