‘If We Don’t Report These Stories, Who Will?’: The Women Reporting Mexico’s Deadliest Crimes

The first time Alina* covered a homicide, she was told that a skeleton had been found near an old highway in the Mexican state of Guerrero. She thought, “Well, they're just bones.” But what awaited her was far different.

The victim, a man in his fifties, had been murdered and poorly buried. Part of the bones of his foot had surfaced, but when the rest of the body was exhumed, it was still fresh, tangled in barbed wire — a sign he’d been tortured. Alina froze, overwhelmed by what, in her mind, resembled a movie scene. The smell of death lingered in her uniform for days.

Mexico is one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a journalist. Amnesty International and the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) have called it the Western Hemisphere’s most dangerous country for journalists in the 21st century. According to CPJ’s records, Mexico also has the highest number of disappeared reporters globally, with none of the cases leading to a conviction. 

The press freedom organization ARTICLE 19 notes that during Andrés Manuel López Obrador's presidency, at least 47 journalists were killed, and many remained missing before the current president, Claudia Sheinbaum, took office in October 2024. Since then, two more have been murdered. Across Mexico, Reporters Without Borders documented at least five journalists killed in 2024, and another five disappeared. 

For Alina, 34, journalism was never part of her plan. She majored in Latin American literature and worked as a teacher until a friend encouraged her to apply for a job at a newspaper. At 24, she found herself drawn to the streets of Guerrero forging bonds with people who would become her sources. Meanwhile in Sinaloa, a state that has long been an organized crime stronghold in Mexico, the road to journalism for 29-year-old Belem* began in her family’s library. There, books and TV news were her sole windows into the world. When the pandemic occurred, it pushed her into written journalism: “There was too much happening, and not enough journalists to cover it all,” she told More to Her Story.

“What if I were detained by organized crime? What if being a woman changed the outcome?” Alina asked. These questions linger every time the headlines show a journalist turned into a victim. 

Alina says that women journalists in Mexico are targeted by criminal organizations in different ways from their male colleagues: “When it's us, they start with your house, your pets, your family, even your children, before they finally come after you.”

Some of her female colleagues have had their pets poisoned, their homes set on fire. According to the 2024 annual report by Comunicación e Información de la Mujer A.C. (CIMAC), 204 cases of aggression against women journalists were documented throughout the year. Of these, 64 percent involved psychological violence, 24 percent physical violence, 8 percent patrimonial violence, and 1 percent sexual violence. Belem believes government rhetoric vilifying the press fuels violence against them. Although she assures that threats transcend gender, she admits her fears to be different. To feel safer, she avoids wearing tight clothing and often brings along male colleagues when covering dangerous stories.

Even in the hardest times, journalists in Mexico find ways to support one another, often reaching beyond state borders. The journalists’ union in Chilpancingo has recognized the need to shift from a purely “reactive” stance to proactively fostering connections among its members to create a sense of unity and support. 

Female reporters within the organization are taking the lead. The women in the group have started talking openly about how they’re feeling and the need to address these issues directly. For example, they have identified certain places — such as the local police station — that are no longer safe for them and have collectively decided to avoid them unless necessary.

They have also begun discussions on creating a safety protocol which will include self-care strategies and guidelines for responding to dangerous situations. “Our goal is to create a roadmap for our protection,” Alina said. “We want to know how to recognize danger and what actions to take to ensure we’re all safe.”

These efforts are part of broader attempts to establish a more solidified, self-sufficient  network of journalists, but they also highlight a key challenge: the lack of state support. Guerrero is one of the Mexican states with a fund dedicated to supporting journalists, but Alina expresses concerns about its corruption and inefficiency. “The system is far from perfect,” she said. “But we still push for more concrete measures from the government.”

Before crime reporting, Alina used to cover local governance in Chilpancingo. But reporting on water access or garbage collection became a far different task after photos of the mayor's decapitated head circulated online, eventually appearing in Alina's WhatsApp group chat among her colleagues. 

Her sister caught a glimpse of the image and broke down, begging Alina to quit journalism. Alina tried to comfort her, insisting “We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” But inside, she struggled with fear and guilt.

In another part of Mexico, Belem found herself face-to-face with communities caught in the crossfire of cartel and military operations in a rural area, while covering the aftermath of Ovidio Guzmán's capture — the son of the notorious drug lord “El Chapo” Guzmán. 

When Belem and her colleagues prepared to leave, desperate locals surrounded their car, refusing to let her team go. They feared that the military would abuse them once they came back and begged the journalists to stay and document what was happening. Despite the overwhelming risks, efforts to protect journalists have been slow to meet the scale of the crisis. Amnesty International and the CPJ’s 2024 report on the safety of press members in Mexico underscores the need for urgent reforms to the Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists. 

Alina and Belem didn’t set out to cover nota roja—Mexico’s crime-focused journalism—but it became unavoidable. Their stories are the stories of nearly every journalist covering violence, impunity, and injustice in Mexico.

“Journalism has to matter,” Belem said. “Our stories help people make decisions that could save their lives.”

“Covering violence isn’t just a job; it’s a burden. But if we don’t report these stories, who will?” echoed Alina.

In a country where ten women are murdered daily and journalists vanish without justice, Alina and Belem risk everything—not just to report the crisis, but to ensure their communities aren’t left in the dark.