Cartel Conflict in Mexico Turns Women Into Strategic Targets Amid Rising Violence

Nearly a year has passed since Nadia Berrelleza’s younger sister Cecilia vanished, yet sleep continues to elude her. Each night, she dedicates herself to uncovering clues, retracing Cecilia’s final movements, and examining unsettling messages, photographs, and videos that claim to depict her sister’s fate.

Among the materials she received was an image showing a young woman with long, curly black hair—strikingly similar to Cecilia’s—blindfolded and kneeling, surrounded by armed men. Authorities determined the photograph was artificially generated. A separate video sent via Facebook depicted a woman being sexually assaulted, accompanied by a demand for ransom.

“I know her face perfectly,” Berrelleza said. “I could never have believed it was her. But it’s still so horrible to see that.”

Cecilia Berrelleza, 31, disappeared in July 2025 after meeting friends for lunch in Mazatlán, located in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. Since then, Nadia has tirelessly appealed to both authorities and the public, even offering her car as a reward in desperate hopes of finding her sister. While these efforts have yielded numerous tips, they have also attracted opportunists who seek to exploit her anguish with false claims about Cecilia’s whereabouts.

Her case reflects a broader pattern of escalating violence targeting women throughout Sinaloa—a region now recognized as the most dangerous in Mexico for females. The surge in attacks mirrors intense internal conflicts within the Sinaloa Cartel, whose ongoing factional warfare has destabilized security and instilled fear across the state for over two years. In this volatile environment, lines between domestic abuse, gender-based violence, and cartel retaliation frequently blur.

In 2024, 105 women were murdered in Sinaloa—the highest number in 14 years and nearly double the previous year. Additionally, 299 women went missing. Of those killings, 73 were investigated as femicides—the legal term for crimes motivated by gender bias. By July 2025, Sinaloa once again topped national statistics for female homicides, with 153 reported disappearances.

Across the state, women face threats in nearly every aspect of daily life. Many are killed by current or former partners within their own homes. Others fall victim to targeted assassinations in broad daylight or become collateral damage during clashes between rival cartel factions. Some vanish without a trace; others endure abduction, torture, and execution before being buried in secret graves—or never recovered at all.

Tragically, most of these cases remain unresolved. Overextended investigators struggle to keep pace amid the escalating cartel conflict, according to experts. Lydia Ojeda, a researcher at the Autonomous University of Sinaloa who specializes in femicide studies, found that only 8 percent of all femicide cases between 2015 and 2024 resulted in convictions.

This alarming statistic echoes a nationwide crisis. Research groups report that approximately 95 percent of violent crimes—including homicides—go unpunished in Mexico, underscoring systemic failures in law enforcement and judicial response.

Faced with such widespread impunity, families often take matters into their own hands—becoming amateur detectives, conducting searches, and pursuing leads at great personal risk.

Berrelleza has taken extraordinary measures to find her sister. After receiving a tip suggesting Cecilia might be coerced into working for a cartel faction, she disguised herself as a man and traveled to a remote ranch near Mazatlán. There, she found herself confronted by armed guards on motorcycles before fleeing the scene immediately.

On another occasion, following whispers that Cecilia was being held captive in a stash house, Berrelleza assumed the persona of a homeless individual, pushing a cart while muttering to herself to avoid suspicion. Although police later raided the property and discovered firearms and narcotics, no sign of Cecilia emerged.

“This is a nest of the snakes,” Berrelleza lamented. “The good guys are outnumbered by the bad guys, and even the authorities are afraid. No one can really help us.”

Despite mounting frustration, Berrelleza has developed her own theory regarding Cecilia’s disappearance.

According to her account, Cecilia went to lunch with three female friends. Later that day, one of the women drove the group to her boyfriend’s residence. Surveillance footage allegedly captured Cecilia and another friend being handcuffed and forcibly escorted into a vehicle.

Berrelleza suspects the woman behind the wheel was affiliated with one of the warring factions of the Sinaloa Cartel. She believes this intermediary recruited young women through promises of wealth, travel, and luxury, ultimately delivering some to cartel members for sexual exploitation. However, authorities have not named the driver as a suspect. Court documents show the woman claimed she herself was kidnapped and released after three days.

Local law enforcement and prosecutors declined to comment on the ongoing investigation.

While details surrounding Cecilia’s fate remain uncertain, her story illustrates how women are increasingly entangled in the cartel ecosystem—not only as victims but also as recruiters, couriers, and collaborators. Their dual roles complicate traditional narratives of innocence and guilt, reflecting the moral ambiguity fostered by organized crime.

Experts argue that Mexico’s deepening security crisis has relegated violence against women to a lower priority for state institutions, leaving perpetrators emboldened and survivors with fewer avenues for protection or justice.

“It is a perfect storm that turns women into easy prey,” Ojeda observed. “Whether the aggressor is a cartel member or an estranged spouse, the conditions are always the same: impunity, institutional neglect, and a society consumed by violence.”

During a recent interview in Culiacán, the capital city of Sinaloa, Ojeda described the atmosphere when a nearby shooter approached a 23-year-old woman seated outside a flower shop and executed her in broad daylight—an attack that occurred simultaneously with our conversation.

Such incidents have become routine across the region, normalizing violence and instilling perpetual fear among residents.

In March 2025, 26-year-old Vivian Karely Aispuro attended a party with her sister and friends. She never returned home. Seventeen days later, her body was discovered lying beside a dirt road in Culiacán.

According to prosecutors, Vivian’s ex-boyfriend—who has since been charged with her murder—struck her repeatedly with a beer mug before abandoning her to bleed out. Family members believe a female acquaintance may have drugged Vivian and delivered her to the suspect’s home. Despite these allegations, the woman was never formally investigated as a co-conspirator.

Family members reported that the same individual returned Vivian’s freshly laundered clothing days after her disappearance, claiming she had insisted on visiting her ex-partner. Prosecutors did not respond to requests for further comment.

Alma Daniela, Vivian’s sister, reflected on the transformation her sibling underwent during the course of their relationship. The man in question had previously faced charges in a separate woman’s murder in Las Vegas. Under his influence, Vivian grew withdrawn, anxious, and deeply insecure about her appearance. She pursued cosmetic enhancements, restricted her diet severely, and lived in constant fear.

“Her relationship with him changed her completely,” Alma Daniela recalled. “Things she once loved about herself and her body, she began to hate.”

Within the context of Sinaloa’s deadly cartel war—which has claimed over 4,000 lives—women have emerged as both valuable assets and critical vulnerabilities. Their intimate connections to traffickers often grant them access to sensitive intelligence, making them indispensable—and expendable.

Interviews with four anonymous cartel operatives—including three men and one woman—revealed insights into the evolving dynamics shaping the uptick in female casualties. Speaking under strict confidentiality due to the illegal nature of their affiliations, they described an organization gripped by paranoia amid intensified government pressure.

In this atmosphere of distrust, the operatives explained, women increasingly find themselves abducted—not necessarily for profit or sport, but out of fear that they possess compromising knowledge. They may have witnessed clandestine meetings, overheard conversations, or maintained relationships with individuals deemed suspicious by rival factions.

Some women are targeted simply for rejecting advances from powerful figures, maintaining friendships with the partners of accused traffickers, or dating rivals. Others disappear after inadvertently crossing paths with high-ranking members.

One notable example involved Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel. Intelligence operatives tracked his location using data gathered from his romantic partner, leading to a fatal confrontation with federal forces earlier this year.

Prior to the escalation of hostilities, women typically performed auxiliary functions within cartels—laundering money, transporting communications, guarding contraband. However, as veteran gunmen are eliminated or incarcerated, traditional gender roles have shifted dramatically. Women now occupy positions once reserved for men, organizing kidnappings, overseeing interrogations, and in some instances, carrying out executions firsthand.

A 40-year-old female operative currently oversees payroll distribution for cartel operatives in Culiacán—a role previously dominated by male intermediaries.

Rival factions often resort to targeting the loved ones of their adversaries—wives, girlfriends, sisters, mothers—not merely for vengeance, but to instill terror and communicate dominance.

“Women are killed because they saw something, heard something, or knew too much,” the operative noted. “Sometimes, silence isn’t enough.”

Before joining the cartel network, the woman operated a nail salon in Culiacán. Economic hardship caused by prolonged instability prompted her transition from entrepreneurship to illicit enterprise. Initially assisting her partner in smuggling goods, she eventually accepted a full-time position within the organization.

She explained how her gender afforded strategic advantages in navigating checkpoints and avoiding detection. “If you’re a woman driving with a child in the car, they won’t search you,” she said. “Police or military just wave you through.”

The normalization of violent tactics has led some perpetrators to mimic cartel-style executions in attempts to obscure motives or deflect blame onto criminal organizations.

This tactic came into play in late December 2024, when Barbara Yáñez Uriarte and her 5-year-old son Dante were brutally slain inside their home. According to prosecutors, Dante’s estranged father broke into the house, stabbing both victims multiple times before placing their bodies beneath the Christmas tree and setting fire to the building.

Initially, investigators suspected cartel involvement due to the dramatic nature of the crime scene. However, the suspect remains incarcerated pending trial, according to court records.

Standing in the charred remains of her childhood home, Barbara’s mother Lucero Uriarte expressed profound grief. “He killed my daughter; he killed my grandson,” she whispered softly. “And he killed me too. I’m already dead inside.”

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