By: Andrea Noel
Republished from The Daily Beast
TIJUANA—After a long day
of driving and livestream reporting from the narco hotbed of Guerrero state,
Cecilio Pineda Birto took his dusty car to a local carwash in the sleepy little
riverside town of Pungarabato on Thursday evening.
There, while Pineda was
resting in a hammock and waiting for his newly washed car, two men opened fire
on him then fled the scene on a motorcycle with the murder weapon in hand.
But the closest
witnesses to the attack—the carwash attendants—were not questioned by
authorities, as they immediately went into hiding, state attorney general
Xavier Olea Peláez said.
First responders were
unable to revive the journalist, who had reported for local and national media
outlets like La Voz de Tierra Caliente and El Universal. He was soon after
pronounced dead, just past 7:30 p.m.
Pineda covered the
crime beat and had made a name for himself as a fearless journalist working to
keep his community informed, often livestreaming on-the-scene reporting to his
more than 31,000 Facebook followers, as he did on Thursday, just hours before
his death.
That afternoon, while
driving along a Guerrero highway, cellphone in hand, he complained in a
livestream about the local and state government’s inaction, corruption, and
collusion with dangerous and organized criminals—as he so often did.
His target in what
would be his final video was Raybel Jacobo de Almonte, a criminal more commonly
known as El Tequilero—the subject of an ongoing, statewide, months-long, failed
manhunt. More specifically, he spoke out against the authorities and public
officials who are believed to grant Almonte official protection and collude
with his criminal underlings.
“Even the hitmen for El
Tequilero … have revealed his location,” Pineda said, referring to the feared
criminal organization known as Los Tequileros. “The government does not want to
arrest them, even though they know exactly where they are.”
“They know where El
Tequilero is. They know who El Tequilero is with right this moment. And the
hitmen are informing on where the safe houses are. But, still, no, even with
that information they are refusing to go after them,” he said while driving,
sharing a combination of common knowledge and news he had gathered in the
course of his reporting.
“I understand,” he
said, expressing sympathy for some of the authorities who were refusing to act.
“Only those of us who have survived attacks or kidnappings and have been
threatened understand the situation.”
The former mayor of
Pungarabato, where Pineda was murdered, was ambushed on a highway and executed
last July after announcing that he had been threatened repeatedly by organized
crime. His driver and one other civilian were killed in the ambush, and two
federal police escorts also were injured.
Pineda often denounced
threats of violence against him and his family. And, in fact, had himself
narrowly escaped with his life a year and a half ago when armed men broke into
his home, threatening his pregnant wife and young son while the reporter happened
to be away.
In the nearby city of
Taxco de Alarcón, the journalist Francisco Pacheco Beltrán was gunned down in
front of his home on a Monday morning last April. He too had gone after
authorities and criminals alike.
In Pineda’s final
reports, he reminded the guerrerenses of the widespread collusion of state
authorities with El Tequilero, which has created an atmosphere of crisis.
Nearly 100 schools closed their doors last week across the state, joining
dozens that have remained shuttered for weeks, in protest against the impunity
the authorities have allowed El Tequilero and the violence affecting daily life
in Guerrero.
“I’m just telling you
what I know, and what I’ve heard, and the information that I’ve gathered,”
Pineda said, while reminding his audience that local
mayor-turned-state-congressman Saúl Beltrán Orozco of Mexico’s ruling PRI, or
Institutional Revolution Party, has personal and provable ties to El Tequilero.
The prominent
politician was among those in attendance at the party for El Tequilero’s son’s
baptism, Pineda reminded his viewers, referring to a video filmed in 2014
during the celebration in San Miguel Totolapan.
In the video, Orozco,
who at the time was the town mayor, can be seen seated at a table with El
Tequilero chatting with one of the state’s most wanted men.
A half-dozen men stood
guard holding machine guns—cuernos de chiva, or “goat’s horns” as they are
known colloquially because of the curved magazines of the AK-47s. The
mayor-turned-congressman grabbed the microphone, as the video shows, to
personally thank the wanted man, whom he called “my friend El Tequi.”
Yet, despite this
irrefutable evidence, Orozco still insists that he does not know the drug gang
leader, and he continues to enjoy political protection while claiming he’s the
one being persecuted.
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