In failing to snuff out vigilantism, Mexico is runningbig risks
自發群眾運動遏制失敗,墨西哥厝火積薪
THE rule of law has long been a stranger to the sweltering lowlands known as the Tierra Calientein the Mexican state of Michoacan. The site of battles over land in the 1940s and 1950s, thearea suffered an exodus of migrant workers to California. In the 1970s the drug trade tookroot there, attracted by the proximity of the por to fLazaro Cardenasand the remoteness ofthe federal government inMexico City. Not content with trafficking methamphetamines, thelatest mafia to lord it over the Tierra Caliente, the whimsically named “Knights Templar”,established a tight grip over its invertebrate society, co-opting local authorities, extortingprotection money and raping women.
That proved too much for the Tierra Caliente's ranchers and lime-growers. A year ago theyrebelled, forming “self-defence groups”. These vigilantes now control 26 of Michoacan's 113municipal districts. When earlier this year they threatened to storm Apatzingan, a town of99,000, President Enrique Pe?a Nieto dispatched a federal official, Alfredo Castillo, and a squadof federal policemen. Mr Castillo struck agreements with the vigilantes: they will be vetted, intheory at least, and then join an ill-defined “rural defence corps” under the army's aegis.
The vigilantes have attracted sympathy from right and left inMexico, which see them aslegitimate expressions of popular desperation in the face of mafia violence and official neglect.The government seems perplexed. Mr Castillo said he would restore order “in 15 days”, butthere is no sign that he has a thought-out strategy to deal either with the vigilantes or thelawlessness that spawned them.
That is alarming, especially since the germ of vigilantism has appeared elsewhere inMexico.Experience in other Latin American countries suggests that Mr Pe?a's people risk dallying with amonster.Colombiais the most notorious case. In the 1980s landowners and ranchers, faced withattacks by left-wing guerrillas, organised vigilante groups. These quickly mushroomed into theUnited Self-Defence Forces of Colombia, a national organisation of over 20,000 paramilitarieswho slaughtered tens of thousands of civilians and stole their land while morphing into drug-trafficking outfits. Although most disbanded after a government security build-up, remnantshave murdered more than 60 farmers to thwart efforts to restore stolen land to its rightfulowners.
On the face of things, Peru's experience of vigilantism was more successful. Villagers inCajamarca, in the country's northern Andes, formed rondas campesinas (a sort ofneighbourhood watch) in the 1970s, to tackle cattle-rustling and rural crime. Further south,around Ayacucho and theApurimac valley, in the 1980s and 1990s the army fostered lightlyarmed peasant self-defence committees. These helped defeat the Shining Path, a Maoistguerrilla group.
Although the Shining Path has long since faded, the vigilantes are stronger than ever. In theApurimacvalley, they have turned into well-armed militias of coca growers. In Cajamarca therondas are now led by rural schoolteachers from a far-left party; they battle mining companiesand are the real power in the land, says Rubén Vargas, a security consultant.
The common element in all three countries is the weakness of law enforcement in rural areas.That is what tempts governments and security forces to ally themselves with vigilantes. Thiscan bring short-term results against guerrillas or drug-traffickers, but in the long run it makesthings worse. As Mauricio Romero, a political scientist at Javeriana University in Bogota, pointsout, once vigilantes acquire coercive power, the temptation to use this for private ends—revenge attacks, drug-trafficking or other criminal activities—is simply too great.
The embryo of the monster is already implanted in the Tierra Caliente. The self-defence forcesturn out to have members with dubious pasts and the kind of weaponry—assault rifles andimprovised armoured cars—that is the trademark of narcos. They have split into warringfactions, and are imposing and ejecting mayors.
Mr Pe?a entered office with one big new idea on security: speedily to set up a ruralgendarmerie of at least 40,000 troops, retrained as policemen, fromMexico's unnecessarily largearmy. By putting bodies on the ground and protecting the politicians and judges, this forcewould have been tailor-made for Tierra Caliente. But the army and state governors killed theplan. Instead, a much smaller gendarmerie of 5,000 civilian recruits will launch later this year.That seems too little, too late. For all its recent successes against drug kingpins, the politicaldefeat over the gendarmerie may come to haunt Mr Pe?a and his administration.