A wave of threats and attacks sets off all the alarms among Guerrero journalists

Journalists from Chilpancingo demonstrated at the headquarters of the Attorney General's Office to demand protection in their work.Dassaev Téllez / Dassaev Téllez

They describe Manuel as a “humble boy” who approached

Iguala's

with a “little motorcycle that he had just bought” to take some copies of the newspaper.

"Give me 300."

He sold during the afternoon in Iguala de la Independencia and in the mornings in the surrounding towns.

With that he was pulling, until his remains appeared scattered along a road.

He had been assassinated and dismembered by an armed group that is fighting for the city, a strategic point of communication between several states.

Manuel was the last delivery man who suffered that fate, but before him, a boy nicknamed

, Elías, and thus, up to five delivery men, were killed for the simple fact of selling a local newspaper that had reported on the fight between the different factions facing each other.

The wave of violence in the state of Guerrero by organized crime has caught journalists and workers linked to information in the midst of a crossfire.

This Wednesday the Association of Journalists of the State of Guerrero (APEG) demonstrated in front of the Government Palace and the State Prosecutor's Office, while launching a statement in which they ask the municipal, state and federal authorities to take action on the matter in the face of a new string of threats that Guerrero reporters have suffered through social networks.

# México @RSF_esp has learned of the urgent alert launched by a group of journalists from #Iguala, in the state of Guerrero, after being threatened.

pic.twitter.com/EUncfyqsG3

- RSF in Spanish (@RSF_esp) October 14, 2020

On August 2, Pablo Morrugares, of the digital news daily

, was assassinated in Iguala

, who had also received threats via networks.

In the attack, carried out with high-caliber weapons, his escort was also killed.

Journalists denounce their defenselessness in the face of the upsurge in violence.

Julio César Zubillaga is the director

of Iguala's

, a place from which he has been forced to leave as a result of the threats received.

"We echoed the attack in which Morrugares died, and in response, two days later, they attacked our press shop with bullets," says Zubillaga, whose newspaper has been forced to suppress its printed version as a result of the shooting.

Zubillaga explains that, since it is violence caused by organized crime, state authorities "wash their hands" and point to the federal levels as responsible for safeguarding journalistic work.

Although some measures have been taken by the State, such as police accompaniment in the performance of work and the so-called panic buttons, these measures are "insufficient" for the director of the Iguala afternoon.

"A homicide is committed in seconds, and by means of the panic button, the authorities are notified, but it may take several minutes to arrive," he argues.

The State of Guerrero accumulates a battery of attacks against the press.

In the last 5 years, seven journalists and one foreign documentary filmmaker have been assassinated.

The situation has gotten worse, says an APEG spokesperson by phone.

So far in 2020, attacks against the press total 21, including 3 murders, according to the count made by the association.

"Without going any further, last weekend there were six deaths due to executions, some of them with dismemberment," says Zubillaga.

Both he and the APEG indicate that due to this situation, there is news that has ceased to be covered as before: "There is not the same freedom to exercise our work."

Natividad Ambrosio is another Guerrero reporter who has been threatened for more than 5 years.

With the increase in violence in Iguala, she was also displaced from the scene and claims that she no longer barely covers the notes on executions and crime-related violence.

He also claims that the authorities do not make it easy.

"Above all, we ask that our profession be respected, sometimes governments do not tolerate criticism or evidence of corruption," he says.

Many times the attacks come from that shore.

"They verbally attack us or discredit us, we ask for respect for our work," he says.

And he concludes: "They cannot make Iguala a zone of silence."

From the story that Zubillaga gives, it follows that the situation in Iguala is, to say the least, delicate.

"How does someone live in these circumstances?"

—Not sleeping, anguished and with the permanent fear that at any moment I could have an attack.

Many shoot from motorcycles, imagine every time I go in my vehicle and one approaches, or that I arrive at a restaurant and there is a truck with a questionable appearance.

Everywhere you end up seeing hitmen and murderers.

Zubillaga has a family.

He has taken his children with him, taking advantage of the fact that the school is now telematic and thus “away from the tragedy” that he is experiencing.

Even in the midst of all this hell, there are things that are worthwhile: "My thought today is to enjoy my children and my family because I don't know how long I will be able to do it, it is the only positive thing I can get out of this situation."