“There Is No Law”
In Juárez, where drugs flow freely, eighteen gangland-style executions since July 4 isn’t a horrifying anomaly; it’s business as usual.
WALKING THE BRIDGE FROM EL PASO into Ciudad Juárez, America’s number one narcocorridor, means stepping into a world that is many times more vibrant and violent, richer and poorer, yet still strangely invisible from the other side. A vendor hawking crucifixes runs from the police. A preacher waving a Bible shames three painted girls. The rust-colored hand of a beggar pokes out from beneath an Indian shawl. A four-year-old boy in a Joe Camel cap wanders the streets after midnight while his father sings $2 love songs. And then there are the dead bodies the famous and the infamous and the anonymous gunned down in restaurants, stuffed in trunks, dumped in the street, sometimes choked with wire or burned by acid, often with their hands taped, legs bound, and heads hooded, all in the name of feeding our appetite for drugs. Th