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In Mexico, kidnapping is no longer just a problem for the rich

By Danna HarmanStaff writer of The Christian Science Monitor / October 18, 2004



MEXICO CITY

The relationship between Mauricio and his father had been tense for years. He was, at 21, a father himself but still the baby of the family: cheeky and handsome and his mother's favorite.

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His dad, Raimondo Enciso, a self-made man who started with nothing and ended up with a minivan, a pickup, and a bus route in Benito Juarez - collecting fees from drivers as they zoomed in and out of the northern Mexico City slum - thought the boy was soft, spoiled even.

Mauricio came by the house that afternoon, leaning into the entryway, chipping away at the red paint on the doorframe with his fingernails as he grinned at his mom. He was returning the $30 he had borrowed from his father.

He was pressed for time - someone had hired the minivan. He would stop by later. Or maybe tomorrow. He put a hand on his heart and then blew a kiss.

That was the Monday after Easter last year. And no one has seen Mauricio since.

An estimated 3,000 kidnappings took place in Mexico in 2003, second only to Colombia worldwide. And while historically it has been a scourge only for the wealthy - foreign executives pulled from their fancy cars, children of the elite snatched from the school playground - lower- and middle-class families like the Encisos are increasingly being targeted.

"Kidnapping has become a common industry, taking place among all sectors of the population," says Asael Obando Rios, director of CEISAR, the special antikidnapping unit in the state of Mexico. "And the poor are shouldering much of burden."

Mexico's ransom market is thought to be worth in excess of $100 million a year, according to Kroll, an international risk consultant. But Mr. Rios says it's becoming more common to see demands of $1,500 and lower. Just last week, a 6-year-old boy was snatched from the neighborhood abutting Benito Juarez and his distraught parents were ordered to pay $200, a fortune for those who can't afford meat for dinner or fees for school. The boy was found dead. Criminals working in poor areas are emboldened by the examples of the professional kidnappers and the lack of convictions, say observers.

While Mexican authorities dispute Kroll's estimate of 3,000 abductions last year, claiming that kidnappings here are in the low hundreds, even they admit that at least half of the cases go unreported. Mexico City is trying to change that.

Rios supervises 120 full-time special agents in a unit recently restructured to respond to an increase in kidnappings among the less affluent. The team is modeled after Colombia's tough, no-nonsense approach, which has seen the numbers of abductions there decline of late. The new program enlists TV and radio to provide information so that poorer families know what to do when a kidnapping takes place. Also, agents move into the families' homes to help with negotiations. Rios stresses that "99 percent" of cases end with the victim returning home.

So far, however, the numbers of those turning to the police has not gone up. This, say many people here, is because of lack of faith in the system. At best, says Arcelia, Mauricio's mother, the police are inefficient and uninterested. At worst, they are working with the very kidnappers they purport to be fighting.

"This is common knowledge," she says. Still, she went to them eventually, desperate enough, she says, to believe in anything. Soon, four special agents had moved into the house - advising the family and tapping the phones, yes, but also eating from the fridge and asking for an allowance.

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