One Year of War in Sinaloa: “Mayos” and “Chapitos” Raze Towns and Leave Collateral Victims

The fight between “Mayos” and “Chapitos” is one year old. No one imagined its aftermath: thousands displaced, businesses closed, jobs lost and 57 children among the collateral victims.

Explosives fell from the sky, causing a raging fire in the summer of 2024. On those hot days, swarms of drones flew over La Concordia, a mountainous area about 50 kilometers from Mazatlán, Sinaloa, and the roar of assault rifles could be heard. They were groups of gunmen traveling in four-wheel-drive trucks, issuing threats and setting houses on fire. Some 600 families were forced to flee.

La Concordia is a wooded and inaccessible mountain range, plagued by constant fighting because it was the location of El Mayo Zambada’s favorite hideout, where he was protected by the Cabrera family’s gunmen. People in rural communities had to abandon everything, leaving their homes and belongings behind to escape with only a few suitcases.

September 9, 2024, marks one year since the narco-war waged by the two factions of the Sinaloa Cartel. A battle between the sons of El Chapo Guzmán and those who honor El Mayo—now allied with El Chapo Isidro in northern Sinaloa and Ismael Guzmán Loera, El Guano, who controls areas of Culiacán.

It’s a violence that has plunged this Pacific state, rich in agriculture, fishing, and ideal for poppy cultivation, into darkness. This battle has had consequences that no one saw coming: closed businesses and schools, lost jobs, and millions in losses. These consequences are still evident in the ongoing roadblocks, fires, and shootings. This is an unprecedented tragedy, given the number of murders and missing persons, with the deaths of 57 children, collateral victims of “Chapitos” and “Mayos,” standing out among them.

To report on the impact of this bloody war, we traveled to cities and regions of Sinaloa, interviewing specialists and collecting testimonies from victims. The toll one year on is tragic: thousands displaced, unemployment, some two thousand dead, and a grim figure for missing persons.

A drug war ravages rural communities in Sinaloa

The clashes between both sides are taking place in this mountainous area bordering Durango. A mountainous, forested region with rural roads accessible only by four-wheel drive vehicles, the preferred route for both sides.

The first wave of violence took place in 2017, recalls activist Rita Tirado, of the feminist collective “Periferia Subversiva,” the main organization supporting displaced people who have taken refuge in the tourist city of Mazatán. At that time, a faction of the Beltrán Leyva family clashed with the sons of El Chapo, led by Iván Archivaldo Guzmán Salazar.

The newly displaced in 2025, more than 600 families, “arrived with many needs. Some people contacted us asking for support for these families, and that’s how […] we supported them. We collected funds, brought them clothes, food, many things. We began to organize activities for them. They faced many situations, which are things that all displaced people face,” says the activist.

Fire and smoke added to the threats. The armed conflict also caused forest fires in the nature reserve for the endemic scrub jay, in the community of El Palmito, Concordia. People who remained in the mountains “saw them launching […] incendiary devices,” says Rita. Although they reported the fires and asked for help, the government took months to send brigades.

During the wait, the communities organized their own defenses against the fire. They dug trenches and cut brush, but the rain ultimately helped put out the blaze. “They went with their own tools and then just a piece of cloth, without glasses, without helmets, without anything.” As a result, “there was a blockade of the food supply, and [the gunmen] also burned one of the buses. The only one that went from Mazatlán to the mountains was burned,” Rita says.

The Chapitos retaliated against these communities because it was the area controlled by El Mayo. Even the only medical clinic in the region was abandoned. To mitigate this shortage of food, the activists organized food and medicine collections in Mazatlán to take them to the mountains.

Don Roque Vargas is the one coordinating the aid to reach the families who stayed behind. He is an elderly man who is also under the Mexican government’s security protocols because he was kidnapped, beaten, and threatened. “They attacked me three times. They told me they didn’t want me in town,” Vargas said. He added that the hitmen now collect fees from the sawmills, “they burned our vehicles, stole our animals, and harassed us.”

The Chapitos group that controlled the area was led by Diego Ramírez, alias El Pekín, currently imprisoned in the Mazatlán prison.

Young Sinaloans, an easy target for organized crime

In late July 2025, another clash between the two sides was reported in the community of Globeras, located in the same mountains as Concordia. The farmers saw eight trucks pass by, and after the shootings, five Chapitos were reported dead. “Many people are dying, more than the government reports,” says Don Roque. “This war won’t end easily. People are afraid.”

In this mountainous and border area, the man with the hat—Ismael Zambada always wore a hat—“lived with the local people. From here, he came down to Culiacán the day he was betrayed.” El Mayo was kidnapped by his godson, Joaquín Guzmán López, on July 25, 2024, from a farm in Huerto del Pedregal, and later put on a plane that landed at Santa Teresa Airport in Texas.

“Now that we’re returning [in July 2025], we’re rebuilding our houses that were burned. We’re rebuilding our lives,” says Roque.

The issue of forced displacement in Concordia was studied in a book titled “They Only Told Me We Were Leaving,” published this year by the Center for Research and Advanced Studies in Social Anthropology.

“This book addresses the issue of displaced children and adolescents in northern Mexico. I was specifically tasked with writing a chapter on the risk that young people in mountain communities face of being recruited by organized crime,” says co-author Sibely Cañedo.

“I studied this particular community in the municipality of Concordia: the communities of Chirimoyos and La Petaca. One very key situation is the role of families, especially mothers, and women in caring for their children, because part of the motivation for many of those who came here to Mazatlán was that their children were easily recruited by armed groups. It’s like a narco-culture. This cannot be interpreted as forced recruitment,” adds Cañedo.

“What I found is more about how this culture is generated, where participating in these groups is widely accepted and normalized for young people or adolescents. It’s like a very natural option for them. Perhaps for us who live in a city or other context, we don’t see those risks, but for them, who have always lived there and have always seen it since they were children.”

Cañedo emphasizes that in the context of the current dispute for control of the Sinaloa Cartel, forced recruitment is likely, and one of its indicators is that the majority of those who have disappeared in Sinaloa are young men. Business chambers estimate the number of displaced people caused by violence at around 100,000, including people who have left the state or moved from Culiacán to other regions of Sinaloa.

Businesses closed and burned due to the criminal dispute in Sinaloa

At approximately 10:30 a.m. on January 17, 2025, a citizen working at Plaza Cinépolis in Culiacán observed drones flying over the roof of the Royal Yak casino. Minutes later, he heard explosions and the roof began to burn. At that moment, no flames were seen behind the building, a witness told DOMINGA.

At that time, the establishment was closed. That same day, Civil Protection Director Roy Navarrete announced that the fire was caused by a short circuit, although no expert report had been conducted. The real owner of the casino, according to popular belief, is Archivaldo Guzmán, the leader of the La Chapiza faction. Every time they killed a rival, they would leave slices of pizza—pronounced with an “s” in some northern regions—beside him, so they took it as their emblem.

In addition to the Royal Yak in the capital of Sinaloa, the warring factions have set fire to various restaurants and businesses. The economic impact of a year of violence is felt in Mazatlán, with a drop in tourism of nearly 70%.

In Culiacán, the consequences of the drug war are described by Julio César Silvas Inzunza, president of the Alliance for Business Development and Competitiveness. He reported that “around 3,140 formal businesses have closed, and informal businesses total at least 2,860.” The number of jobs was 15,700, while in the informal sector, it was 14,300. Economic losses amount to between 6.28 billion in the formal economy and about 12 million in informal businesses.

“Any act of violence creates uncertainty among the population, therefore affecting citizens’ perception of security, and this means that certain activities are affected more than others. For example, real estate agencies, car dealerships, social event venues, restaurants, and the economy in general.”

Restaurants are no longer serving dinner because they modified their hours to close at 7:00 p.m. They had to adapt and open only for breakfast. And Culiacan residents began to lock themselves in early. The same happened with the social sector, events, weddings, and inns. Only in this way did the city seek to reopen safely, trying to avoid the closure of more businesses in order to survive.

This was the case with Paseo del Ángel, a pedestrian street packed with bars, cafes, and galleries. “There, 21 business owners decided to combine their efforts, knowledge, and experience in its revitalization and create the conditions for people to continue coming. Breakfasts, artistic and cultural events, and other activities are offered from Thursday to Saturday. From 6:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m., the street becomes pedestrian-only. The municipal Security and Traffic authorities and the State Security Secretariat have supported us with National Guard personnel and preventive measures,” said Silvas Inzunza.

Despite these efforts, Paseo del Ángel has been half-empty on weekends after 8:00 p.m. Regarding this, how is the violence experienced in Culiacán? Academician Sibely Cañedo was asked:

“People are scared, regardless of the fact that the groups are fighting each other. Yes, it’s very bad. In fact, I just went this Friday and felt a lot of tension everywhere. You can see the army and the police. I was taking the bus at the bus station, and a state police officer had just been shot there. […] Yes, the conflict is felt in the city, it’s everywhere. I know that people still don’t go out at night, without regaining peace of mind, people don’t live in peace.”

One of the reasons for not going out at night is that in the last year, organized crime members have stolen some 22,000 vehicles, mainly pickup trucks, according to official figures, a crime that practically didn’t exist in Culiacán.

The Disappeared of Sinaloa, a Humanitarian Tragedy

On the night of June 29, 2025, the face of barbarism appeared in Culiacán: four decapitated and hanged bodies were found on the El Seminario bridge, north of Culiacán. A truck was left next to it with 16 other bodies and a message addressed to Archivaldo Guzmán. It was La Mayiza’s response. Days earlier, the Chapitos had murdered and hanged three of its members, an event that went unreported by the authorities. The narco-war took a step down in cruelty.

Sinaloa had never seen terrifying scenes like those seen in the northeastern states of Mexico, where Los Zetas, between 2009 and 2013, in their conflict with the Gulf Cartel, dismembered, decapitated, and hanged their victims.

The official number of intentional homicides in Sinaloa, from September 2024, when the war began, to September 2025, will be around 1,800 murders. At the time of writing, there were 1,746 homicides, according to the Noroeste count.

The clashes between La Chapiza and La Mayiza are now occurring mainly in rural areas. Witnesses say the death toll is much higher than what authorities are reporting. Roque Vargas, a witness to these events in the Concordia mountains, noted that each armed group collects the dead from their own group. “We saw how they collect their dead, load them onto small trucks, and drive through here full of bodies. The government reports less than 50% of the total number of deaths,” the community leader stated.

The gravest aspect of the tragedy is reflected in the number of children murdered, whether as “collateral victims” or killed along with their parents: some 57 children to date. It also reflects the thousands of missing persons. The figure is around 2,000, plus a “shadow figure,” according to the 30 search groups.

An emblematic case of this security crisis in Sinaloa is the disappearance of Ismael Alejandro Martínez Carrizales, a young man studying to be a pilot and detained by the cartels in Mazatlán.

“My brother disappeared on July 12, 2020, here in the port of Mazatlán, on 12 de Mayo Street, on Del Obrero Street. We’re well aware of where it happened because my mother was in another vehicle with him,” says Alejandra Martínez Carrizales, who founded the collective “Por las vozes sin Justicia,” which brings together 70 families. The day Alejandro was detained, he was traveling with his girlfriend in a vehicle. Seven armed men on motorcycles intercepted him.

They took the woman out and took the boy along with his car. The girlfriend’s iPhone was left there. So the sister was able to trace the phone and the family began to get clues about his captors. They went to the prosecutor’s office to report the kidnapping. They were attended by the public prosecutor Marta Alicia Vargas. She discussed the case with agent Josué Moreno Pérez. However, with the information the family had provided, they decided to extort money by pretending to be the kidnappers. To collect the ransom, they gave two OXXO card numbers for the payment to be deposited. One was in the name of the Public Prosecutor’s aunt.

“Since the limit on these cards is only 15,000 pesos, we deposited 15 and 15 pesos on both cards.” The family continued to insist. They brought the numbers because they managed to get the names by depositing 20 pesos at an ATM. With that, they returned to the prosecutor’s office and told the officers: “Here are the names. What you haven’t done, here it is.” She was an aunt of the same person who filed our complaint.”

Thanks to the family’s investigation, Martha Alicia Vargas and Josué Moreno Pérez were arrested and could face 18 years in prison for committing crimes while serving as officials. They also reviewed the C4 cameras. They saw six hooded men, all of whom were Alejandro’s neighbors, except for one who didn’t have his face covered. Thanks to these videos, they were able to identify him. In his neighborhood, they call him El Pardo. But by the time they managed to get an arrest warrant issued, he was already dead.

They also learned that this group was part of organized crime. “Los Chapitos (the Chapitos). The leader of the group that kidnapped my brother was murdered by ‘Los Mayos’ when the current war began,” his relative said. “That’s why we’ve never had any information or clue as to where they took my brother.”

The Disappeared Youth of Mazatlán

For now, the family continues to search for Ismael Alejandro, posting wanted cards not only with his image, but also with photos of dozens of other missing youth in Mazatlán. Streetlights and highway overpasses are decorated with their faces and the slogan “Neither alive nor dead.”

The weariness of the violence, expressed in the number of deaths and disappearances, has already caused the population to take to the streets in protest in Culiacán. Two demonstrations took place in January and another in February 2025, and two more in Mazatlán. The main slogans have been: “Out with Rocha Moya [the governor of Sinaloa]” and “Not with the children.”

Furthermore, for this Sunday, September 7, two days before the one-year anniversary of the shootings, civil and business organizations announced a march in Culiacán to demand peace.

*Ieva Jusionyte is the author of a book on the impact of arms trafficking in Mexico and a researcher at Brown University in the United States.

*Juan Alberto Cedillo is a freelance journalist and author of the books “The Hidden Drug Wars,” “The Allende Massacre, a State Crime,” and three other titles on Nazi espionage in Mexico during World War II.

Source: Milenio