The Curse of Municipal Presidencies in Mexico

In most instances, Chilpancingo, the capital of Guerrero, would remain a relatively quiet, overlooked dot on Mexico's map. Representing just 3.5% of the state's territory and housing only eight out of every thousand Guerrero residents, the city lacks any significant tourist allure or strategic importance for migration routes. Yet, this seemingly peripheral municipality has found itself at the heart of a brutal struggle involving drug cartels and organized crime. The mystery: Why do cartels vie for control over this impoverished, small, and economically insignificant city?

This haunting question resurfaced with grim urgency on October 6, when the severed head of Mayor Alejandro Arcos was discovered atop a pickup truck, just six days into his term. It was the latest in a series of killings that have sent shockwaves through the region. Seventy-two hours earlier, Francisco Tapia, the city's general secretary, had been gunned down. Before that, Ulises Hernández, slated to be the city's next municipal security chief, was shot dead.

These high-profile assassinations bore the unmistakable signature of the mafia, and they are far from random. At the center of the storm is the federal program "Ramo 33," a once well-intentioned policy now caught in the crosshairs of organized crime. Ramo 33, intended to empower local governments, has turned into both a blessing and a curse for Mexican municipalities, including Chilpancingo.

The Curse of "Ramo 33"

Established in 1998, Ramo 33, officially titled Federal Contributions for Federative Entities and Municipalities, was designed to give municipalities greater financial autonomy by granting them federal resources to address local needs. In theory, this fund allows local governments to decide how best to allocate money for public works, such as infrastructure projects, parks, and social services. In reality, however, it has become an irresistible target for organized crime, which has learned to infiltrate municipal governments and divert these funds for illicit purposes.

As an active lieutenant stationed in Guerrero, who requested anonymity, explained, organized crime views Ramo 33 as a treasure chest waiting to be plundered. Cartels either coerce mayors into siphoning off portions of the fund or eliminate them if they refuse to cooperate. "If the mayor of Chilpancingo—or any municipality, for that matter—agrees to hand over Ramo 33 to organized crime, they'll survive their term. But if they don't, they’re dead," he said bluntly.

The competition for control of public funds like Ramo 33 fuels much of the violence in Guerrero. The scenario has played out repeatedly, not just in Chilpancingo but across the state and beyond. It's a phenomenon where organized crime uses its leverage to capture public budgets, primarily by dictating how federal resources are spent.

Organized Crime’s Infiltration of Local Government

For Chilpancingo, which is set to receive 357 million pesos (about $19.5 million) from Ramo 33 this year alone, the stakes are enormous. That’s nearly one million pesos per day under the control of the mayor and his team. Tragically, this power has turned the office of mayor into a high-risk, short-lived position. With money comes danger, especially when criminals see an opportunity to exploit government resources.

The most vivid example of this dynamic is the Baltazar R. Leyva Mancilla municipal market, a local hub where vendors are forced to pay extortion fees to operate. Each new administration announces improvement projects for the market, using Ramo 33 resources to finance the renovations. But behind the scenes, the real cost of these projects is often grossly inflated, with organized crime pocketing the difference. This pattern of overpricing and skimming public funds for private gain has become almost ritualistic.

Alejandro Arcos, the newly elected mayor, was no stranger to this reality. During his campaign in May, Arcos proposed revitalizing the municipal market, a promise echoed by his predecessor, Norma Otilia, who found herself at the center of a scandal after being photographed dining with Celso Ortega Jiménez, the leader of Los Ardillos, a violent splinter group of the Beltrán Leyva cartel. The shadowy influence of Los Ardillos is deeply entrenched in Chilpancingo, and it is widely believed that the group dictates terms to local officials about how Ramo 33 funds should be spent—and how much will be pocketed by the cartel.

Arcos’ brutal murder is believed to have occurred after a meeting with unidentified figures from Los Ardillos. The mayor had ventured alone into the cartel’s stronghold in Petaquillas, only to be found dead hours later. His killing serves as a grim reminder of the impossible choices faced by local officials in Guerrero: hand over public money to organized crime, or face deadly consequences.

Chilpancingo’s plight is not unique. The National Defense Secretariat has identified at least six other criminal groups operating in Guerrero’s capital, each vying for control of public budgets like Ramo 33. Among these groups are Los Rojos, the Cartel del Sur, and Los Tlacos, a particularly sophisticated organization that has mastered the art of infiltrating municipal contracts.

One particularly audacious example is the creation of a sanitary landfill intended to serve the municipalities of Chilpancingo, Tixtla, and Zumpango. The project, ostensibly funded by Ramo 33, was fraught with corruption, with costs inflated to benefit the cartel Los Tlacos. Not only did the cartel profit from the construction, but it also took control of the landfill’s administration. Worse still, the landfill is suspected of doubling as a clandestine mass grave, a tragic illustration of how deeply organized crime is entwined with seemingly mundane public projects.

Auditors tasked with overseeing these projects face tremendous obstacles. Many are barred from inspecting sites, while others are threatened into silence. With criminal groups establishing a foothold in local government, even basic transparency becomes impossible, allowing corruption to thrive in the shadows.

A System Built for Exploitation

The brazenness of organized crime in exploiting Ramo 33 extends far beyond infrastructure. Criminal groups have diversified their investments and created front companies that act as municipal contractors. Everything from school renovations to police station upgrades becomes an opportunity for cartels to skim money. In some cases, cartels force municipal governments to buy materials from businesses they own, creating a network of “legal” companies that serve as fronts for money laundering.

The story of Chilpancingo’s slaughterhouse is emblematic of this scheme. According to Bishop Emeritus Salvador Rangel, former mayor Norma Otilia made a deal with Los Ardillos to funnel Ramo 33 funds into an overpriced renovation project for the slaughterhouse. In exchange, the cartel ensured that all materials for the expansion were purchased from companies it controlled. This intricate web of corruption and coercion has allowed organized crime to profit not once, but twice—first through the inflated project cost, and second through the sale of materials.

This pervasive infiltration of local government underscores a broader reality across Mexico. From the construction of wells to the remodeling of schools and parks, organized crime has turned public works projects into lucrative enterprises, fueling a deadly cycle of violence. The result is a chilling landscape where the lives of mayors, public officials, and everyday citizens are continually at risk.

The violence surrounding Ramo 33 is a stark reminder of the limits of decentralization in the face of deeply entrenched criminal networks. What was designed as a program to promote financial autonomy for local governments has instead become a magnet for corruption and violence. For mayors like Alejandro Arcos, who dare to resist organized crime, the price is often fatal.

As Guerrero’s capital city remains embroiled in a bloody war over public funds, the question persists: How can local governments reclaim control of their resources from the grip of organized crime? In Chilpancingo, as elsewhere in Mexico, the answer seems tragically elusive.