Tough Habit to Break

Still, that's not to say the locals like the violence. "On the one hand, I'm not against the narcos," said Landell García. "But they also bring the violence. I'd like to see another form of employment here." One 50-year-old had harsher words for the local industry. "It's no good," he said, refusing to give his name. As he talked positively about the increased military presence in the area, four SUV's repeatedly circled the town square in which he was sitting. His eyes darted back and forth. "The mafia cry when [the government] catch their soldiers," he said, with just a hint of a grin. "They cry."

The government is hoping for such tears, rather than more blood. Violence has flared with the recent increased troop presence, but the government maintains that it's conquering this troublesome turf. "We're advancing," said a two-star general who helps lead what's known as Operation Sierra Madre at his base on the outskirts of Culiacán.
 
During a dog-and-pony show last Friday, the general and his men showed off—and promptly burned—a patch of marijuana plants about an acre in size they had located and seized the day before. But the general, who was not authorized to be quoted by name, admitted the problems of fighting the cartels, who he said are "like an army. They know right away when we find something."
 
As the marijuana smoke began to waft over to the other side of a nearby lake, a narcocorrido blared back from unseen loudspeakers. "It's because of this," the general said, pointing to his soldiers' work. A colonel explained that this was par for the course: the narcocorridos are often used this way, either to alert others in the area to the soldiers' presence or simply to remind the army that they're still there.

Even though the army is one of the most trusted and respected institutions in the country, few ordinary Mexicans want it to settle in their cartel-controlled region for the long haul, according to experts who say that such a presence could instill a "cold war" mentality. On the other hand, if the violence continues, the U.S. counter-drug official says, there's always the hope the people will rise up and say "No more!" In some parts of Mexico that's already happened. Recent protests in cities like Tijuana, where doctors have led strikes to protest the insecurity that prevents them from doing their jobs, show that many people are indeed fed up.

"Everyone is saying that we're losing the drug war," says the Sinaloa general, a 42-year veteran who has dealt with drug trafficking in a handful of states around the country during his career. "I don't think so. We're winning, little by little."

But sitting in front of a strategic map scattered with pins denoting targets yet to be seized—marijuana fields, methamphetamine labs, landing strips—that far outnumber the pins representing targets thus far seized, he takes off his glasses and sighs. "We work 365 days a year. From the generals to the grunts, we all have a right to a vacation," he says, chuckling. In most bases around the country, the soldiers—many of whom patrol the streets in masks to hide their identities from potential killers—aren't even allowed a little R&R on the weekends because of security concerns.

Mexico's cartels don't take vacations or weekends either, but they are fighting for far more than a military paycheck and pension. If the tide keeps flowing in their favor, and if towns like Badiraguato continue to depend on the drug cartels for their existence, Calderón's drug war will be lost, and Mexico's future will remain imperiled.

Malcolm Beith is the Mexico editor at The News in Mexico City.

© 2008