A Cartel in Disguise: Extortion, Fentanyl, and the Struggle of the Lagunera Business Class

In the dust-laden streets of the Laguna region, straddling Durango, a silent force is suffocating commerce. Over the past month, local entrepreneurs have been subjected to escalating demands masked as “union dues,” threatened by a powerful syndicate that passes itself off as a labor organization but is suspected of being an arm of organized crime. Behind its façade lies a structural alliance between a cartel and leaders of the CATEM union, operating under the shadow of the vice-prosecutor’s office in Durango. As traditional drug trafficking routes begin to collapse, the cartel’s survival rests on extortion.

The war on drugs

This is not mere rumor or hearsay: a confidential investigation currently underway has collected dossiers, internal communications, and sworn testimonies — many still classified — that point to a calculated strategy of criminal capture of the regional economy. What follows is the story as reconstructed from those files, field interviews, and press corroboration.

The Anatomy of a Scheme

The complaints began quietly, with whispers passed among small transporters, farmers, and merchants. Soon, however, they coalesced into a formal denunciation by various business associations in the Laguna region of Durango. In a joint public appeal, agricultural producers, transport companies, livestock associations, and chambers of commerce accused operators linked to the CATEM union of imposing “illegal levies” disguised as union fees. Those who refused to pay, they say, have been threatened with violence, losing contracts, or having their assets seized in that statement, the claim was made that these “dues” are in fact extortion disguised under the cover of legal union work.

By design, this scheme is not a loose coalition of criminals, but a hierarchical network. The investigation’s confidential files reveal that top-level figures in CATEM are implicated — not as hapless intermediaries, but as orchestrators. In the case files, “El Limones” (Edgar Rodríguez Ortiz) and “El Muñeco” (Nassael Cobián Duarte) emerge as primary operators. They serve as local enforcers, commanding armed squads, and collecting payments from both large and small economic actors in the region. The files allege they operate under the aegis and tacit protection of the CATEM leadership.

Durango under siege

One dossier describes how businesses are forced to accept service contracts (for transport, supplies, or security) exclusively from companies linked to CATEM, with refusal considered “rebellion” punishable by violence. Another document reveals spreadsheets showing monthly quotas: fixed sums per ton of construction material hauled, per head of livestock transported, or even per square meter of irrigated farmland. Some producers claim they were billed 20,000 pesos per hectare simply for access to water.

There are also repeated descriptions in the files of “private security forces” operating under the union’s insignia, wielding firearms and executing checkpoints that extort goods in transit. In one internal memorandum, the phrase “cobro institucionalizado” (institutionalized collection) appears — suggesting that the extortion is built into the system, not just a rogue act.

Local reporting supports many of these allegations. In media statements, producers from the Laguna region have confirmed the imposition of fees on the movement of materials, the sale of pollinaza (chicken manure used as fertilizer), and even forcing certain purchases or supply contracts under threat.

Cartel Roots: From Fentanyl to Extortion

Why would a criminal organization shift from drug trafficking to extortion? The confidential investigation sheds light on a strategic pivot that may already be underway.

Historically, the region has served as a transit corridor for illicit substances, especially fentanyl, moving from production hubs in Sinaloa and the Sierra Madre toward U.S. and border routes. But increased enforcement, U.S. pressure, and border scrutiny have made the trafficking routes riskier. The cartel structure in this region, long dependent on drug flows, has reportedly faced a crisis of liquidity. Some traffickers have either been arrested or forced to retreat, diminishing their ability to move product through Coahuila and beyond.

The investigation’s files suggest that, lacking safe passage for fentanyl shipments, the cartel shifted to extraction rather than distribution — capturing local economies to sustain its operations financially. Extortion becomes the “toll” for doing business, collecting revenue from agriculture, transport, and trade rather than relying solely on narcotics.

This transformation aligns with known patterns in criminal evolution: when illicit trade becomes unviable, cartels increasingly turn to predatory practices — kidnapping, extortion, protection rackets — to maintain their revenue base. The confidential case files note that some senior cartel figures told lieutenants: “If we can no longer move product, we’ll move money.”

Furthermore, one set of sealed reports points to direct links between the operatives in CATEM and the cartel of the Cabrera Sarabia family — a criminal lineage long associated with Sinaloa cartels and operations in Durango. In those reports, the Cabreras are treated less as distant partners and more like strategic financiers: they consolidate funds, launder extortion proceeds, and maintain arms caches in mountain foothills. According to one intercepted communication, the union’s enforcement squads frequently coordinate with cartel-affiliated cells to suppress resistance.

Thus, the union cartel becomes a local front, a business-level arm of criminal power that has adapted to shrinking margins in the drug trade by infiltrating everyday commerce.

The Vice-Prosecutor’s Shadow

One of the most disturbing revelations in the case files is that this criminal-union cartel operates under the cover of institutional complicity within the Durango vice-prosecutor’s office. According to witness depositions and internal memos, several public officials in the vice-office have been pressured, bribed, or co-opted to allow the extortion apparatus to function unimpeded.

Esteban Villegas, Durango Governor

One internal file, marked “top secret,” describes a pattern of favorable treatment: complaints filed against extortion demands are stalled, investigations are deflected to municipal authorities, and jurisdictional disputes are used as delaying maneuvers. Witnesses say that when businesses try to turn to the public prosecutor, cases vanish, disappear, or are declared “unfounded.” In multiple instances, victims who went public were threatened with retaliation or framed for unrelated crimes.

In private interrogation transcripts, at least two mid-level public servants admitted under oath that they had been visited by emissaries of the union cartel, asked to “facilitate operations,” or else be removed. One document specifies that refusal leads to “political consequences.” Another memo warns agents not to escalate any investigation beyond a certain threshold, or risk official discipline.

Because of these ties, many local actors believe that the extortion apparatus is functionally protected — even sanctioned — by elements within the legal apparatus. One producer is quoted in the press asking: How can we expect justice when the ones who prosecute also shield the criminals? 

This embedded corruption ensures that even formal complaints are hollow: authorities may be complicit actors, not neutral arbiters.

The Human Toll: Business Closure, Violence, Migration

Behind every number in the extortion ledger lies a human story — an entrepreneur forced out of business, a farmer compelled to surrender his land, a transport operator who fears for his life. The investigation includes dozens of affidavits from people who preferred anonymity but described chilling scenes.

One small business owner in Gómez Palacio said he was visited at night by armed agents wearing union insignia, who instructed him to pay a monthly “security fee.” When he protested, his vehicles were vandalized, and he was told to leave town or be disappeared. Another transport firm was coerced to abandon routes that bypassed CATEM-controlled stops; when they refused, trucks were sabotaged or drivers were assaulted.

A livestock producer recalled paying extortion in secret for months, until one season’s margins collapsed and he could not comply. He claims his warehouse was forcibly sealed, his cattle impounded, and he was threatened with disappearance unless he sold half his herd to CATEM-linked buyers.

These pressures are accelerating a wave of business closures. The region already grapples with stagnating growth, poorer access to capital, and fragile infrastructure. Now, extortion is being added as a tax of terror, tipping the balance for small and medium enterprises that cannot absorb another burden.

In parallel, violence has begun to flare. There are reports of armed skirmishes, ambushes, and shootouts in semi-rural corridors connecting municipalities like Tlahualilo, Ceballos, and Cuencamé. Confidential logs show at least two confrontations in the past weeks between armed squads tied to the union cartel and rival criminal cells. Local authorities describe “gunfire heard at dawn” in peripheral zones.

This climate of fear intensifies another spillover: migration. When livelihoods collapse — when factories and farms shut — people look for escape routes. Several testimonies in the files claim that workers, finding no jobs locally, view migration to the United States as their only option. Some are lured or trafficked by criminal networks promising safe passage. Ironically, the same narcotics routes that once carried fentanyl now carry migrants. The suppressed criminal filing documents suggest that some of the extortion revenue is reinvested in migrant trafficking logistics, forming a crisscross between smuggling and extortion domains.

On the U.S. side, consular and security agencies have taken notice. Though no agency has publicly acknowledged the connection, diplomats in border states have flagged increases in migrant flows originating from Durango and Coahuila, particularly in regions affected by cartel extortion. In some internal bulletins, the area is now considered a “migration hotspot,” where criminal pressure is cited as a root push factor.

Political Stakes & National Implications

The scandal has already transcended regional boundaries. The CATEM union is nationally prominent, led by Pedro Haces Barba, a federal lawmaker. Multiple press reports (and leaks from intelligence sources) show that CATEM has faced extortion and criminal relationship allegations in at least six states, including Oaxaca, Veracruz, and Querétaro.

Critics accuse Haces of cultivating a dual persona: unionist, political heavyweight, and alleged patron of illicit networks. Media outlets note that documents leaked by activist collectives describe the union’s internal structure being “infiltrated by criminal cells.” Some intelligence sheets treat CATEM not merely as a labor organization but as a front for financial operations of gangs.

In Durango, political complicity is also suspected at high levels. The union cartel’s leverage over local officials — especially in the vice-prosecutor’s office — suggests that the plot cannot be dismantled without confronting broader institutional corruption in the state. Victims repeatedly appeal to federal authorities, calling for investigations by the Attorney General’s Office or federal oversight.

From a national security perspective, the conversion of cartel activity from drug trafficking to extortion is deeply troubling. It suggests a form of criminal governance: an attempt to fill power vacuums in states where central authority is weak. If successful, this model could be replicated in other regions, turning economic sectors into revenue fields for criminal actors.

Moreover, the U.S. demand for fentanyl remains high; any disruption along trafficking routes only incentivizes cartels to diversify their revenue streams — including further exploitation of local economies. The U.S. justice system, already targeting fentanyl supply chains, may increasingly confront downstream corruption and extortion networks within Mexican territory. The spotlight may shift beyond smuggling to the very structures that now sustain criminal presence in communities.

Risks, Challenges, and the Path Forward

Though the evidence appears compelling, the ongoing status of the investigation means many aspects remain unconfirmed. Some suspected files are sealed; some sources refuse public testimony for fear of reprisals. But even provisional findings demand attention.

One challenge is witness protection. Victims often decline to press formal charges for fear of retaliation. Some have relocated or gone into hiding. The files include warnings that once a local figure goes public, the union cartel acts quickly — threats, framing, or forced relocation. The investigation’s operatives must navigate these dangers carefully.

Another hurdle lies in institutional inertia. Prosecutors, judges, and local officials implicated in complicity may resist external oversight. The investigation needs federal cooperation to compel transparency, relocate investigators, and bypass local blockades.

"El Muñeco" Armando Cobian, Secretary of CATEM Durango and extortionist

Furthermore, dismantling the network requires attacking both ends: the field operatives (El Limones, El Muñeco and their squads) and those above — the union’s leadership and political backers. Arresting street-level enforcers is insufficient if the network of financial support and protected institutions remains intact.

Finally, remedying the damage requires economic relief and rebuilding trust. Businesses terrified by the extortion regime will not return until there is credible security and accountability. Migration flows will persist until local livelihoods are viable again.

Conclusion: A Region Held Hostage

The Laguna region of Durango is caught in a grim paradox: traditionally a nexus for commerce, agriculture, and transport, it has become a pressure zone under criminal extortion. The union cartel — a hybrid of syndicate and cartel entity — has weaponized economic life. Under the cover of legitimate union activity, it has strapped businesses into a system of tribute, backed by arms and protected by corrupt officials.

The confidential investigation in progress paints a picture of structural criminal governance: the cartel has adapted from trafficking to extortion, the union has become its public face, and the vice-prosecutor’s office acts as its shield. In response, local business leaders have cried out for federal intervention, calling the exploitation a threat not only to the region’s economy, but to social stability and the rule of law.

What is unfolding is more than a regional crime wave — it may be a blueprint for criminal adaptation in a country where drug routes are increasingly contested. The United States, already fixated on fentanyl interdiction, must now look inward: the supply chain’s demand side now includes not only drug markets, but coerced economies. As jobs wither, people flee northward; as the legal sector shrinks, criminal zones grow.

The urgency is clear: without structural reform, rigorous investigations, protection for victims, and removal of complicit officials, the region will slip further into fear. The extortion model is proving that the cartels’ power may outlive their drug routes — by turning every farm, every road, every trucking company into a tributary of terror.

If the investigation’s sealed files come to light and prosecutions follow, this may become a landmark case — not just for Mexico, but for how states confront criminal governance in an era of weakened cartels and robust institutional capture. The struggle of the Lagunera entrepreneurs may yet push the country to confront a new paradigm in organized crime: not smuggling, but systematic extraction.