‘El Mayo’ Zambada’s interview with writer Diego Enrique Osorno: ‘We are engaged in a business that America needs. That’s what we do’

It was 2021 when Mexican reporter and documentary filmmaker Diego Enrique Osorno suddenly found himself in the middle of a somewhat peculiar situation. On the one hand, the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) had invited him to participate in a voyage across the Atlantic on an old boat… a way of spreading its message against crony capitalism. On the other hand, Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada —an old boss of the Sinaloa Cartel— contacted him to have a face-to-face chat. In the decades of his criminal career, he had only spoken to a journalist once before: Julio Scherer García, who founded the famous magazine Proceso.

Each proposal was extraordinary. But together, they formed a horizon that transcended the dreamlike.

The meeting with Zambada would take place that same year, in the mountains of northern Mexico. It would last for three hours in total, between afternoon and night, in a house similar to the one Scherer described 14 years earlier (or perhaps the same one).

The two men spoke while seated in Zambada’s rocking chairs. The criminal boss —speaking in his disciplined tone— placed grilled meat, vegetables, beans and tortillas on the table. Without revealing too much, the last historical leader of the Sinaloa Cartel said a few key important things:

“We are engaged in a business that America needs. That’s what we do,” he shrugged. “Don’t think that our life is good,” he added later. “We struggle, like everyone else. You have to work hard to maintain your business and your family.”

That conversation— as well as the preparations to embark on La Montaña, the Zapatista ship – are two of the three pillars that prop up the first part of Osorno’s book, which was adapted into the 2023 film The Mountain. The conversation with the drug lord appears in small chapters under the heading Norte (“North)”). The section titled Sur (“South”) covers the travel preparations and his awakening to the ideology of Zapatismo. And the third pillar – Centro (“Center”) – is a disorganized essay on the violence that has gripped Mexico for almost 20 years. It flows down from the Rio Bravo to the Suchiate River, from Ciudad Juárez to Tapachula. There’s also a dialogue with the writer Sergio González Rodríguez, a pioneer in the coverage of violence and its consequences.

The small chapters that document the interview with Zambada pepper the first 100 pages. In 2021, the boss was still free… a situation that changed this past summer. In July, the authorities arrested him in the United States. He was the victim of a ruse set up by the son of his old business partner – Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán – who is currently serving a life sentence in an American prison. Zambada is now jailed in New York, just like his son and his brother before him, along with many other members of his criminal organization. Some have cooperated with the authorities, while others have refused. It remains to be seen what the boss will do. His absence from the Sinaloa Cartel, however, has sparked a war that’s already approaching two months and has left hundreds of victims in its wake.

When Scherer sat down with the criminal leader 14 years ago, the printed interview – accompanied by a photo of the boss and the reporter – shook the country. In both cases, it was Zambada who made contact with the journalists. He managed to entice them to the hills of the so-called “golden triangle” – between Sinaloa, Durango and Chihuahua – to speak with them. “Speaking of wars and revolutions,” Osorno now writes, “the conversation [with Zambada] drifts toward the war-peace dichotomy.” And then, he quotes the boss himself, who states: “There have always been wars.”

“They said the same thing about [Pancho] Villa, that he was a terrorist… now, the United States is going to call us terrorists. And, with that justification, they’re going to want to plant a bomb on us,” Zambada notes. Statements made by Donald Trump – who, in his first term, spoke about his intentions to designate Mexican cartels as terrorist organizations – come to mind.

Osorno intervenes. “What’re you [all about]?” The reply is firm: “We do a business that the United States needs. We’re against those who betray [each other] and kill children.”

Osorno’s depiction of Zambada reminds us of Scherer’s: the drug lord expresses a love of the mountains and life in the countryside, as well his pain from not being able to see his son, Vicente, who was arrested and extradited more than 15 years ago. He speaks very little about his son.

The author illuminates the depth of Zambada’s mediating character. “I was the government,” the criminal leader reveals. It turns out that the capo – the son of a peasant – was once the commissioner of some communal property.

The fixation on Zambada’s negotiating virtues makes for interesting discussion. On the one hand, you read about the United States and the broad-brush competition of its security agencies to capture criminal leaders, without considering the consequences. On the other hand, there’s criticism of the current Mexican government and a good part of its followers – and the political left in general. Zambada laments the “irresponsible” blows that have been dealt against his organization.

“Peace is not [declared] – peace is made,” Zambada affirms. “Peace arises from loyalty.” What irony. Three years after that conversation, his words frame the reality of the state of Sinaloa, as well as the day-to-day battle waged by the people who support him, in their war against the group that backs the sons of El Chapo.

“What’s the drug trafficking business like?” Osorno asks.

“There are many people who keep their word,” his interlocutor answers, “but there are also many betrayals.” Osorno then questions how drug-trafficking – and the violence in general – can be ended. Zambada concludes: “Drug-trafficking isn’t ending. [And] violence isn’t our business.”

The drug lord also mentions various presidents, as well as acts of corruption and violence. He has strong words for Genaro García Luna – the security czar of former President Felipe Calderón (2006-2012) – who has been sentenced to more than 38 years in prison in the US for drug-trafficking and organized crime. He used to help the Sinaloa Cartel in their business.

Zambada tells Osorno that he never gave money to García Luna. “[But] I don’t know if my brother did,” he shrugs. During the trial against the security official, Jesús “El Rey” Zambada declared that he gave him millions of dollars in bribes.

When the conversation touches on Andrés Manuel López Obrador – who was the president of Mexico when the meeting took place – he says: “All my respect to the gentleman. I admire the persistence he’s had for so many years to seek what he wanted and achieve it. He’s also someone who knows the history of Mexico well and it’s clear that he truly loves the country.”

Zambada says that his cartel doesn’t sell fentanyl and that it doesn’t manage drugstores. He even claims that the Sinaloa Cartel has supported the construction or management of rehabilitation centers in Mexico. The capo also expresses his concern about clean water and the management of lithium deposits in northern Mexico.

The conversation seems to be the beginning of something more. Just like with Scherer, Osorno and Zambada were supposed to meet again, to have a longer interview. In both cases, however, it never happened. Beyond logistical issues, during the same summer that Osorno boarded the Zapatista ship, El Mayo Zambada was arrested. It seems unlikely that a second meeting between the two men will happen now.

After the first part, the book meanders through other channels, like a river that splits apart on its way to the sea. Still, the book deserves a broad reading: it’s a kind of literary artifact, created by an author who has spent more than 20 years covering violence in Mexico. Osorno has looked at everything from repression against the teachers’ movement in Oaxaca in 2006, to the terrible deaths of 49 children in a fire at a daycare center in Sonora in 2009, to the northern fronts of the war on drugs launched by former President Calderón. The implications of the latter are still emerging from the rivers of blood in the dying body of the nation.