THE DECLINE OF MEXICO'S MENNONITES: FROM AG POWERHOUSE TO CARTEL COURIER AND FOREST PILLAGER

 

Mennonites in Campeche at Harvest (Photo Reuters)

In Cancun we'd often see Mennonites in straw cowboy hats hawking cheese wheels at downtown stoplights. Smack dab in the middle of a thorough-fare, young men in Bib overalls would stand fearlessly on the center line, waving their products as cars zoomed by on both sides. We later learned the Men-nonites had a long history with Mexico and the Yucatán stretching back to the early 20th century.

The Mennonites trace their roots to a group of Christian radicals who emerged during the Reformation in 16th century Germany. They opposed both Roman Catholic doctrine and mainstream Protestant religions and maintain a pacifist lifestyle. They emigrated to North America to preserve their faith.

In the 1920s a group of 6,000 moved to Chihuahua in northern Mexico and established themselves as important crop producers. In the 1980s a few thousand moved to Campeche on the edge of the Maya Forest which is second in size only to the Amazon. According to Global Forest Watch, a non-profit that monitors deforestation, the Maya Forest is shrinking annually by an area the size of Dallas. In Campeche, the Mennonites bought and leased tracts of jungle land for farming, some from local Maya. 

Burning Fields in Campeche

In 1992 Mexico legislation made it easier to develop, rent or sell previously protected forest, increasing deforestation and the number of farms in the state. When Mexico opened up the use of genetically modified soy in the 2000s, Mennonites in Campeche embraced the crop and the use of Round Up, a glysophate weedkiller, designed to work alongside GMO crops, according to Edward Ellis, a researcher at Universidad Veracruzana.

Higher yields meant more income to support large families. For the Mennonites, a family of ten children is not uncommon. They typically live simple lives supported by the land and choose to go without modern-day amenities such as electricity or motor vehicles, as dictated by their faith. But their farm work has evolved to use harvesters, chainsaws, tractors. While most Mennonite communities remain in Chihuahua, now another 15,000 Mennonites also live in Campeche.

Mennonite Girls in Cleared Field (Photo Reuters)

Presently the tide has turned on deforestation in Mexico and both ecologists and the government that once welcomed the Mennonites' agricultural prowess believe the rapid razing of the jungle by these new ranches is creating an environmental disaster. The Maya Forest is one of the biggest carbon sinks on the planet and the habitat of endangered jaguars, plus 100 species of mammals to which the jungle is home.

A 2017 study published by Universidad Veracruzana showed that properties cleared by Mennonites had rates four times higher for deforestation than other properties. Under international pressure to follow a greener agenda, the Mexican government has persuaded some Mennonite communities to sign an agreement to stop deforesting the land. But not all communities have signed such an agreement.  

In speaking to Reuters, a Mennonite school teacher in a pueblo on the edge of the forest stated that the agreement has not impacted the way they farm. The Mennonites have signed on an attorney who states they believe they are being targeted by the government due to their pacifist beliefs while other land destroyers are not bothered.

Between 2001 and 2018, in the three states that comprise forest growth in Mexico, 15,000 square kilometers of tree cover was razed, roughly the size of the country Belize. With changing weather patterns and less rain, harvests are smaller in general for all concerned, both Mennonites and the indigenous Maya.

The Campeche Secretary of Environment, Sandra Loffan, clocked in stating the Mennonites did not always have the correct paperwork to convert forest land to farm land. An agreement was signed last year, 2022, to create a permanent group between the government and Mennonite communities to deal with land ownership and rights, and disagreements that arise including those from locals stating the Mennonites are abusing logging rights.  

Typical Mennonite Buggy

But this is only one of the Mennonites' problems in Mexico. Ten years ago connections between the community and Mexican cartels were exposed when a mule pipeline from Chihuahua to Alberta, Canada, was discovered. In this unlikely alliance, the pacifist Mennonites were growing tons of marijuana for the cartels and shipping it north, smuggling it in gas tanks, inside farm equipment and cheese wheels. For background, in an old ABC interview, Michael LeFay, Immigration and Customs Director in El Paso, stated a Mennonite network emerged long ago. What began with marijuana expanded into cocaine smuggling. When customs officials at the U.S. border looked into a car and saw Mennonites, he explained, officials waved them through. Mennonites were a common sight at the border and frequent travelers from Mexico to Canada because many Canadians from Manitoba and Ontario have Mennonite family members in Mexico. 

Mennonite Man with Cheese Wheel

Though the Drug Enforcement Agency's (DEA) issued a statement decades ago that only a few members of the Mennonite community had links to violent cartels, facts proved them wrong. In the 1990s not all Mennonite families owned land; they fell on hard times. At the same time the tenets of their faith drew questions from a younger generation raised in Mexico where there was no legal age restriction to buy alcohol or cigarettes. Vices began to creep in. It wasn't uncommon, an ABC newscaster reported, to see young Mennonite teens drinking Corona and smoking cigarettes after a Sunday church service once their parents left the church parking lot.

Reports started to trickle in: a Mennonite man was accused of smuggling 16 kilos of coke across the U.S.-Canadian border in 2012. Jacob Dyck faced charges of conspiracy to import $2 million of cocaine and possession for purpose of trafficking.

Then along came the Canadian TV drama Pure, earning a place in Canadian pop culture about Mennonites connected to the cartels. But DEA agents were still trying to get their heads around it, tsk-tsking the outrageous idea that Mennonites had a corrupt streak. DEA Agent Jim Schrant was quoted as saying a "large scale marijuana and cocaine distribution group run by Mennonites with cartel connections seemed bonkers." 

Though Schrant was aware that a huge drug distribution group was operating in Mexico and shipping large quantities into the U.S. he believed it was being run by individuals only. Then along came the story of Grassy Lake, Alberta, a rural town of 649 souls where 80 percent of residents were Mennonites. In time the DEA got wise and outed the town as the distribution hub for an international weed and coke smuggling operation linked to the Juarez Cartel.

31-Hour Drive from Mexico to Canada

A widely publicized case against Abraham Friesen-Rempel, 2014, had the DEA intercepting 32,500 phone calls believed to be linked to Juarez Cartel drug activity. Although Friesen-Rempel played only a minor role as driver, he'd delivered 1575 pounds of pot for the cartels. Convicted of smuggling drugs, he received a 15-month federal sentence. And so on, and so forth.

It's believed that the cartels lean on the Mennonites because they share a common bond of anti-government sentiment. Staunchly private, the Mennonites shun government interaction and their fierce sense of privacy aligns them with the philosophy of the cartels. Also, for decades they never got a second look at the border. The perfect cover for illicit border crossings. 

So now, though the drug implications are tamped way down, the government is extremely dissatisfied with the deforestation done by their farming tech-niques. Mexico's President Andres Manuel Lopez is pressuring them to shift to more sustainable practices. The government plans to phase out glysophate by 2024 which would lower harvest yields and their incomes.

"That's a consequence all farmers, Mennonites and locals, might have to pay to save the environment," said Campeche's Secretary of Environment Sandra Laffon.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

MARRIED TO THE MOB—A MEXICANA NARCA FALLS HEAD OVER HEELS FOR HER BODYGUARD

In Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, Layla Navarro falls for her bodyguard, Carlos. This excerpt, a back story on how their relationship unfolded, was not included in Book 1 in the trilogy.

LAYLA AND CARLOS (Mexico City)

Layla often wondered how she'd gotten herself into the crazy relationship with Carlos, her bodyguard. For someone who was supposed to be smart—she was the accountant for the Culiacan Cartel for godsake—she often found herself consumed with emotion because of her feelings for a handsome, overbearing hulk of a man.

On their last business trip to Mexico City, known as CDMX to locals, they almost came to blows. Problems were happening more frequently, not unlike small temblors foreshadowing a substantial seismic shift, the cosmic wake-up call.

They decided to leave Carlos' Escalade at their hotel parking garage and take a taxi over to see Don Ernesto at the Marquis Reforma, a fashionable Art Deco property on Paseo de la Reforma. Ernesto was the Culiacan Cartel's main man for distribution for Mexico City's cocaine and delivery systems, and Layla was in high anxiety mode as she mentally prepared to cram all his expertise into her head at their upcoming meeting.

That night, Carlos had started out all right, no big problems, or no bigger than usual. But when communications with Don Erneseto got down to a higher level of disclosure, the capo gave Carlos a nod and he slunk away but not before giving Laya one of his poisonous "get ready" looks.

He excused himself to the don before exiting the suite. To Layla he said, "I'll be in the downstairs bar. Should I call you?"

She told him to ring up to the room in an hour, which he did. She noticed his voice had a slight slur, not common, but since he didn't need to drive—they'd be taking a taxi—she thought nothing of it. 

"I'll meet you by the elevators in five," she said. She gave Don Ernesto a quick goodbye kiss on both cheeks, then a handshake and finally her requisite, "Ciao." 

She knew things had gone south the instant the elevator doors opened. She could spot trouble and there it stood in the form of her bodyguard. He gave her a hard stare, barely motioned his head in a non-assuming way and moved towards the exit at a slow jog. From that moment she was practically running to keep up with him. Chinga! He was her bodyguard, that were in Mexico City, not some rural pueblo, and he was running away from her. How absurd! 

As they tore out of the hotel's go-round doors onto the lavish drive-up entrance where the bellmen stood, a valet called out, "Taxi, señorita?" 

"No gracias!"

She quickened her pace to keep up. He was way ahead of her and moving fast. For a man his size, he could move.

"Carlos!" she yelled. He didn't turn around. Louder now, "Carlos!"

Then he did a quick twist and yelled back at her as he crossed the street, "Leave me alone. You're nuts! You're the one who's screwed up, not me."

She felt like she'd been hit in the gut with a baseball bat. Passing from the opposite direction was a well-dressed man, mid-thirties, who'd seen Carlos at a near run and Layla, striving to catch up. By this time they were sprinting. The passerby obviously sensed her anguish and called out in passing, "Don't believe him. He's the crazy one, not you."

At that moment she wanted to throw her arms around this total stranger and thank him because she wondered what mistakes she'd made, how much she herself was to blame for their explosive relationship. Somehow Carlos always managed to make her feel like crap no matter what. 

He was pulling ahead. She was losing him now. Damn the heels. He'd crossed yet another block and she was farther behind. She couldn't be alone on these streets; it was Mexico City for God's sake.

"Carlos!" This time she yelled it loud and long. To hell with anyone who might see her running after some man on the street like a common trollop. "Please stop!" 

At that he turned, gauged her distance, took off his coat and tucked it under his arm but moving all the while. He seemed surprised she wasn't farther behind. With that look she knew she had him. She ran with abandon as fast as she could and soon caught up. She was no lightweight but she couldn't be alone in a CDMX hotel room in her line of work. It was unacceptable. Of course she could handle a gun but that wasn't the point. Hijole! What the hell were they paying him for anyway? El Patrón insisted she have protection.

When she caught up with him he was breathing heavily. "Why did you chase me? Chinga!" 

"You will not leave me alone here!" she shouted, surprised by her own show of force. "Do I need to remind you? You're on the payroll." 

In retrospect she realized she should have taken Patrón up on his offer to reassign Carlos a few years back. Her uncle had a knack for reading people and no doubt sensed trouble. That suggestion was his way of letting them both off the hook. Otherwise, Carlos would surely have been expendable. You didn't quit the cartel. The cartel quit you. 

Hijole! Why hadn't she listened to Patrón? Oh, now it seemed totally clear: what she should have done. But back then, they were still too good together, at least in the bedroom. There was the sex, so much sex. The on-going sex, the break-up sex, the make-up sex. And yes, also the fighting and a whole lot of it. Drama and tears, walk-outs and disasters. Hurling names at each other like javelins. No brutality, just two screeching cats, fighting it out. 

Too late now, and this charade had gone on too long. What was it with the men in her life? Were they all pendejos? Did she pick these guys or did they pick her? Even Reynoldo, her brother, God rest his miserable soul. He'd also treated her like dirt. And how long ago was that? She'd been a teenager and he was dissing her back then. She needed one of those internet courses that taught self esteem. You could learn that, right? Or was she stuck in this loop forever, a mere doorstop, even though she commanded all negotiations in Mexico on cocaine and marijuana for the cartel? What the hell was going on? 

Maybe it was time to see Our Lady of Guadalupe at the Basilica of the Virgin. Do penance to Mexico's patron saint, and a woman at that. So maybe she was actually a goddess? Forget about the Virgin Mary. Sure Mexicans pretended they believed all that Catholic stuff. She'd even been forced to go to church herself when her father put her in parochial school before he died. 

Mexico's twisted alternate history ran through her mind. The conquistadors ravaged the land and converted the sinners, or so they thought. What was really happening centuries ago and to this very day was the sly coverup each and every Mexican knew so well. The Virgin Mary wore blue; their sacred and beloved Guadalupe wore blue. Yes, there was a close resemblance, but the dual icons were worlds apart in significance. Go into a church in any Mexican pueblo and who did you see about the altar? Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Mary, Mother of God. And Feast of Guadalupe, December 12th, was more revered that Christmas. 

Mexicans converted the various saints to align with their gods. Catholic holy days coincided with their sacred days. The missionaries were never the wiser. Not unlike the cartels, they were all about volume; they wanted to boast to the European powers how many natives now worshipped their savior. As part and parcel of the Catholic Church, they cared only about numbers. 

It was a thinly veiled conspiracy. The Mexican, Aztecs, the Nahuatl, the Maya, they all pretended they'd been saved by the blood of the Lord. But they had merely converted Christianity into their form of paganism. In Oaxaca, Chiapas, the mountains of Michoacán, where the indigenous people were strongest, that's where shaman still ruled the villages and the ancient calendar, Aztec or Maya, governed lives. Not the book of the Lord. The calendar was the way. And the local shaman, who at times would pose as a priest, served as every pueblo's mayor and major domo. He settled disputes, gave readings, sanctioned marriages, named children from their calendar make-up not unlike astrology, divined dreams, cured illnesses and helped choose life paths for his flock.

Lost in thought, she stared at Carlos, her hotheaded bodyguard and lover, still huffing from their Olympic style run. For some reason she flashed on shaman Don Cuauhtemoc's reading from so long ago: "The woman is coming." God, she hoped it actually meant something.

If you enjoyed this missing excerpt from Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, order a copy from Amazon. Also on Amazon, Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Find book two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Tulum Takedown, on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

WHAT MEXICO CARTEL'S QUEEN OF THE PACIFIC AND LAYLA NAVARRO HAVE IN COMMON

Sandra Avila Beltran (L) at Party

THE STUFF OF LEGENDS 

Though female Mexican cartel leaders are few and far between, there were one or two I'd heard about while living in Mexico. There was a hardened former federal police officer, Dona Lety, who had commandeered the Cancun Hotel Zone as her territory, wrenching it from the grips of the Gulf, Sinaloa and Los Zetas cartels. Her gang was involved with drug sales and extortions from bars and restaurants, even stooping to squeeze payments from lowly hammock makers. The Hotel Zone became her personal fiefdom. If business owners did not bend to her demands, someone could lose a finger. Even though she'd gone head to head with some major players, she was still small change in the big picture.

When the idea for Wheels Up, a narco thriller set in the Yucatan and Riviera Maya came to me I decided to go against type and cast a woman as top dog for Mexico's most powerful cartel. No Dona Lety for my novel, I wanted a jefe of jefes. It seemed a fitting insult to have macho cartel narcos paying homage to a boss woman. I loved the irony. 

And thus, like Athena, sprung from the head of Zeus, Layla Navarro was born.

I modeled Layla Navarro, my Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival protagonist, on Sandra Avila Beltran, known in the narco world as the Queen of the Pacific. 

Layla rises to the top of the fictional Culiacan cartel in Sinaloa, much as Sandra rose to the top of the Guadalajara cartel in that famous city. Layla's ascent happened after her uncle, cartel boss, was recaptured and sent back to prison. Since Rodolfo, her older brother and heir apparent, had been gunned down in an ambush a year earlier, Layla fell into the position. Her job was to secure and further the goals of the Culiacan cartel during her uncle's incarceration in Mexico City. 

Sandra Avila Beltran is the stuff of legends. Though her advancement happened over three decades, her rise to power was vertical. She participated in and had a front row seat to cartel activities, from private jets, clandestine plastic surgeries, murderous shoot-outs, money laundering, non-stop corruption and even a stunning bribe to a Mexican president for $100 million dollars. 

At the height of her career, Avila had a knack for carrying suitcases with millions of dollars in crisp Benjamins to make cartel payoffs. Born into narco royalty, much like Layla Navarro, she lived in opulence, a world of private schools, piano and dance lessons, trips to Disneyland. Her father, one of the founders of the Guadelajara cartel, even had her counting money as a child.

She said she'd spent so much time counting cash as a kid that she later turned that ability into a clever party trick: she'd grab a roll of bills, hold them up, and precisely calculate the value. 

Not as precocious as young Sandra, Layla Navarro grew up in her older brother's shadow. Fun and games were no part of her childhood and Layla was not even considered second best as her childless uncle ascended the ranks to head of the Culiacan cartel. Layla was third in line, after Rodolfo and second brother, geeky Martin. But the devastating ambush that took out her eldest brother brought her unique abilities to the forefront.

Neither Sandra nor Layla was removed from the terrors of life in cartel families. Sandra witnessed her first shootout at age 13. In an interview with The Guardian, she said, "At dawn you heard the music, the shootouts. It was when they killed people."

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

Both women had movie star looks and exuded a magnetism and sex appeal that welcomed them into the wide world of major drug cartels. They entered this haven of danger and wealth as connected power players.

Sandra Avila Beltran Age 19

Avila, once alleged to be Mexico's most famous female drug trafficker, became a household name known as Queen of the Pacific after her coolness during a 2007 police interview captured her on camera in a video that went viral. In it she came across totally unruffled by claims that she had been part of an operation to smuggle nine tons of cocaine across borders, insisting she was only a housewife with a side-hustle selling clothes and renting out properties. 

In spite of her protest, Avila was charged along with her lover, Colombian drug lord Juan Diego Espinosa, El Tigre. Authorities claimed she was one of the key cross-border links between the Sinaloa cartel and Norte del Valle cartel in Colombia. With the spotlight turned on to her alleged cartel activities, Avila's lifestyle and criminal career became the basis for the Mexican tele-novela, La Reina del Sur. 

Cartel royalty runs deep in Avila's veins. Her uncle, Felix Gallardo, controlled the illegal narcotics trade from Mexico to the U.S. for decades. If you watched Netflix's Narcos, Gallardo's presence and power is written all over the script. In Wheels Up, Layla's uncle has an ironclad grip on the Culiacan cartel and is known only as El Jefe.

OTHER PLANS

While Layla Navarro's career was always tied to her uncle's Culiacan cartel, early on, Avila distanced herself from her family's cartel ties. As a 17-year old she enrolled in journalism classes at Universidad Autonomia de Guadalajara, planning a career as an investigative reporter. But three years into her studies, a jealous boyfriend kidnapped her. And after this significant episode, once released, she left town, ending her hopes of a career in journalism. Instead, she turned to the drug underworld, bringing numerous skills: she was an extremely disciplined car driver, a master horseback rider, and a talented sharpshooter. Plus, she herself said she made the best of her ability to flirt.

A suitor once bought her a new pickup truck, left it at her house with an envelope containing $100 thousand dollars and a note that read, "Spend the money on a trip or anything you want." Shortly after that, at 21, she was linked with drug lord Amado Carrillo Fuentes, known as Lord of the Skies, a famous pilot who flew tons of cocaine for Felix Gallardo's cartel.

Sandra Avila Beltran At Home

She rose fast, her life became full-time cartel, and she was coveted by powerful and dangerous men at every step of the way. She avoided cocaine and drugs, stating to The Guardian, that if women use cocaine, "the men think you are just another disposable woman and you won't be respected." Layla Navarro shared those exact sentiments and never did drugs though she did enjoy her tequila.

DOUBLE STANDARD

Avila went on to say that men in the business would have harems of women and sexual freedom, but women had to maintain a personal code of ethics. As noted by Layla Navarro in Wheels Up, "Women are either Madonnas or whores." As a female power player at the top of their games they had to walk a tight line.

Gaining respect for both of these female narcas was paramount. Avila's climb to power included her gifting her son a Hummer on his 15th birthday along with a $40 thousand dollar allowance every three months. By this time, she'd met El Chapo, commanded a 30-car flotilla, and had won shooting exhibitions.

She seemed invincible. Until she wasn't. Her son was kidnapped in 2002, and when she paid the $5 million dollar ransom, the police became interested in her lifestyle. She went on the run and became a fugitive for many years. But her undoing came when she attended a fiesta for El Chapo high in the Sierra Madre Mountains. She arrived with an AK-47 in hand, wearing a baseball cap and no make-up and was seated next to El Chapo. The band playing for the fiesta composed a narco corrido about her and that was her undoing. The song, Party in the Mountains, became a hit, her anonymity was shattered, and bad luck followed.

ON THE LAM

Months later she was ambushed, made a run for it, ended up on the lam in a barrio and was rescued by a woman who gave her a change of clothes and 50 pesos for a cab. She continued on the run for three years but was finally caught with her new love, El Tigre. She claimed she was sold out by a business partner who had failed to pay her for an investment return. In retaliation for her questioning his honor, he handed her over to the government. 

She'd survived two husbands and a dead lover, but finally, justice caught up with her in 2007. She spent a good portion of the next decade behind bars, but her jail time wasn't the same as a regular civilian's jail time. She had 'guests' escorted to her cell where her three maids served food, alcohol and cigarettes. When interviewed by Jose Gerardo Mejia, the first journalist to speak to her once incarcerated, he described the prisoner "in four-inch heels, adorned in jewels, custom clothing, and fawning guards who treated her like a minor diplomat."

Avila Beltran in Interview, The Guardian

Though she had been sentenced to 70 months in federal US custody, she was eventually transported back to Mexico to carry out the balance of her sentence after pleading guilty to accessory after the fact for helping El Tigre, her love interest, reduce his sentence.

In Mexico she was sentenced to another prison term for money laundering but Mexico courts threw the conviction out in 2015 and she was given an early release. 

Though Layla avoids the law in Wheels Up, her infamous uncle is not so lucky. But he, too, had quite a different behind bars experience than his fellow inmates—a comfortable bed, fine linens, large screen TV, good food with his own chef, cigars, alcohol and women when he so desired.

OUT OF THE GAME

Avila was released from prison in Mexico in 2015 and immediately began recovering her contacts. With her fortune mostly buried, it's rumored, she hired a host of lawyers to recoup approximately 15 homes, 30 sports cars and an estimated 300 jewels. Now in her 60s and not shy about interviews, she was asked by Jonathon Franklin of The Guardian if she had any qualms about her career and the products that the cartels sell.

Her position is simple she said—each individual is free to partake in the drug world or abstain. "The statistics show more people die from alcohol than drugs and where alcohol is sold, no one feels remorse. No one is obliged to use," she said. 

And what about cartel related deaths? "They result from competition and the Mexican government's brutal assassination tactics. The government at times has to kill people because it is not convenient to imprison witnesses who could testify against them."

The problem, she insisted, was not those who can't leave the cartels but those who prefer not to. "There are people with loads of money who don't get out, don't want to. They like what they are doing, like a Formula 1 race car driver who says I do it because I like speed."

And how do politicians eradicate drug violence, the reporter aks. "First you attack poverty," she answers. "Poverty is what causes violence. First you become a delinquent, then you become violent."

In Wheels Up, when Layla Navarro checks in with her surviving brother to see how her uncle is doing in prison while she's on the run, he assures her all is well. While imprisoned, the guards have his back, the warden is in his pocket, and the politicians will do as they're told when beckoned.

"Aah yes," she muses, "because if they don't do his bidding, they and their families will be murdered across generations." When you deal with the cartels, the cards are never stacked in your favor.

Avila Beltran With Her Cosmetic Line

Sandra Avila Beltran is presently on TikTok promoting a line of cosmetics, and a documentary about her, titled The Queen of the Pacific has had 109 million views. With or without bodyguards and smuggling schemes, she's still the stuff of legends. 

 If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

A KENTUCKY DERBY BET AT A TIJUANA RACETRACK CROSSES PATHS WITH THE MEXICAN CARTEL

Churchill Downs, Kentucky Derby

In 1987, Mark "Miami" Paul, who had been watching and betting on horse-races since his teens, tuned in to watch a race at New York's prestigious Saratoga Racetrack. He couldn't take his eyes off Winning Colors, a two-year old gray filly who was bigger than most of the colts. She broke out of the gate and never lost the lead. Transfixed, he knew if the horse ever ran in his home state, California, he and his racing pal and bookie Dino would place bets on her.

Though Miami's day job was as a real estate broker, by the time one p.m. rolled around, he'd tidied us his desk and could make the first race at Santa Anita, 30 minutes from Los Angeles, with Dino. "I only had one skill," he told US Bets, "and that was knowing Dino Matteo, my best friend since I was 16 years old and the guy who introduced me to horse racing."

Mark "Miami" Paul circa 1988

FIGURING THE ODDS

"I know a special horse when I see one, but Dino's brilliant. He figured the odds. He studied racing forms and the horse's performance. He'd stay up late at night and watch replays. He might not place a bet for a while but when he had an edge, he'd double down. He was the best I'd ever seen. I learned to bet like Dino." 

Winning Colors did make it to California. She was scheduled to run at Santa Anita Park later on that year. Watching her beat out all the colts in numerous run-up races energized both Miami and Dino and fanned the flames of their obsession with the filly. She was kicking the stuffing out of every contender in race after race. The spell was cast: Maybe she could run in the Kentucky Derby.

THE KENTUCKY DERBY?

Their unlikely enterprise began to take shape. But planning six months in advance that an unknown soon to be three-year old filly could make the entrance requirements to the 114-year old Kentucky Derby sounded Pollyanna-like in the extreme. First off, only two fillies had won the Derby in the entirety of the race's history. And secondly, once entered, she'd have to beat out 19 other horses to bring home the bacon. The odds against Winning Colors were high.

But they held onto hope. One morning, Dino called Miami at 6:30. He was agitated, Miami said, and talking fast. "Listen, I was up all night running stats on her. She's so incredible she's starting to get noticed. They did a news article about her yesterday. Soon the odds on her will change. We've got to go to Tijuana, today."

Miami pushed back. "Vegas is closer and no border crossing." 

UNBELIEVABLE ODDS

"She's 12 to 1 in the future book betting in Vegas," Dino said. "But down in TJ, she's 50 to 1 at Agua Caliente. This is a chance of a lifetime! Pick me up and bring all the money you have. I'd like us to bet 2500 each. At 50 to 1 odds that gives us a payday of 250 grand."

Historic Agua Caliente

Even as semi-professional gamblers, Miami wrote in The Greatest Gambling Story Ever Told, they'd had wins in the past, but closer to five thousand dollars. He was skeptical. What were the chances an unknown filly could get entered in and win the Kentucky Derby? Plus at the time, 2500 was a lot of cash. Dino pushed back. "Just do it," he said.

After the four hour drive to the track they went to the gaming window and explained they wanted to play their future book—Winning Colors for the 1988 Kentucky Derby, 50 to 1 odds. Dino asked the guy to confirm it.

"The teller's eyes lit up," Miami said. "He stared at Dino and asked, 'You want to bet 2500 dollars that a filly will win the Kentucky Derby?'

"Dino answered, 'Yeah, I know it's crazy but I still want to place the bet on her.'" The last thing Miami remembered was Dino counting out 50 hundred dollar bills.

THE PLOT THICKENS

Now they had to wait five months hoping Winning Colors could win races that would earn her a spot to qualify for the Derby. One day Miami ran into a friend and he told him about his and Dino's bet. 

The friend said, "Dude, do you know who owns Agua Caliente? A member of the Arellano-Felix drug cartel. The track owner, Jorge Hank Rhon, uses it to launder money. It's going out of business fast. Even if they had that much money, what makes you think they're gonna hand over 250 thousand and let you waltz out of there alive? You guys are out of your minds."

Jorge Hank Rhon, Owner Agua Caliente

Miami said he worried about it for a minute then thought, what are the actual chances of Winning Colors even getting into the Derby? First she has to run and win a series of stakes races. And she'd have to run against Goodbye Halo, an up and coming champion in the initial qualifier at Las Virgenes.

GOODBYE HALO

The Las Virgenes Stakes Race day came and Winning Colors lost to Goodbye Halo by a head. Dino was devastated. He was worried she had to go up against 19 colts and win come Derby day. She had one final shot to make it into the Derby and that was winning at Santa Anita Oakes Derby in April where she'd be trotted out against the best colts on the West Coast. If she could come through that, she might have a shot at the Derby.

Santa Anita Racetrack exuded a typical sunny southern California vibe the day of the race and there was an expectant energy in the air. Miami and Dino were amazed at the crowd of seventy thousand—the stands were filled with women and girls who had come out to watch the filly run against the boys. She had a fan following."Girl Power"and "Go Girl Go" signs were everywhere.

FILLY POWER

"It was a cult scene. There was an electric energy," Miami told an interviewer for Snap Judgment. "Winning Colors had gained a following. We just hoped she could remain calm."

Jockey Gary Stevens on Winning Colors at Santa Anita, 1988

She was known to be bothered by loud noises; they rattled her nerves. The fellow gamblers settled in to watch the race, hoping the fans' screams wouldn't affect their filly's sense of well being.

"The other three-year olds were stirring and moving around in the cages, but Winning Colors was undisturbed. Then the race starts, and she breaks perfect like a waterfall out of a dam," Miami said. "She takes the lead from the beginning and she wins! By eight lengths! We're yelling, on to Kentucky!" 

JOURNALIST DOWN

But cloud nine didn't last long. Two days later Dino called and told Miami that a Mexican journalist named El Gato from a Tijuana magazine, Zeta, had been writing negative pieces about the owner of the Agua Caliente track, Jorge Hank Rhon. The journalist had been assasinated in his car, blown away with a shotgun on his way to work. The head of Agua Caliente security had been arrested for his murder along with Jorge Rohn's personal bodyguard.

El Gato, Hector Felix Miranda

Fear stuck its ugly head smack dab in the middle of their dream. Miami started to fear for both his and Dino's lives more so than cashing in on a bet. Now they're killing journalists who write stuff? Dino however was not content to walk away as the filly's star rose higher and higher. He decided they should go to TJ and watch the race at Agua Caliente on simulcast, the day of the Derby. They figured with thousands of people at the track that day, it was safer than going back a week later to collect a quarter of a million dollars with no one around.

The TJ race track was electrified on Derby day, mariachi bands mingled with merry revelers and street vendors. This Kentucky Derby in Louisville had attracted 135,000—the largest sports crowd in all the world. It was the toughest derby field in the last 30 years, and included an undefeated champion along with 16 notable colts as well as other Derby winners. Winning Colors was the sole female entry.

SERENE ON SIMULCAST

Miami and Dino spotted Winning Colors on one of the simulcast screens. She looked serene and calm. This was it: the 114th Kentucky Derby. The starter gun sounded and they were off. Within a quarter mile, their filly was running away from the others. Right from the start Winning Colors led the way. Turning towards home, she shortened her stride— she was tiring out, but she kept going. Down to the stretch, she hung on, and the photo finish proved her win by a neck. She won!

Photo Finish

After initial exhaltation, they knew they had work to do. They let the crowds settle before heading to the window to collect their earnings from the teller. "Oh, a big one," he said.

He had to get a supervisor. After a delay, he returned with his boss. "Hmm, that's a big ticket. No, not today. You'll have to come back."

Dino looked at the guy and said, "What do you mean, not today. It says Winning Colors to win the Kentucky Derby, 250 thousand dollars. You have to pay us."

RAINCHECK?

The guy shook his head. "No, you gotta come back."

Miami said, "You mean come back on Tuesday when nobody's here?" He looked over his shoulder and saw guards standing behind them, rifles slung over their shoulders.

He said to Dino, "We gotta get out of here. Not good."

At first Dino resisted but then he went along with Miami. They headed for the staircase; the guards were following. Miami said to Dino, "Run!"

They clambered down the staircase. Five guards clacked along behind them—they flew into the parking lot and jumped into Miami's car. He hit the gas doing 70 mph even before hitting the street. As they roared up the boulevard he shouted, "Look behind. Is anyone following us?"

THE CODE

With no one on their tail, they headed for the border. Dino was ticked off and kept yelling, "They broke the code. You always pay your gambling debts first."

They met the next morning for breakfast to talk. It came down to the gamblers' code. Since Dino had engineered the stats on Winning Colors and had essentially given them the win, Miami felt it was his job to bring home the bacon and get them back safe. Time to step up. Dino's job was done.

Their next move had to be orchestrated just so. Dino knew three professional fighters with martial arts skills. They decided to hire them for backup at the track that Tuesday. They'd bought six backpacks to carry the loot.

EL JEFE

After parking at the track Tuesday, Dino, Miami and their fighters passed three armed guards en route to the window. They handed the ticket to the teller; she immediately called for a supervisor once she saw what the ticket was worth. A well-dressed man in a suit appeared ten minutes later. He said, "Follow me. Gotta talk to el jefe. Only you two."

Dino frowned. "I don't like this," he said, as he motioned to their muscle to stand down.

Miami shrugged. "What can we do?" 

They followed him down a flight of stairs and through two sets of oak doors plus a third with a set of bars. It began to feel like a dungeon, Miami wrote. The guy opened another door. Inside it was dark. Through a cloud of smoke they could see a heavy set man sitting at a table in back, cigar in hand. He waved them in, indicating they should take a seat.

Without preamble he said, "We know who you are."

That spooked Miami, but he was quick with a response. "Yeah, we're good customers and we're here to cash our tickets."

"Wait a minute," the cigar smoker said. "We just want to be fair."

Rattled, Dino said, "Well then just give us our money. We won our bet. She won the Derby 50 to 1. Pay us, godamm it."

"Calm your little friend down."

THE CON

Things were spinning out of control. Dino spoke again, "Listen, we know all about you, too. We know all about Jorge Rohn. We know about your cartel connections. And before we came down today, we went to the LA Times and talked to a friend of mine who's a reporter. We told him about our tickets, we told him about Rohn. We told him about Winning Colors. We told him about winning our bets and we gave him a copy of our tickets. And if you guys don't pay us, you and your boss, Rohn, are going to be on the front page of every newspaper in LA tomorrow. They're going to know who he is, what you did to us, how you stole from us and it's not going to go away." 

El jefe seemed taken aback. "Give me a minute." He left the room.

After he left, Miami looked at Dino in total disbelief. "Where did that come from? That was brilliant, man."

He said, "I don't know, it just came to me. What do I have? I can't threaten him. But publicity? We're still gonna die, but it was a good idea."

Miami and Dino waited. Five minutes, ten minutes. Finally el jefe returned. "Come with me," he said.

They all marched back upstairs and at the counter, the teller proceeded to count out 250 thousand dollars. El jefe looked at them, gave a short nod and said, "We don't ever want to see you back here again."

Miami nodded back. "Agreed."

As they filled up the final backpack, Dino took out three hundred dollar bills and handed one to each of the guards before they walked down the hallway, the fighters trailing behind. Everyone got into their cars and booked it for the border.

THE FINISH LINE

As they got to the border, Dino looked right, Miami looked left, and were waved through on the Mexican side. At the US border they crossed without incident, and it was done. They'd just made 250 thousand dollars for a winning on Winning Colors at the Kentucky Derby.

By the time Miami arrived at Dino's house, they were too tired to celebrate. "I felt like we ran the Kentucky Derby ourselves," he said.

He gave Dino a hug and drove home. He climbed out of his car, walked inside, went straight to his bedroom and opened the backpacks. He spilled all the cash from their winnings onto his bed and called it a night.

Kentucky Derby 1988 Winner

"Seabiscuit" Meets "Narcos"

Mark Paul wrote about his and Dino's adventure in The Greatest Gambling Story Ever Told-A True Tale of Three Gamblers, the Kentucky Derby and the Mexican Cartel. When pitching it to film studios, he billed it as "Seasbiscuit" meets "Narcos." And there's a real possibility it may make it to the silver screen. Stay tuned.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

COPPER CANYON'S RECLUSIVE ENDURANCE RUNNERS—THE TARAHUMARA—FACE PRESSURE WHEN CONFRONTED BY MEXICO'S UNDERWORLD

 

Run like the wind. We've all heard the phrase, but perhaps those who best embody it are the Tarahumara Indian tribe of Urique, in Mexico's Copper Canyon.

Originally inhabitants of Chihuahua, the Taramuhara have lived five hundred years in the Copper Canyon region in the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains, retreating from their original home in central Mexico when Cortés and his Spanish invaders arrived. Not willing to wait around for trouble, the Taramuhara beat feet, literally, and ran as fast and as far away from danger as they could. This took them to the remote and difficult to access area now known as the Copper Canyon or Canyons in northwestern Mexico.

RARÁMURI

In their native language, they call themselves the Rarámuri, the light-footed ones. Their unique physical abilities were largely unknown to the outside world until 2009 when the book, Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes and the Greatest Race the World has Never Seen, made them famous. In remote communities where there are no roads, horses or burros, the only mode of transport was by foot, thus they ran everywhere.

Author Christopher McDougall wrote, "When it comes to running ultra-distances, nothing can beat a Tarahumara runner—not a racehorse, not a cheetah, not an Olympic marathoner." In his book, he describes a Tarahumara champion who once ran 435 miles and another who won a 100-mile ultramarathon in Leadville, Colorado, with casual ease.

Said fellow Leadville veteran Henry Dupre to "The New York Times," They run so beautifully that they seem to move with the ground. Like a cloud or fog moving across mountains."

Dupre also tagged the Taramuhara as "the kindest, happiest people on the planet," and "benign Bodhisattvas." 

DEFYING CONVENTION

Intriguing, no? Being among one of the world's most primitive Indians and among the world's best long distance runners, they defy convention. First of all, they prefer to run barefoot. In races, however, they are known to wear simple huaraches which they assemble from used tires that they bind together onto their feet with one long strap of leather. 

2006 estimates put their population between 50,000 and 70,000. Most still practice a traditional lifestyle, including inhabiting natural shelters like caves or cliff overhangs. Their diet is corn, beans, and squash, but they still do nomadic grazing of goats, sheep, and cattle. Almost all Rarámuri migrate from one place to another during the course of a year. 

SPANISH INVASION

Even though they initially escaped the Spanish invaders, by the 17th century, the temptation of gold and metals goaded the Spanish into establishing mines in the fierce country of the Tarahumara, making occasional slave raids to obtain mine workers. The Jesuits followed on their heels, expanded their missionary work, and founded a mission at the southern end of the Tarahumara territory. By 1648, the tribe had had enough and waged war against the invaders, destroying one of their missions. After this attack, they split into two groups. The northern group waged war against the Spanish but were defeated while the Jesuits, in the south, reported the Tarahumara were extremely resistant to evangelize. Their tenacity worked and by the mid 1700s most missions in their region ceased to operate. 

THE LEADVILLE TRAVEL ULTRAMARATHON

Fast forward. McDougall's book shone a spotlight on the Rarámuri with the1993 Colorado race, the Leadville Travel ultramarathon—attended by a worldwide crowd—set the stage for the Tarahumara's first act in 300 years. The Leadville ultra forces racers to run and climb one hundred miles over scrabbly trails and snowy peaks in Colorado's Rockies. It's closer to mountaineering than marathoning, says McDougall, and it continues all day and into the night. Runners grind along at 15 minutes a mile as they head towards Hope's Pass, a 12,600 foot peak. 

In "Runner's World," McDougall wrote, "Along with Polar-fleeced top guns at the starting line were a half dozen middle-aged guys in togas, smoking butts, and shooting the breeze, deciding if they should wear new Rockport cross-trainers they'd been given or their homemade sandals from scavenged tires from a nearby junkyard." 

According to McDougall, most opted for the sandals. And, he continues, they weren't stretching or warming up or showing the faintest sign they were about to start one of the most grueling ultramarathons in the world. In fact, most, he said, were nursing hangovers. 

MYSTERIOUS LEGEND

Their curious appearance matched the mysterious legend—they defy every known rule of physical conditioning and still speed along for hundreds of mile. The Tarahumara didn't work out, or stretch, or protect their feet. They chain-smoked fierce black tobacco, ate a ton of carbs and barely any meat, and chugged so much cactus moonshine that they were either drunk or hung over,  it's estimated, one-third of the year—one on their backs for every two on their feet—as explained by Dick and Mary Lutz in their book, The Running Indians. 

"Drunkeness is a matter of pride, not shame," wrote Dick and Mary Lutz. "And yet," the Lutzes insist, "There is no doubt they are the best runners in the world."

Running With the Ramámuri

SURPRISING THE SCIENTISTS

Leadville would test the Lutzes' claim, and once the starting gun sounded at 4.am., a sea of taller heads quickly swallowed the native runners who faded into the middle of the pack behind the world's most scientifically trained ultra runners. But as the sun rose and the course began the climb to Hope's Pass peak, the Tarahumara began to ease forward.

Not only were the Tarahumara gaining but they seemed to be getting stronger, said Joe Vigil, legendary American track coach who was at the ultra Leadville.

"They had such a sense of joy," Vigil would later say. And they had reason to be happy. At the finish line with a time of 20:03:33, 55-year old Victoriano Churro, farmer and oldest Tarahumara attendee, won the race at 20:03:33, followed by Cemido Charcarito in second, and Manuel Luna in fifth. The three Tarahumara were still bouncing along on their toes as they crossed the line. A year later, another Tarahumara runner won, Juan Herrera, finishing at 17:30:42.

Victoriano Churro, Winner Leadville 1993

VANISHED

Then, they vanished from the ultra running scene in the mid-90s, retreating to their canyon bottom homes and taking their miraculous distance running secrets with them. But one runner, the Caballo Blanco (White Horse), set out after them. The mysterious Blanco went to the Copper Canyons years ago to live among the Tarahumara. 

Blanco spoke with McDougall. "They eat beans, they drink a home-brewed corn beer which takes four pints to get you drunk, and they use it as a beer-based economy instead of cash. It can lead to good amounts of inebriation but they are also extremely hard workers.

"The Tarahumara," he continued, "just farm and party and run for fun, all the while staying in remarkable condition."

In 1971, physiologist Dale Groom ran cardiovascular tests on the adults and children, and concluded, as he'd write in "American Heart Journal," that probably not since the days of the ancient Spartans has a people achieved such a high state of physical conditioning. 

VITAL STATISTICS

Groom checked the pulse and blood pressure of Tarahumara runners during a five-hour race and found their blood pressure went down while running, and their average heart rate—in the midst of banging out eight-minute miles—was only 130 beats per minute. But what most impressed him was something that didn't register on his instruments: After running 50 miles, the Tarahumara didn't even look beat. They stood around and chatted while Groom pumped the diastolic cuff. 

Joe Vigil coached 19 national collegiate championship teams. Three advanced degrees hang on his office wall. He said nothing he's ever seen on the track or in physiology books left him prepared for what he witnessed at Leadville in 1993. The harder the Tarahumara fought their way through the Rockies, the more rapturous they became. Glee and determination are usually antithetical emotions, he said, yet the Tarahumara were brimming with both at once. It's as as if running to the death made them feel move alive. "It was quite remarkable," he commented. 

Heart disease, high blood pressure, and lethal cholesterol are virtually unknown among the Tarahumara, Vigil would later learn. So are crime, child abuse, and domestic violence. 

MAKING INROADS

In 1994, Caballo Blanco gave up his real name: Micah True. He was a gringo, though for a long while no one could pin a nationality on him. He said he'd had his own encounter with the Tarahumara at Leadville. He'd heard about their incredible performance the year before and wanted to see them in action for himself. But instead of competing, he offered himself as a guide. He teamed up with a Tarahumra runner over the back half of the course, he says, and "we spent the next ten hours together. Even though we didn't speak the same language, somehow we could joke and communicate."

Caballo Blanco aka Micah True (Runner's World)

After the race, he was as obsessed as Vigil with learning the Tarahumara secrets, and since nothing anchored True to his home in Colorado but an old Chevy pick-up and a one-man landscaping business, he could just hang out. But the tricky part, he learned, would be gaining access. The Tarahumara, for very good reason, refer to most outsiders as "white devils." They may let researchers monitor their hearts, but not look into them.

"I  did have one thing working for me," True aka Caballo Blanco said. "When you act out of love, good things happen. It's a law."

A NEW KIND OF RACE

The next part of this story is of a different kind of race—that of hauling a 50-pound backpack of marijuana across the border into the New Mexico desert.

With its remote location and few viable roads, the Copper Canyons have become an attractive hideout and throughway to the border for cartels. The best seller, Born to Run, had a staggering impact on the amateur-running world and its fame gave a painful twist to a formerly uplifting tale.

Copper Canyon (From WorldNomads.com)

Drug traffickers took notice and now exploit the very Tarahumara trait—endurance—that has been crucial to their survival. Cartel operatives enlist impoverished Tarahumara Indians to make a grueling odyssey running drugs by foot across the border into the U.S. 

UNLIKELY JOURNEY

Camillo Villegas-Cruz, 21, is languishing in a U.S. federal prison in California on the edge of the Mojave Desert. His unlikely journey from young athlete to drug mule shows a young man from a little-known tribe as just one of many being used by the cartels. The Taramuhara, catapulted into the limelight by a runaway best seller, are being ground down by forces out of their control, including Mexico's all-consuming drug war, a disastrous economy, and an unrelenting 70-year drought.

American defense lawyers on the southwest border say Tarahumara drug runners are a growing segment on their court-appointed clients. According to "Newsweek," Ken Del Valle, a defense attorney in El Paso, says he's represented more than a dozen of the tribe since 2007, all in similar backpacking cases. Statistics are impossible to come by as law enforcement doesn't differentiate between Indians and other Mexicans, but Del Valle says it is precisely the Tarahumara's aptitude for endurance running that makes them so heavily recruited. 

HARSH LANDSCAPE

But even in the best of times, many Tarahumara live on the edge, eeking out just enough to survive. Now farmers can't get most food crops to grow, and last winter an usual cold spell killed off much of what they did plant. That left them desperate—easy prey for wealthy drug barons looking for mules. 

Mexico's Copper Canyon Region

"It's tragic and disgraceful," says McDougall in a "Runner's World" article. "This is a culture that has tried its best to stay out of this mess, the messes of the world, and now the messes have come and found them."

"I can't even weigh the cultural impact of what the drug industry is doing to the Tarahumara," says Randy Gingrich, an American based in the city of Chihuahua for 20 years. He spends much of his time in the Sierra Madre and his NGO, Tierra Nativa, battles threats to the Tarahumara and other Indian tribes that come from miners, loggers, drug dealers, and the occasional tourist scheme.  He related that one former drug baron forcibly evicted Tarahumara from their ancestral homeland so he could build a giant Astroturf ski slope overlooking the 6,000 foot Sinfrorosa Canyon. The project fell through when the trafficker died in a plane crash.

But this is just one single situation in the manipulation of the Tarahumara that was dismantled by an act of fate. The drug trafficking will not stop. And unless the rains come and the economy recovers, young runners will continue to be coerced into tragic positions that may well lead to years in prison north of the border.

An unfitting end for a race that has tried to avoid the temptations of society, and live a life in peace. 

IF YOU ENJOYED THIS POST CHECK OUT—Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy is on Amazon.