This is How Sevina, an Indigenous Community in Michoacán, is Resisting the CJNG: “As a Father, I’ve Thought About Taking up Arms”

The community in this Michoacán town has cut itself off from the outside world due to the spread of violence caused by organized crime in the state.

A backhoe sits in the middle of the road; in the background stand several state police officers who arrived as reinforcements following the weekend attack in Sevina—a village within the municipality of Nahuatzen, Michoacán—which left two communal guards dead and another critically injured.

The journey from San Francisco Pichátaro to this village is desolate. Only two patrol cars are visible on the road, and no other vehicles are heading toward this town—a community that, in September 2019, successfully established itself as a self-governing entity.

Entry is strictly on foot, as roadblocks prevent vehicles from approaching any closer than the first barricade. Access to Sevina is restricted; one may enter only by invitation or if one is a local resident.

“As a father, one worries about one’s children, about the entire family, and about everyone in the community. I don’t think I’m the only one who has considered taking up arms personally—stepping out to defend our own, acting as a father, a brother, as everything,” a resident currently at the Communal Council offices tells *MILENIO*.

His testimony echoes the sentiments of everyone encountered along the way, for the deaths of their two fellow villagers have shaken them to the very core.

“It was completely unexpected when they descended upon us. The community seemed calm, and we had no idea what was about to unfold. It happened in an instant: suddenly, we heard the gunfire. We rushed to the scene only to discover that two of our communal members had fallen,” recalled a council member who requested anonymity.

The attack has reignited fear in this village, nestled deep within the Purépecha Plateau—a community that, just a year ago, survived an attempted incursion by the very same armed group. That previous incident, however—unlike the events of last Sunday night—left no one injured and no families in mourning.

“The situation had finally settled down, but now—as I’m telling you—this came completely out of the blue; it was something we never saw coming. We never received any warnings, nor did we have any reason to anticipate that something like this was brewing,” the communal representative recounted. According to initial reports, the attack took place shortly after 8:00 p.m. on the road leading to the municipal seat of Nahuatzen. According to members of the Community Watch—also known as the *Kuaricha*—the armed men arrived on foot from the direction of the surrounding hills.

They opened fire on the guard post and on one of the two patrol vehicles available to them for surveillance duties. Officers Jesús Álvarez Gutiérrez and Ignacio Campos Guerrero were killed, and a female *Kuaricha* member had to be rushed to Uruapan for emergency medical treatment.

From that moment on, the atmosphere in Sevina shifted. At the families’ request, the bodies of the communal guards were not handed over to authorities for the mandatory legal autopsy; instead, wakes were held for them just hours later. On Tuesday afternoon, a funeral mass was officiated, after which—in a private ceremony—they were laid to rest in the municipal cemetery.

Meanwhile, the townspeople and the Communal Council began organizing to defend their community against potential attacks. Their first step was to block access to outsiders using heavy machinery, stones, and any other objects that could prove useful.

“It was the people themselves who made the decision to close off the town—to fortify it with stones, using whatever means we had at hand: sticks, rocks, earth, and vehicles—to prevent any intrusion, to ensure that no one breaks in on us again, at least for the time being,” asserted a member of the oversight committee.

Likewise, the suspension of classes and public activities—including their upcoming patron saint festivities—was ordered. Non-essential businesses also remained closed, and the townspeople, upon hearing the ringing of the church bells, gathered in the public square.

There, while a Civil Guard helicopter circled overhead, the community assembled a convoy of pickup trucks and set off toward the Intercultural Indigenous University of Michoacán—located just outside Sevina—to hold a meeting with state and federal authorities.

The objective was to press for security reinforcements to be made permanent rather than temporary; otherwise, resorting to arms could become a viable option, particularly given that their community patrol force had begun to disintegrate out of fear following the recent events.

“We had 21 members—a very low number for providing adequate protection—and two patrol vehicles, which were also purchased by the community itself. The majority of our patrol members are farmers and construction workers who, out of love for their town, decided to join the ranks of our communal patrol force,” they stated.

The series of complaints also highlighted the conditions under which the *kuarichas* operated; on only one occasion did they receive supplies from state authorities—and even then, the shipment was delivered in poor condition and was insufficient.

“They have been resupplied with ammunition only once—and that was a very limited provision, as they were handed merely one or two small boxes. Just one box of 30 rounds per operative—whereas their adversaries have their waists girded with magazines, wielding weapons that feed from box magazines capable of delivering 250 or 300 rounds each, along with automatic pistols,” they stated.

The patrol vehicles—purchased by the community itself—were also in short supply; on Sunday night, they served only to transport their wounded comrades, traces of whose blood remain visible to this day.

The meeting—tense at times—succeeded in securing a commitment from the authorities to establish an Inter-institutional Operations Base within this indigenous community. In turn, the residents pledged to allow vehicular traffic to pass during specific intervals, while agreeing to enforce a curfew during the night.

Reinforcements are set to arrive at the two barricades: the one facing the village of San Francisco Pichátaro, and the other facing the municipal seat—the exterior of which remains riddled with bullet holes from heavy-caliber fire, with the spent casings still lying uncollected on the ground.

A black ribbon draped across the hood of a patrol vehicle greets visitors—a simple, solemn gesture, yet one that also serves as a protest: a stark reminder that, on this very spot, two of their own fell while defending their people.

Source: Milenio