MEXICO CITY — At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, in July 2020, Jael Monserrat Vriloe Palmeros vanished from a Mexico City worker’s residence owned by a local call center. She was a young mother with dreams, swallowed by the darkness of Mexico’s vast crisis of disappearances.
“Montserrat was an artistic child. She was religious. She believed in God. Friendship was important to her,” her mother, Jacqueline, tells The New York Sun. “She always wanted to be kind to others, never to hurt people.”
When Jacqueline lost contact with her daughter, she turned to the police. Their response was chillingly routine: no help unless she could pay. As a single mother of four, she had nothing to offer. Like so many mothers in Mexico, Jacqueline had no choice but to search alone.
Bit by bit, she pieced together a motive behind Montserrat’s disappearance. A so-called friend had coaxed her into running errands that day, assuring her that her boyfriend would pick her up. What she didn’t know was that Montserrat’s new boyfriend — and the friend who had quickly inserted herself into her life — were allegedly part of an organized sex trafficking ring.
Weeks later came the searing message. An anonymous Facebook account. A few words that shattered her world.
“Montserrat is dead. She’s buried in the mountains.”
For more than four years, Jacqueline joined El Camino de la Búsqueda — “The Way of the Search” — a volunteer collective of mothers combing the desolate expanse of Ajusco, a volcanic wilderness south of the capital. The raw beauty of the region is deceptive. Beneath the canopy of trees and rock, the earth holds secrets.
“I believe the authorities didn’t want us to find anything. They knew we were searching a clandestine cemetery,” Jacqueline stressed. “They don’t want people searching there because it exposes the reality of how many people have disappeared.”
On November 27, 2024, she found a hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d unearthed remains. Over the years, she had discovered eight bodies—some fresh, some old—along with scattered human bones. But this time, something felt different. In January, a forensic analysis confirmed it was Monserrat.
“It is devastating. A pain I cannot describe,” Jacqueline recounted. “Criminal organizations that traffic women always give them a choice — work for them, or they will kill their family. I believe my daughter refused to do it, and they killed her because of that.”
In a twisted, unjust way, Jacqueline may be considered one of the lucky ones. Many other mothers scour for years on end without answers or any semblance of closure.
For decades, Mexico has been gripped by relentless and surging violence, with more than 30,000 people killed annually and many more missing.
As of March 14, 2025, Mexico’s National Registry of Missing Persons reports over 124,000 individuals have disappeared. Due to underreporting and incomplete data, the actual number is likely higher.
“We have at least 120,000 to 200,000 missing people, and the government refuses to properly address it,” Mexico City-based psychologist and criminological profiler Mónica Ramírez Cano tells the Sun. “They claim to have everything under control, but the numbers don’t lie. It is worse than ever. These cartels are terrorists, and they deserve to be labeled as such.”
Disappearances are a daily reality, with men accounting for 75 percent of cases and women 25 percent. Jalisco, Tamaulipas, and Estado de México have the highest numbers, while Nuevo León has some of the worst per capita rates.
With few resources and little official support, mothers searching for their missing loved ones venture into remote, crime-ridden territories often at great personal risk. Their relentless efforts to expose organized crime and corruption have made them targets.
“These mothers get no support. They are the ones searching for their own missing children, husbands, and loved ones,” Ms. Cano pointed out. “At least 323 leaders of these search collectives have been murdered. It’s a dangerous fight.”
Increasingly, these women are silenced — abducted, kidnapped, or assassinated in their homes and workplaces for their refusal to stay quiet.
Jacqueline has received multiple warnings from anonymous individuals “to stop looking.”
“They told me that if I keep searching, I may lose another child,” Jacqueline said. “But the people of Mexico are brave. Mexico is a beautiful country, but the people are suffering. We will not stop fighting for justice.”
A Nation of Crime and Impunity
Mexico ranks among the four most vulnerable countries to organized crime— well above the global average, according to the Global Organized Crime Index.
Impunity fuels the crisis. A staggering 93 percent of crimes go unreported due to deep mistrust in the justice system, and only 1.1 percent are ever investigated and resolved. This lawlessness has enabled the epidemic of disappearances, where missing persons are forgotten rather than found.
Disappearances are not just a symptom of cartel violence. Government actors are routinely accused of being complicit — either directly involved, looking the other way, or actively furthering the interests of organized crime.
Research professor of Latin American studies at the U.S. Army War College’s Strategic Studies Institute, Evan Ellis, tells the Sun that while there are some efforts by the Mexican government, with support from non-governmental organizations, the scale of the problem renders it difficult to make inroads.
“The bodies of many of those killed are being destroyed by some criminal organizations to hide their murder, indirectly causing official numbers for deaths to appear to remain stable, even while numbers of disappeared increase,” Mr. Ellis said.
On January 25, 2010, Jose Antonio, a young civil engineer in his 20s, was speaking with his girlfriend on the phone from his home in Monclova, Coahuila, when she suddenly heard muffled sounds in the background before the line went dead.
Within 24 hours, his parents began the heart-wrenching 640-mile journey that would become every parent’s worst nightmare.
At first, a lawyer advised them not to file a police report, warning that it would be too dangerous if local authorities were involved with criminals. It didn’t take long, however, for Guadalupe to suspect that the people higher up in her son’s company — a well-established firm with lucrative government contracts — were tied to criminal groups, particularly the Zeta cartel, which controls that turf.
“My son was responsible for distributing contracts, and it’s likely he stumbled upon information they didn’t want him to know,” Jose’s mother, Guadalupe Fernandez, tells The Sun. “There are so many families like ours, left in the dark, not knowing where their loved ones are. It is agonizing to live without knowing the truth.”
Despite choosing to report the disappearance to authorities, 15 years have passed, and there is still no sign of Jose Antonio. The grief-stricken parents have been swindled out of thousands of dollars by “psychics” and so-called “spiritual guides” claiming they could lead them to their son. In a country where disappearances have become an industry, many prey on desperate families, exploiting their fear and vulnerability.
What’s Next?
A lack of transparency, stalled investigations, and the absence of a robust system to involve families, enforce accountability, and strengthen forensic capabilities perpetuate an endless cycle of injustice.
Mexican President Sheinbaum’s first term comes amid escalating cartel violence, with gang clashes becoming deadlier — lethality rates are up 18 percent from 2023.
Cartels and associated criminal groups have doubled their use of explosives and remote attacks in some areas. Adapting commercial drones, grenades, and landmines, they have embraced asymmetric warfare, borrowing tactics from Colombian insurgents to outmaneuver rivals and terrorize communities.
With President Trump back in office, Mexican-American relations face a hard shift. Mr. Trump has imposed a 25 percent tariff on Mexican goods and threatened mass deportations and severe reprisals if Mexico fails to curb drug trafficking and migration.
Beyond politics, every disappearance is more than a statistic — it’s a violation of fundamental human rights, leaving families shattered and entire communities scarred by fear and loss.
In Mexico, the dead do not always rest. For the living, the search never ends.
“I still cannot have peace until the people responsible for this are held accountable. The criminals are still free. They are still trafficking people,” Jacqueline added. “I will keep fighting. I have only found part of my daughter’s remains, and I need to find the rest. She was burned. I also want to help other families find their missing daughters and sons. This is about justice and peace.”
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