Gringo Gazette North – “No Bad News”… but not blind news either.
This week Mexico sent two very different messages.
On one side, the Senate accepted the resignation of Alejandro Gertz Manero as attorney general, the man in charge of chasing federal criminals and taking big cases to court (Senado de la República, 2025; Reuters, 2025).
On the other, the country watched in shock as Uruapan’s mayor, Carlos Manzo, was murdered during a public event in Michoacán, in a case packed with narco politics, police failures and a long history of criminal power in the region (El Financiero, 2025b; Infobae, 2025b).
Meanwhile, here in Ensenada, local headlines keep repeating the same phrase. “Another armed attack.” By mid-November we already had 99 homicides in 2025, nine of them just in that month, including yet another double killing in Maneadero (García, 2025).
Our slogan is “No Bad News.” We love sunsets, wine, tacos and dogs on the beach. Pretending this is not happening, though, would be dishonest. And if we want safety in Baja, we first need honesty: up there in the capital and right here on our own Facebook feeds.
Let’s walk through what is going on, with data, not just vibes.
What the attorney general actually does
Think of the Fiscalía General de la República, the FGR, as the national law office meant to go after the heavy stuff. Organized crime, big corruption, financial crimes, fuel theft, federal-level homicides and human trafficking.
The Constitution defines it as an autonomous body in charge of investigating and prosecuting federal crimes for the Mexican State (TEPJF, 2023).
In plain English:
- They build the cases against major criminal groups.
- They should protect key witnesses and whistleblowers.
- They decide which scandals become criminal cases and which die as press conferences.
That is why the person who runs the FGR matters so much. You can change police chiefs every six months, but if the federal prosecutor’s office does not bring solid cases to judges, the big fish keep swimming.
Alejandro Gertz Manero became Mexico’s first autonomous attorney general in 2019. During his term he handled files like the Odebrecht bribery network, the Ayotzinapa case and fuel theft investigations. He also became famous for leaked audio where he appeared to pressure judges over a family case, and for accusations of selective justice that followed him almost until his last day in office (El País, 2025a).
His resignation, then, is not just palace gossip. It signals that the rules of the game may be shifting.
Why did Gertz step down now?
On November 27, the Senate accepted his resignation, after a request from President Claudia Sheinbaum. The official narrative highlights his age and health, and announces that he will move to a diplomatic post in The Hague, linked to international organizations (Senado de la República, 2025; Reuters, 2025).
At the same time, Sheinbaum has talked about a “new Fiscalía” and more coordination to investigate crimes like fuel tax fraud, the famous “huachicol fiscal” that drains billions from public finances (El Financiero, 2025a).
In reality, two narratives coexist.
The polite version says a tired public servant moves on. The political version says the government needs a prosecutor more aligned with its security push and with growing pressure from citizens and from the United States over organized crime.
Both can hold pieces of the truth. Politics rarely works in black and white.
The timing is what raises eyebrows. Gertz leaves days after the assassination of a sitting mayor and in the middle of scandals that tie organized crime, business elites and even the Miss Universe brand. That is not exactly a calm exit.
Violence in numbers, not just headlines
Let’s look at the data. From January to September 2025, Mexico recorded 18,407 victims of intentional homicide, according to figures compiled from state prosecutors (Organización Editorial Mexicana, 2025).
That works out to roughly 67 people killed per day nationwide.
The federal government insists there is progress. An April security report claimed that homicides had dropped about 33 percent compared with late 2024, going from an average of 86.9 to 58.3 killings per day (El País, 2025b).
Yes, the curve bends down a little. Yet most Mexicans still feel unsafe. A national survey from INEGI, summarized by El País, found that around 61.9 percent of adults felt insecure in their city early this year. For women, the figure jumped to 67.5 percent (El País, 2025b).
Here comes the nerdy but useful part.
Those homicide counts are not a sample. They are the full record of cases reported to authorities. In statistics class we would say there is no “95 percent confidence interval” because we are not extrapolating from a small group; we are counting all the reports.
The perception survey, in contrast, does use a sample. There the statisticians do work with 95 percent confidence levels and margins of error. Even with that uncertainty, the message stays consistent. People feel far less safe than the official trend lines might suggest.
If you live in Ensenada, you do not need a confidence interval. A quick scroll through local news is enough.
Ensenada’s rough year
According to El Imparcial, after a double killing in Maneadero on November 15, Ensenada reached 99 homicides so far in 2025. Nine of those happened in November alone (García, 2025).
Most of these cases do not involve random tourists or families heading for wine country. Local reports often mention victims with previous arrests, links to drug dealing or attacks near known sale points. Others simply talk about people “with a criminal record” without further detail.
We still lack a clean database to confirm every motive. A pattern, though, is already visible.
Many attacks occur at night or early morning. Several cluster in southern delegations like Maneadero and in rural areas. A good number involve long guns and multiple shooters, classic signs of organized crime disputes.
When you feel that this week they killed someone every day, you are not exaggerating much. Violence concentrates in specific groups and areas, but its echo reaches the whole city.
Why the murder of Carlos Manzo felt like a breaking point
On November 1, mayor Carlos Manzo of Uruapan, Michoacán, attended the Festival de las Velas. Someone asked for a photo. Seconds later, shots rang out.
Later investigations linked the attack to a local cell of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel, tied to a regional boss known as “El R1” and his operator “El Licenciado” (Infobae, 2025b).
The case shook the country for several reasons.
The attackers targeted a sitting mayor in public, with families around. Investigations pointed to alleged leaks and negligence from his own security team (El Financiero, 2025b). And the whole incident confirmed what many already knew: in some regions, local politics and organized crime sit at the same table.
People across Mexico watched that video and had the same thought. If they can do that to a mayor, what chance do the rest of us have?
So when someone says it felt like the country finally said “enough,” they are not alone. That crime turned into a symbol, just like the Ayotzinapa case once did for forced disappearances.
Miss Universe, fuel theft and the cost of glamour
Now switch scenes to another scandal with a very different outfit: evening gowns and beauty pageants.
The global Miss Universe brand landed in the crosshairs of a criminal investigation in Mexico. Businessman Raúl Rocha Cantú, linked to the company that holds the Miss Universe franchise and to a large security firm, was investigated for alleged involvement in a network of drug trafficking, arms smuggling and fuel tax fraud. Later he became a cooperating witness, what here we call “criterio de oportunidad,” for federal prosecutors (El Financiero, 2025a; Infobae, 2025a).
In the background, reports resurfaced about a former Pemex official and father of a national beauty queen, who once faced an administrative sanction over unexplained wealth and links to fuel-related contracts, although that case was later closed (Infobae, 2025a).
Not every headline or rumor has been proven in court. That is why we use these stories mainly to ask questions.
And now I need to be crystal clear on one very specific point.
I am not questioning Fátima’s victory. The judges picked her, and she delivered exactly what that contest asks for. She did the work, stepped on that stage and brought the crown home. That is a triumph, and it is not under discussion.
Personally I do not agree with this type of pageant for women. It often shrinks us into waists, smiles and dresses. Yet Fátima is a winner. That is not in doubt. My problem is with the system, not with her.
So the questions point somewhere else.
Who gets a second chance when corruption is exposed, and who ends up in jail? Why do some businessmen accused of massive tax fraud or fuel theft end up as protected witnesses, while small business owners get their accounts frozen for a missing invoice? How many of these glamorous brands that we see on Instagram sit on top of murky money?
Here the FGR’s role becomes central again. A justice system that cuts deals with white-collar suspects while struggling to solve everyday murders sends a very clear message about priorities.
And what about García Harfuch?
While the attorney general falls, the federal security chief, Omar García Harfuch, stays firmly in place.
He reports busy success. More than 18,700 people arrested for high-impact crimes. Over 9,600 firearms seized. Hundreds of synthetic drug labs dismantled between October and April (El País, 2025b).
Some political outlets even say Washington prefers him in security instead of another cabinet post, because he is a key player in joint anti-drug operations.
Many Mexicans, including people in Baja, still feel the opposite of “success.”
First, perception travels faster than data. People see videos of shootings on TikTok before they see official charts.
Next, averages hide local hells. The national homicide rate can fall while places like Michoacán, Guanajuato or parts of Baja California still live under the rule of extortion.
Families also judge results by very simple metrics.
Can I drive home at night? Can my kids go out with friends? Will my store be asked for “cuota” this month?
If the honest answer is “I am not sure,” then it does not matter how many press conferences say “we are 30 percent better.”
Facebook, stolen articles and small daily corruption
Let me bring this down to something very personal.
A while ago, someone copied one of my articles and reposted it in another outlet without my name. No “by Luisa Rosas.” No link. Nothing. Just cut, paste and pretend it was theirs.
On Facebook there is literally a button that says “Share.” That little arrow exists so you can pass content along while still giving credit to whoever created it. In print you can write “as reported by Luisa Rosas in the Gringo Gazette North.” This is not rocket science. It is just honesty.
Now move that logic to money.
If we are willing to steal someone’s work and erase their name, it becomes much easier to justify selling gasoline without a proper ticket, skipping VAT in a restaurant or paying an under-the-table fee to “fix” a permit.
We love to say the government is corrupt, the police are corrupt, the narcos are corrupt. Many times that is true.
Yet corruption also lives in very small daily choices.
Buying stolen fuel because it is cheaper. Renting an Airbnb and asking for a cash discount with no receipt. Copying work without credit and saying “it is just the internet.”
Anyone who wants to demand that the next attorney general prosecutes big crime also has to demand basic ethics from themselves.
So what does all this mean for Baja?
Let’s bring the camera home.
The same national survey that paints a dark picture of insecurity also mentions some of the least unsafe cities in the country. Los Cabos appears there with about 24.7 percent of residents feeling insecure, one of the lowest levels in Mexico (El País, 2025b).
That does not mean paradise. It means that, compared with Uruapan or Fresnillo, we still have a window of opportunity. Tourism, binational trade and thousands of honest small businesses depend on keeping that window open.
For Baja residents the message stays simple, even if reality does not.
If you are not buying or selling drugs, Mexico’s criminal market is not looking for you on purpose. When you avoid obviously shady deals—fuel without a receipt, fake invoices, special alcohol for your bar—you lower your risk of falling into the same networks that finance armed groups. And if you run a legitimate restaurant, hotel, vineyard, taco stand or tech company, you are part of the quiet resistance: people building a decent life without shortcuts.
No, that does not guarantee safety. Innocent victims exist, and they always will. That is exactly why we need a serious justice system, not just pretty charts.
In Baja, your best bet is still to live clean, support honest businesses and stay away from the gray zones where corruption and crime overlap.
Behind the scenes, local authorities, business chambers and neighbors push for better policing, more cameras, stronger tourist corridors and closer work with U.S. partners. Those efforts do not always make the front page, yet they exist, precisely so that you can enjoy your fish tacos and your sunset without watching over your shoulder every ten seconds.
Why we are writing this in a “No Bad News” paper
I will be honest. I would rather be writing about wine harvests than murder statistics.
Ignoring what happens around us, though, is also a form of complicity. Our readers trust us not only to tell them where the best ceviche is, but also when the ground under their feet moves.
So we will keep doing two things at once.
We will celebrate honest, hard-working Baja entrepreneurs who put their heart into what they do. And we will ask uncomfortable questions when justice and security seem to only work for some.
If you share this article on Facebook, please use the button. Tag the Gringo Gazette North. Mention the sources.
And in your daily life, keep one small question nearby.
“Am I part of the problem, or part of the long, slow work of cleaning this up?”
In the end, the new attorney general, the powerful security chiefs and the big business owners all live in the same country that we do.
If we want Baja to stay as the place where people come for joy, not for fear, we need both things: better institutions at the top and basic decency at street level.
As for me, I try to hold on to one stoic line when I write about all this. I cannot command the world, but I can command how I act in it.
