Los Alegres del Barranco Accused of Glorifying Drug Trafficking by Jalisco State Prosecutor's Office
Now, a judge will determine whether or not to initiate legal proceedings against the members of the group, their legal representative and the promoter of their concerts in a hearing scheduled for Monday (May 12), which would mark a precedent in regional Mexican music.
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'The members of a musical group that showed images referencing a figure from organized crime during a concert in Zapopan have been formally charged in a criminal court today for allegedly promoting criminal activity,' read a statement from the Jalisco Prosecutor's Office on Tuesday (May 6) shared with Billboard Español. 'Similarly, charges were also brought against the group's manager and the promoter of their concerts.
According to the statement, the judge imposed precautionary measures on the four members of the band, their manager and the promoter, meaning they are not allowed to leave Jalisco. Additionally, they will have to pay a bond of 1.8 million pesos (about $92,000), which amounts to 300,000 pesos per person.
Article 142 of the Jalisco Penal Code states that publicly inciting the commission of a crime or glorifying it — or any vice — can be punishable by up to six months in prison. Experts consulted by Billboard Español note that since this type of penalty is less than four years, it can potentially be served outside of prison if the judge allows it.
The group and their representatives chose not to make any statements during a hearing on Tuesday, according to the statement. Billboard Español has reached out to the band's representatives for comment but has not received a response at time of publication.
The Jalisco State Prosecutor's Office confirmed to Billboard Español that three open investigations into Los Alegres del Barranco for allegedly advocating crime. The first one corresponds to the investigation against them for projecting images of the leader of the Cártel Jalisco Nueva Generación (CJNG), Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, alias 'El Mencho,' during their concert on March 29. This fact even caused the United States to revoke the work and tourist visas of its members, as announced on April 1 by the U.S. Undersecretary of State, Christopher Landau, in a post on X.
The second investigation was opened after, on May 3, the group allegedly projected on screens during their show the lyrics of the controversial corrido 'El del Palenque,' which alludes to the aforementioned drug lord. The third folder corresponds to another presentation, on May 4, in which the group allegedly incurred in similar acts, in the municipality of Tequila, according to a press release from the Jalisco State Prosecutor's Office on May 5.
The President of Mexico, Claudia Sheinbaum, said on Wednesday (May 7) that 'it was the decision' of the Jalisco State Prosecutor's Office to prosecute the members of Los Alegres del Barranco for allegedly advocating crime, and reiterated that her government is not in favor of banning the narcocorrido genre.
'My position is that it should not be banned, but that other music should be promoted. Rather than prohibiting, it is more important to educate, guide and encourage people and young people to stop listening to that music,' said the Mexican president during her morning press conference.
The controversy over Los Alegres del Barranco's alleged homage to the drug trafficker comes in the wake of the debate over how the cartel founded in Jalisco uses clandestine ranches to recruit people to the criminal group through deceitful job offers, as reported by federal authorities and the media. This follows the discovery of the Izaguirre Ranch in the municipality of Teuchitlán, where acts of torture and murder were allegedly committed, as denounced by the Guerreros Buscadores collective in early March.
Ten (out of 32) states in Mexico have implemented several new bans against narcocorridos or any expression that advocates crime, without it being a federal law.
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Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
He crossed the border for a better life. He returned to Mexico in a casket
HUAJÚMBARO DE GUADALUPE, Mexico — The cortege wound its way up a dirt path, past well-appointed homes providing a contrast to the rock-strewn lane leading to the hilltop cemetery. This community in the central Mexican state of Michoacán is home to about 1,500 people, many of whom make a living planting corn, plums, peaches and other crops that cut symmetrical rows through the verdant hillsides — now glistening an emerald green, the bounty of recent rains. But the stolid brick-and-concrete residences along the rocky road are the legacy of a generation of immigrants — men such as Jaime Alanis García, who left to toil in the fields, factories and other workplaces of California, dutifully sending money back to their village to build homes and other projects. Among the works financed via immigrant remittances is the chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe, where a funeral Mass was held Saturday, for Alanis García. He is the first known fatality tied to the Trump administration's work-site enforcement raids — in this case a pair of sweeps on July 10 through Glass House Farms cannabis facilities in California. Alanis García, 56, was fatally injured when he fell 30 feet from atop a greenhouse while fleeing immigration agents at the Glass House site in Camarillo, relatives say. Mexican consular officials arranged for his body to be shipped back from California. 'He was like so many of us, a hardworking person who went to California to earn a living, to help his family,' said Rosa María Zamora, 70, a native of Huajúmbaro de Guadalupe, who was visiting from her home in Houston. 'For us, California represented an opportunity, a chance to improve our horizons.' A quarter of a century ago, Zamora said, she left to join her husband, a field worker in California. The pair later found employment in slaughterhouses in Nebraska, where she suffered a severe leg injury from a cutting blade. 'It's so sad that Señor Jaime came back in this way,' Zamora said. She was among about 200 mourners accompanying Alanis García on his doleful final journey through his hometown. 'Look how many people there are here today,' said Manuel Durán, a brother-in-law of Alanis García. He traveled here with other relatives from Oxnard, where Alanis García lived. 'He was very beloved.' Durán donned a T-shirt emblazoned on the front with stylized angel wings soaring from a photo of Alanis García. 'In Loving Memory,' read the text. The rear of the shirt featured the hashtag #justiceforJaime, in English and Spanish, reflecting relatives' assertion that the July 10 operation was reckless. 'We want justice, please,' Janet Alanis, 32, his daughter, said. 'Tell everyone that all we ask for is justice.' The U.S. Department of Homeland Security defended the raid, which authorities say resulted in the arrests of more 300 people. Authorities say that agents called in medical assistance for Alanis García, who, according to an autopsy, suffered head and neck injuries. Alanis Garcia left Huajúmbaro de Guadalupe as a young man but, according relatives and acquaintances, always provided for his wife and daughter, who remained here, dependent on his earnings as a farmworker. He last visited his hometown 17 years ago, for his daughter's quinceañera, or 15th birthday celebration, residents said. Such protracted separations have become increasingly the norm in the decades since Alanis García first crossed as an undocumented worker into California. Stretches of the U.S.-Mexico border that once featured minimal fencing and policing have now become heavily militarized. For many undocumented immigrants, that has all but eliminated once-routine trips home to visit loved ones in Mexico. Word of the ongoing U.S. immigration raids has seeped back to immigrant communities throughout Mexico, raising deep anxieties. 'My husband lives in Oxnard, but, thank God, he didn't work in the place where the raid was,' said Margarita Cruz, 47, a mother of three who attended the funeral. 'My husband tells me that the situation there is very difficult. There's a lot of fear that people could get arrested.' Her husband departed 15 years ago for California, Cruz said. He last visited four years ago. 'Here we survive thanks to the money that our husbands and sons send back from the United States,' Cruz said. 'Now, everyone's worried that they will deport our relatives. What will we do? There is no work here. Look at what happened to Señor Jaime.' In some ways, things have worsened in many rural stretches of Mexico that have long sent immigrants to the north. The dramatic rise of Mexican organized crime has cast a shadow over much of Michoacán state, where rival gangs battle for control of drug-smuggling, extortion and other rackets. On Friday, shortly after the much-anticipated arrival of Alanis García's body from California, a state police officer who accompanied the remains was clearly agitated. He was anxious to leave — and warned visiting journalists to beat it out of town by sundown. 'Don't be caught here after dark,' said the jittery cop, who brandished an assault rifle as he scanned the environs. 'It's very, very dangerous here. Two groups are fighting for control.' But it was peaceful Saturday, as relatives accompanied Alanis García's body to the church, where the coffin was flanked by candles. Elaborate flower arrangements graced the pews and walls. A 12-piece band of brass, woodwind and percussion instruments provided a musical backdrop in the church patio. The musicians wore white, flower-print jackets and black shirts as they played funereal tunes. After the Mass, men from the town shouldered the wooden casket up the hill about half a mile to the cemetery. The band kept playing as the pallbearers trudged onward. Many in the procession hoisted umbrellas against a searing midday sun. The coffin, bedecked with flowers, was opened at a pavilion in the cemetery. A relative placed a crucifix on the chest of Alanis García. His photo looked down from inside the coffin. Mourners approached for a last look at a man whom many had not seen since he was a teenager. Mourners gathered in praying the rosary. Those praying asked the Virgin Mary, 'Queen of the migrants,' to pray for the soul of the departed. The coffin was closed, and men lowered it into the adjacent grave. Mourners tossed individual roses into Alanis García's final resting place. Men took turns shoveling in the reddish dirt. Relatives say Alanis García, like so many immigrants, always wanted to return home to his family. His distraught widow, Leticia Cruz Vázquez, wailed, 'I didn't want him like this!' before fainting. Relatives and neighbors carried her limp figure away from the crowd. McDonnell is a Times staff writer and Sánchez a special correspondent. Special correspondent Liliana Nieto del Río contributed to this report.
Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
This hidden rural oasis makes for a splendid day trip — and it's just an hour from L.A.
Ask a random Angeleno to find Piru, Fillmore or Santa Paula on a California map and odds are they'll shrug and give up. Blame it on location, location, location. Collectively known as the Heritage Valley, these small towns hidden on the stretch of Highway 126 are often ignored and bypassed by L.A. travelers bound for Ojai or Ventura. But if you take the time to stop in this rural oasis, you'll find miles of citrus groves, heaps of history and truly tasty Mexican food. Yes, there are more tractors than Tesla Superchargers in this region — that's part of the draw. This, you realize, is what Southern California looked like before suburbia moved in. Heritage Valley was previously known as Santa Clara River Valley, which is what the locals still call it. In 1998, a committee was assembled to help bring in tourists, and the new, jazzier label was coined. It was an improvement over an earlier, clunkier nickname, Santa Clara River Valley Heritage Trail, which sounded more like a hiking path. It wasn't the only title created for the sake of marketing. The town of Santa Paula has always proclaimed itself 'the citrus capital of the world' for its abundance of lemons and oranges. Fillmore, not to be outdone, picked a gem: 'The last, best small town,' which inspired a play of the same name that's set there. Piru was already born with a compelling handle when its devoutly religious founder proclaimed it as 'The Second Garden of Eden' in 1887. Today, it's better known for its popular outdoor recreational area, Lake Piru. (After 'Glee' actress Naya Rivera drowned in the lake in 2020, swimming was temporarily banned. It's now allowed, but only in designated areas between Memorial Day and Labor Day.) If you go back hundreds of years before Lake Piru was created by the construction of the Santa Felicia Dam, you'd see Chumash villages dotting the valley. Then came the Spanish expeditions in the late 18th century, followed by ranchos that used the land for sheep and cattle. Soon the railroads arrived, and then an oil boom. The valley's eventual transformation into an agricultural mecca was hastened by a Mediterranean climate that proved ideal for crops — first citrus, then avocados. But along with the bounty there were disasters, both natural and man-made, including the 1994 Northridge Earthquake and the catastrophic flood from the 1928 St. Francis Dam collapse. Numerous fires also have made the valley live up to a Times article that called it 'among the most dangerous wind and fire corridors in Southern California.' Yet through it all, the population has steadily grown and more travelers are discovering the area for its lively gatherings (the Santa Paula Citrus Music Festival took place last week), new attractions (check out the 17-mile Sunburst Railbike experience) and stunning hikes. Here's where to go on a road trip along Highway 126.
Chicago Tribune
an hour ago
- Chicago Tribune
Restaurant review: Las Carnitas Uruapan La Villita, a flagship for pork in Chicago
Las Carnitas Uruapan La Villita, the newest Mexican restaurant by the first family of pork in Chicago, brings 50 years of tradition and transformation to a flagship committed to the community in Little Village. Inocencio Carbajal opened the original Carnitas Uruapan in 1975 with his wife, Abigail Carbajal, in Pilsen. While , as the family patriarch is known in the neighborhood, a nickname for his fair skin and green eyes, still roams the dining rooms, his son now runs the family business built on carnitas, and hospitality just as tender. Marcos Carbajal, a former banker and second-generation owner of the enterprise, expanded with a second location in Gage Park in 2019. They celebrated the grand opening of the third and largest restaurant in January. Carbajal was named a James Beard Awards semifinalist for Outstanding Restaurateur this year. The flagship in Little Village has become a dining destination for locals and regional tourists too. 'We see people of Mexican origin from around the Midwest,' said Carbajal. 'They come to buy quinceañera dresses and then eat carnitas.' When you wend your way past shops blooming with birthday ballgowns, and sidewalk vendors selling limes or Labubus, a crunchy puff of chicharrón may magically appear. 'If you're waiting for takeout with 15 or 20 plus people, we'll go up and down the line to offer you chicharrón,' said Carbajal. 'Just to make that wait a little easier to manage.' If you dine in, instead of chips and salsa, your server will bring to your table a captivating spread of complimentary chicharrón and salsas. That's an amazing gift at a restaurant where you can feast for under $20. The stunning carnitas 'Especial' is their signature sampler meal with a half pound of glorious pork, a crackling taco dorado, velvety refried beans, six house-made tortillas with all the garnishes (onion, cilantro, lime) plus more chicharrón and seriously spicy salsas (verde and jalapeño tomato). You can choose your cut of carnitas, but I highly recommend getting the trio mix, with lean shoulder (like pulled pork), rib meat and lush skin. Then build your own tacos with the warm tortillas, inhaling the elusive perfume of toasted corn. Do note that the special is only available weekdays. On weekends, the corundas reign. The deeply flavorful Michoacán-style triangular tamales are wrapped in fresh corn leaves, and served unwrapped, but fully dressed with brick red chile de arbol salsa, fresh crema and a dusting of cotija cheese. They're not filled like the more familiar tamales, but studded with Oaxacan queso, similar to mozzarella, or acelgas y queso (Swiss chard and cheese). 'It's a very nostalgic item,' said Carbajal. 'In a neighborhood with a lot of people from our part of Mexico in Michoacán, I think that one hits home.' But they're not from his family's recipe. In the early days of the pandemic, he hosted a pop-up with chef Danny Espinoza, now co-owner with his wife, Jhoana Ruiz, of Santa Masa Tamaleria in Dunning. 'He's a friend and his grandmother was a tamale vendor in Michoacán,' said Carbajal. 'So it's his family recipe.' The corundas are made with manteca (lard), he added, of which they have plenty from cooking their carnitas, and two kinds of fresh masa. 'I'm a big fan of our friends at El Popo,' said Carbajal about El Popocatepetl Tortilleria. 'We've been using them since the '70s and they're our neighbors in Pilsen.' Carnitas by the pound cannot be dethroned as their all-around bestseller, but the most popular cut has changed from the old neighborhood to the new, reflecting changing demographics. In Pilsen, they now sell a lot more lean shoulder, Carbajal said. Meanwhile, the pork ribs and fantastically funky skin are a lot more popular in Little Village. The silky chicharrón guisado, fried pork rinds simmered soft in red sauce, remains a weekend-only item at the original store, but is available every day at the sibling locations to tuck into tortillas. Glossy green guacamole and thick-cut chips, the metamorphosis of those tortillas by baptism in bubbling hot manteca, offers a cooling contrast, as does a bright ensalada de nopales (cactus salad). The golden tacos dorados — filled with pillowy pockets of potato and cheese, potato and chorizo, or sesos (spicy pork brain) — crackle when hot from the fryer. Surprisingly, there's one filling that's common across the neighborhoods. 'By far the traditional pork brain,' said Carbajal. 'Because carnitas places in Michoacán are known for selling those hand in hand with the carnitas.' The sesos gets seasoned and cooked with salt, garlic, serrano chile, onion and cilantro before it's stuffed into a tortilla and flash-fried in the caso, or cauldron. The tacos dorados are best when eaten immediately, otherwise they'll harden, and do need a tart squeeze of lime or fire from salsa. Dessert is limited to the frozen paletas first launched in Gage Park, with an especially lovely Gansito pop that's layered with the beloved Mexican chocolate and strawberry snack cake. At the flagship, I would have liked at least one more sweet, perhaps a variation on a regional specialty. After all, they're serving alcoholic drinks for the first time in Little Village, highlighting charanda, the sugarcane spirit made nearly in their hometown in Michoacán. The refreshing Tarasco Secrets cocktail, mixed with Charanda Uruapan and Nixta Licor de Elote (corn liqueur), is familiar and fruited with guava, and shockingly low-priced at $10, when drinks elsewhere go for easily twice as much. 'We wanted to make cocktails that your Mexican aunt or uncle wouldn't think, 'What are you handing me? This tastes weird,'' said Carbajal, laughing. He worked with cantinero (bartender) Luis Estrada, bar manager at The Press Room. Nonalcoholic drinks are delicious too, from an iced café de olla to the house-made horchata, both delicately spiced and sweetened. Regulars should note that a horchata or agua de jamaica (hibiscus) is no longer included with the weekday carnitas meal. 'We can blame inflation for that,' said the restaurateur. But the weekend-only menudo is still a steal. One of the world's legendary hangover cures transforms beef tripe, guajillo chiles and aromatics into a soothing stew. You dress your bowl to taste with onion, cilantro and oregano as part of the restorative ritual. 'Price is something I'm very mindful of,' said Carbajal. 'I want big families to come by.' I ordered online for one visit, because the majority of the business is still takeout, and dined in for another. When I called to confirm my order, after I got through the voice prompts in Spanish, I was able to speak to a live bilingual person. Service was excellent for takeout and dine-in, both fast and friendly. But the thoughtful hospitality starts even before you arrive, with two parking lots in the high-traffic area. The colorful interior by designer Aida Napoles of AGN Design features ribbons on a ceiling installation hiding little marionettes. Everybody used to have those when they were kids down in Mexico, Carbajal said. They're just another detail to discover when a culture is truly seen. Las Carnitas Uruapan La Villita 3801 W. 26th St. 773-940-2770 Open: Monday to Thursday 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.; Friday 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.; Saturday and Sunday 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Prices: $10.99 (weekday only Carnitas 'Especial' meal), $6.99 (guacamole and tortilla chips), $6 (weekend only corunda), $10 (Tarasco Secrets cocktail), $3.50 (12 ounce iced cafe de olla) Sound: OK (65 to 70 dB) Accessibility: Wheelchair accessible with restrooms on same level Tribune rating: Excellent, three of four stars Ratings key: Four stars, outstanding; three stars, excellent; two stars, very good; one star, good; no stars, unsatisfactory. Meals are paid for by the Tribune.
