In a Mexican state rife with drug cartel violence, civilian search groups dig through suspected grave sites, conducting the investigations that authorities have largely abandoned. More than 130,000 people have been reported missing in Mexico since 2006, according to official records, yet families of the missing have become the primary force searching for them. One group, the Guerreros Buscadores — the “Searching Warriors” — works in Jalisco state, a stronghold of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel.
The massive disappearances reflect not just cartel violence but years of stalled government investigations. The search collectives have become the de facto mechanism through which families gain closure and through which the scale of the crisis remains documented.
For hours under the blistering sun, Raúl Servín shovels and digs his way through days filled with pain, hope, and usually frustration. He is looking for his son, gone eight years now—and for all the other missing people in Mexico as well.
Servín, 54, lost his job when he started searching. Now he works as a waiter on weekends, funding his search efforts with money he cannot spare. But the most difficult parts of the search also offer ways forward—news that arrives via a skull, a mutilated body, evidence of closure in many respects. There is even joy now and then—even if it comes from a pit.
Every Tuesday, Servín loads a van with picks, shovels, water, and lunches. He picks up his three teammates for the day, then they venture into areas where the ground beneath their feet may hide the bodies of the missing. The group relies on anonymous tips received through their website and on a metal rod they call “the seer”—a rudimentary yet indispensable tool they have used for over a decade. They stick it into the ground and then sniff. If there is an organic smell, there is a clue.
The group’s danger is real and constant. Searchers operate with a “panic button” held by Servín that connects to a federal network to protect rights activists. At least 36 searchers have been killed since 2010, according to civil society organizations. The latest was killed in mid-March. Servín and his teammates venture into areas of Jalisco state where the Jalisco New Generation Cartel operates, often without advance security checks to avoid encountering drug cartel lookouts or gunmen. “That has happened before,” according to the Associated Press account.
A Day of Searching
On a recent day, an informant told them there was a body buried in a residential area near the outskirts of Guadalajara, the capital of Jalisco state. The information seemed reliable, so the group changed their plans. Hours of digging on the property yielded nothing. Then Servín stepped outside the apartment complex and walked between the wall and the train tracks. The ground was soft. He saw a hole with small rocks; it was strange.
He kneeled and gripped his shovel. A train passed. First he saw part of a skull. He began to dig out the soil with his shovel and his hands. “We’ve got a positive!” he shouted. The four searchers put on masks and gloves. A jawbone appeared. There was no doubt: it was a human being.
Servín showed his colleagues the head, holding it with utmost delicacy. They decided to keep digging to look for the full body. A bag of bones appeared. Then a shoe. Then a pelvis. They carefully placed each outside the pit. The women’s voices mingled as they spoke to the remains. “Hi baby, you’re going home soon,” one said. “Your family is waiting for you.” One lit a candle at the edge of the pit. To someone unfamiliar with violent environments, the scene might seem macabre. To those who witness it, it is an act of tremendous tenderness carried out by people who have been re-victimized by authorities for years.
Servín activated his panic button and talked to federal officials, confirmed his identity with a password, explained what he found, and noted the location. He requested hourly monitoring—which means a call to confirm everything is all right. Then he phoned the police.
The remains could not be his son, but hope is never entirely lost. Two weeks before this discovery, a mother found her son after seven years of searching. Servín thanks God that there are remains for DNA testing. When the Guerreros find bodies “in pieces,” he said, “What hits us hardest is to think that our children might be in those conditions.” But he also feels good. Because he knows there are answers there.
A System Overwhelmed
In Mexico, the results of a genetic test can take days or years to complete. The remains of one searcher’s brother—a searcher who is also Servín’s partner—have been at the forensic institute for six years. There has been a match, but the experts have not finished processing the remains from all the bags found back then. “It’s illogical,” he said. His anguish is evident. At 9 p.m., after the forensic team arrived and began its job, Servín pressed the panic button one more time to check in that he was home. “I arrive feeling at peace,” he said, “knowing the day was fruitful.”
More than 70,000 unidentified remains have piled up in morgues and cemeteries in Mexico. The government has said missing information for one-third of those disappeared makes it impossible to search for them at all. Nearly 20,000 missing people have been found dead since 2010.
The previous administration recognized the magnitude of the problem and launched official search commissions, but high levels of impunity and inaction persist. The current government has resisted international pressure to strengthen its response. President Claudia Sheinbaum visited the Jalisco area following violence in February over the killing of the cartel’s leader. She insisted that security for the World Cup would be guaranteed.
Searching Through the Tournament
The search collectives want to take advantage of the world’s focus on Mexico during the World Cup to draw attention to their reality. Servín says the tournament will not stop his work. “I love soccer,” he said, “but that’s not going to stop me from going out to search.”