Cultura Narco

TIJUANA, Mexico – There likely won't be a hit ballad about drug runner Enrique Solis Mejia. Too bad, but the dumb chump arrested by soldiers with a truckload of marijuana doesn't rate as much of a hero in a country obsessed with its narco-culture.

Still, at a recent news conference at the army base here to show him off, a journalist/singer gave it a shot with something like: Oh they caught him in his big truck With a load of dope, They took him down, took him down Gone forever, poor Enrique.

Journalists fell over laughing (soldiers held it in) because everyone understands the depth to which the narco-world has penetrated Mexico's pop culture.

The drug environment is so ubiquitous in Mexico, a new vocabulary invades the lexicon, beginning with narcocultura. Narcocorridos are ballads about the cartels and adding the prefix "narco" describes everything from soap operas to sellers who offer drugs and soft drinks on corners.

Drug traffickers become icons, popularized through songs, movies and the media, because they are flamboyant, charitable, often evade capture or die in stunningly brutal ways that, with each telling, become more surreal.

Mexico's most wanted drug fugitive, Joaquin (El Chapo) Guzman, made Forbes magazine's list of billionaires earlier this year, his estimated worth of $1 billion (U.S.) putting him in spot No. 701.

In March, Forbes senior editor Luisa Kroll commented that, "unfortunately ... Guzman could not be reached for comment."

Every drug lord has a nickname, and "El Chapo" means stocky. He's been on the run since 2001, when he escaped from prison, apparently in the back of a laundry truck. The legend grows. A failure to claim the $5 million reward on his head since 2001 speaks to Guzman's continued grip on the narco-world.

Thought to be head of the Sinaloa Cartel, one of the oldest in the country, he reportedly continues to rake in billions in drug revenues from his unknown whereabouts, just as he apparently did from jail.

There's more to narco pop culture, however, than meets the eye, History has taught Mexicans not to trust authority, and drug gangs embody that sentiment. People find their heroes in the lucha libre wrestling ring or in the narco-world.

There's a crossover between songs about narcos and the tough lives of impoverished people who struggle to support families, and often pay a price at the hands of the police.

In his 2002 book, Narcocorrido: A Journey into the World of Guns, Gangs and Guerrillas, author Elijah Wald examined songs about drug lords, police battles and shootouts, as well as those about events in communities. He includes "Massacre at El Charco," sung by the popular Parjaritos del Sur.

It's about 11 indigenous farmers gunned down in a church, allegedly by soldiers, in the Guerrero mountain region of Ayutla in 1998. "What happened at El Charco, we'll never forget," say lyrics that are blunt about the murder of innocents.

The narcocorridos tell of drug lords who come from small towns themselves and understand the misery of the people. While sympathy for narco kings has eroded in recent years with the all-out carnage from drug wars that impacts in civilian killings, that attitudinal shift has not impacted narco-culture.

The Robin Hood tradition is old in Mexico, most famously in Jesus Malverde, a bandit from Sinaloa state who was hanged in 1909. It's said drug gangsters now pray to "the angel of the poor" like a patron saint, asking for protection for a cocaine run or a hit.

Visitors bring flowers and leave poems at his grave in the Sinaloa city of Culiacan.
The narco-world is mysterious, bizarre and, at its core, fascinating – at least as portrayed by pop culture.

Take Amado Carrillo Fuentes. Is he dead? Supposedly. The head of the Juarez Cartel checked into an exclusive private hospital in the north end of Mexico City in 1997 for a little plastic surgery – a 14-hour plastic makeover – with liposuction thrown in.
A new look, a new man, a new life.

However, complications arose in recovery when, according to reports, a bodyguard either smothered him with a pillow or a relative slipped a lethal dose of something into his IV.

Perhaps. But just as fervently believed is the legend the "Lord of the Skies" is alive and enjoying an estimated $25 billion in career profits.

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