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Mexican villagers formed a militia to defend themselves from a gang. The government was fine with it — until they started arming children.


 Before he got a rifle and joined a squad of outfitted kids, Alex needed to turn into a teacher. He'd show anything — "whatever the chief asks" — in light of the fact that going through his days in a homeroom sounded quite great. 

He was 13, a B understudy with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bike who got anxious around the young ladies in his center school. 

At that point, in November, as brutality flooded in the mountains of Guerrero express, the men of Ayahualtempa concluded it was the ideal opportunity for their children to wage war. 

Alex was given a chasing rifle and advised to appear for day by day preparing on the town ball court. He and his young companions, some as youthful as 6, walked and crept with stacked firearms nearly as tall as they were. Their regalia said "Network Police" in yellow letters. 

At the point when the picture takers began coming, the young men were advised to cover their appearances with hankies. Furnishing youngsters to shield the town against a savage posse wasn't a media stunt, Alex's commandants demanded. In any case, if the pictures caused the government to notice a spot Mexico's security powers had overlooked, it would be its very own triumph. 

However, were the young men preparing to safeguard their town, or would they say they were being marched before visiting picture takers to make an impression on the legislature, a request for more assets? Some of the time even Alex didn't know. What he knew was that the weapon was substantial and stacked, and the preparation felt genuine enough to him. 

Alex's dad, Santos Martínez, saw his child's face, attempting to measure whether Alex was developed enough to join the power. 

"There was no dread in his eyes," Martínez said. "That is the manner by which I realized he was prepared." 

Alex rehashed the expressions of his officer. 

"I'm getting ready to protect my town," he said. 

Mexico endured 35,588 murders in 2019, a record. It was another information point in a pattern borne out across Ayahualtempa and a huge number of towns like it: Every year, regardless of who is in power, this nation turns out to be increasingly savage. 

Be that as it may, viciousness takes drastically various structures across Mexico, a country chipped by turf wars. In the northwestern capital of Culiacán, the Sinaloa cartel fights the nation's security powers with military-grade weapons. In Ayahualtempa, a town of 600 indigenous individuals, the network police convey maturing chasing rifles in their own war against an incredible medication cartel called Los Ardillos, which controls the neighboring town. 

For quite a long time, Ayahualtempa had kept up its own resistance power, many outfitted men who watched the town and kept an eye on checkpoints and held overwatch positions on the tops of incomplete homes. Autodefensas, or self-protection powers, are lawful in Guerrero state and perceived by the government. 

Be that as it may, over the previous year, the nearby autodefensa, known as the CRAC-PF, has been overpowered. Twenty-six individuals have been murdered since the beginning of 2019 in the power's region, which incorporates Ayahualtempa and 15 different towns. A month ago, 10 artists from those towns heading out to a show were shot and consumed to the point of being indistinguishable. One of them was 15 years of age. 

Alex's center school was in what was viewed as hostile area. He quit visiting. 

Bernardino Sánchez Luna, the 48-year-old originator of CRAC-PF, said its pioneers talked among themselves and chose to permit the young men into the power. As of late, the gathering of outfitted youngsters developed increasingly formal. Presently there are 17 young men in coordinating T-shirts. Those under 12 get handcrafted toy weapons. Those more than 12 get working rifles. 

"On the off chance that the administration can't ensure them, they should be prepared to protect themselves," Sánchez Luna said. 

Alex had seen the photos of himself, rifle close by, distributed in papers across Mexico. It was an unusual sort of notoriety. He had never left the province of Guerrero, and now his face was on magazine kiosks in the capital. His leader demanded it was a piece of the technique. 

He saw that CRAC-PF's pioneers started inviting nearby writers, who took photographs of the young men during their instructional meetings. He heard Sánchez Luna talk about how the media could be utilized as an instrument to pass on the town's issues — its requests for the state and governments. The town had been disregarded for quite a long time, yet it is difficult to overlook a power of equipped youngsters. 

When a Washington Post journalist landed in Ayahualtempa this week, Alex's doubt had honed. 

"These writers like you come, yet I don't have the foggiest idea where they're from," he said. "How might I confide in them?" 

He was perched on the control outside his family's little accommodation store, where he staffs the register now that he's never again in school. He kept his uniform and rifle behind a pile of plastic Pepsi bottles. Preparing begins at 5 p.m. 

Sánchez Luna demanded the young men weren't being utilized as an instrument to pull in the consideration of the media or the legislature. Be that as it may, he admitted that when writers were visiting the area, he held instructional meetings before, in light of the fact that picture takers and videographers had grumbled that the evening time drills were too dim to even think about recording. He additionally called the media "a significant weapon for us." 

After a whirlwind of stories in Mexican news outlets, CRAC-PF printed out a rundown of 29 requests for Mexico's leader, extending from expanded security to the establishment of an ATM. President Andrés Manuel López Obrador had checked out Ayahualtempa in the wake of seeing pictures of the outfitted kids in the media. 

"Giving kids weapons and taking recordings is a demonstration of savagery," he said a week ago. 

Be that as it may, in spite of López Obrador's remarks and a judgment from UNICEF, the kids stay furnished, and the legislature has done whatever it takes not to intercede. The Guerrero state senator consented to send a normal police watch through the territory. Yet, that implied little to the individuals of Ayahualtempa, including Alex, who presently watched, rifle close by, as the intensely outfitted officials drove by. 

"We can't confide in them, it is possible that," he said. 

On Wednesday morning, Alex and his dad went out for the town's principle checkpoint, a chain hindrance that denoted the division among Ayahualtempa and Hueycantenango, which they thought about hostile area. 

They strolled side by side, each holding a rifle. 

"Man the dugout," Martínez said. 

Alex moved behind a hindrance of tires and solid, his correct hand close to the firearm's trigger. He wore a couple of broken shoes, his feet once in a while sneaking out as he strolled. 

It was a minute that obscured the crucial the furnished youngsters. The power's chiefs said Alex and different young men were only "in preparing," however here he was giving close security to his dad. Or then again was this, as well, a detailed endeavor to pull in news inclusion that may cause the government to notice a spot it had for the most part deserted? It was difficult to tell. 

"I don't have the foggiest idea how they can stand out enough to be noticed aside by doing these sorts of things — or by passing on, and even that will just stand out enough to be noticed for a couple of days," said Chris Kyle, an anthropologist at the University of Alabama who centers around Guerrero. 

In Mexico, stories rise of self-protection bunches enlisting youngsters like clockwork. Records of medication cartels enrolling kids are much progressively normal. However, once in a while has any gathering been this open about its exertion. Another Guerrero autodefensa pioneer, Gonzalo Molina González, compared the youngsters to Mexico's Niños Héroes, the high school society legends who kicked the bucket attempting to repulse the American intrusion of Mexico City in 1847. 

At the checkpoint, Martínez wouldn't bring down the chain for a truck driver. "They could work for Los Ardillos," he murmured softly. 

Alex remained behind the fortification, looking as his previous educators strolled to his old elementary school. He didn't wave. His center school, Escuela Secundaria Tecnologica Cuauhtémoc 121, was just 200 yards away, yet on the opposite side of the chain. A couple of months back, he'd looked as a CRAC-PF part conveying kindling was shot and killed a couple of feet from the school. 

Not long after, the family concluded it was unreasonably hazardous for him to keep going to class. They stressed that anybody from Ayahualtempa could be focused on. 

Alex's more established sister, Erica, wouldn't quit going to class. She fled to an auntie's home. 

Their mom is torn. 

"I need my kids to go to class, however not if that implies their lives are in danger," Justina said. "Consistently I stress over my little girl." 

Alex's educator visited the family's home this week to ask his folks to send Alex back to the homeroom. 

Martínez said he can't. 

"I told the educator, 'Until the administration gives some security, I'm not sending my child to class,'" he said. 

Alex got back from the dugout and put his rifle down on the floor. There was another instructional course that night. More columnists had shown up. Alex rehashed that he was preparing to guard his town, to get ready for a potential attack. He could feel himself getting more grounded and increasingly proficient. 

That is the thing that he was told, and that is the thing that he accepted. 


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