Fighting Stereotypes and Writing About the War on Drugs in Crime Fiction ‹ CrimeReads

When I first came up with the idea of ​​writing the story of a woman forced to run the family drug business she despises, I was worried. How could I tell the story of a family-run drug cartel while also being respectful of Mexico, its citizens, and those hurt by the decades-long war on drugs? Would I be doing more harm than good? But the more I researched the long history of drug trafficking, the more I decided to look into it.

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“Breaking Bad,” “Queen of the South,” and “Narcos” were all extremely popular television shows. So if the general public wanted to see stories about the drug trade, why not present them to them in the form of a novel? The caveat would be to use the story as a way to highlight the United States’ role and politics surrounding the drug trade, much like the Netflix series “Narcos” and “Queen of the South” have done. Because this unimaginably complex problem boils down to the fact that the United States has lost the war on drugs. And in its trillion-dollar wake, more than fifty years later, the war has destroyed some of the lives it purported to save, while imprisoning disproportionate numbers of people of color and employing dangerous rhetoric regarding immigrants and the United States’ southern border states. Sofia De Luna’s story is about the what-ifs of someone who wants to break out of the vicious cycle of drug trafficking and violence and the obstacles that stand in her way.

I was fortunate to attend public school at a time when we were taught about the history of Arizona and the land on which it was built. These history lessons sparked my interest in Mexico, whose border is just an hour from my birthplace in southern Arizona. Tucson is a city that combines the cultural diversity and richness of a shared border. The city is dotted with colonial-style churches built by Spanish missionaries, and as I grew up I learned how these same missionaries destroyed the lives, faith, and land of the indigenous population. I grew up in a town that was half the size and half the size. While I myself was half like that, half like that.

I always knew that I was a mixed-race child, half white, half Latino, and so while earning a bachelor’s degree in journalism with a minor in Latin American studies at the University of Arizona, I had the opportunity to learn more about this half of me I knew few. This sparked my interest and respect for the country I grew up so close to. The country whose traditions, food and culture were brought north by immigrants and shared openly and warmly. But it wasn’t until I took a DNA test in my late 30s that I realized how deep my connection to southern Mexico was, and my desire to learn more about Mexican history became even stronger. A history that is scarred and shared with the United States, as with many Latin American countries.

“All Our Wars” is a story about “What if?” One is: “What if a man fleeing one war to save his family ran right into another?”

In my Latin American history class, the pattern of government instability in Latin American countries in the 1970s and 1980s became clear. As does the involvement of the United States in these stories.

All our wars is a novel with two storylines that follows Sofia’s parents at the end of Argentina’s Dirty War, in which an estimated 30,000 people disappeared due to government-sanctioned measures that resulted in families fleeing the country to seek asylum. The legacy of this war is the children born in camps and never returned to their families. In 2003, documents were released that underscored US support for the dictatorship at the time.

In All our warsSofia’s father leaves his native Argentina to escape violence, only to later cultivate and profit from violence. Another character’s mother also leaves battle-torn Guatemala for Mexico, hoping to give her son some safety and a sense of security, but she is killed by Sofia’s father. The purpose of highlighting this type of violence is to show readers that these systems have existed for generations and are cyclical. Even something as human as the desire for a better life is no easy task.

The lost war on drugs and its effects

When talking about the war on drugs, America’s legacy on the northern side of the border is often overlooked. With a B budget of 41 billion in 2022, it is reported that drug use is still increasing in the United States. The lasting legacy of this war, which appears to involve mass incarceration that disproportionately affects minorities and the imprisonment of more people, has so far failed to work in either country. Prisons in both the United States and Mexico are severely overcrowded. More incarcerations also mean more court cases, which tie up resources. Even the people of the United States seem to have given up on this war.

According to an article from Civilrights.org, 83 percent of Americans surveyed believe the war on drugs has failed and 66 percent support eliminating criminal charges for drug possession entirely.

This failed war has not stopped certain politicians from painting the picture of the need to strengthen Americans’ security in the form of a border wall – a bigger, better, stronger one – as the only thing that will ensure the safety of our children. In reality, most border crossers are desperate families crossing the border to flee the complex problems of violence in their home countries.

Having grown up near the border, I never understood the toxicity of those who make the dangerous decision to cross the border. Laws and politics aside, the landscape of southern Arizona, where temperatures are and remain above 100 degrees for weeks, is unforgivable. There are also human coyotes who make wild promises to potential border crossers just to make a profit. Families who cross this terrain in hellish conditions do not do so because it was their first choice. While we cannot ignore the strain on U.S. cities and their resources as more immigrants find their way north of the border, cruelty is not the answer. Nor will the US military be sent to Mexico to fight cartels.

All our wars was never intended to be a simple black and white story of right and wrong, because the drug trade and all its variations are not that simple. What if, when writing Sofia’s story, the following occurred: “What if someone from within wanted to change the narrative of their family, of their country?” Was it possible? The idea behind this idea was to find a way to show the world that this problem goes much deeper than the quotes heard on TV from people who have never visited Mexico.

Sofia, like her mother before her, loves Mexico, they love their homeland and they love the people in their country. They want something better for themselves, for their family, for the country. They were all inspired by their own “What if?” questions. because they saw what their families’ choices meant for their country, the violence the drug business brought, and how it destroyed lives. The women in the De Luna family are dreamers. They are fierce protectors of their families, but they are also realistic. The drugs fund her family’s lifestyle, but beyond that, the drugs and the power that money brings protect her family from the same violence they seek to contain.

I wanted to examine The War on Drugs in a way that didn’t portray one country or another as the good guy or the bad guy. Sofia’s story was a way to explore not only how insidious the cartels are, but also how drug culture touches many areas of everyday life – churches, politicians, business, agriculture. The list goes on. How do you remove cancer that has spread to bones and nerves? As Sofia discovers on her journey, the answers aren’t easy. She feels responsible for her family. But the government officials she meets on both sides of the border also have their own plans.

As Sofia says, there is more to Mexico than just drugs and violence. There are writers who tell beautiful stories about Mexico. Please consider reading her work. It might change how you feel when these news clips talk about dangerous immigrants.

I am by no means an expert on foreign policy, but if you have further interest in the subject, I highly recommend the following books: The line becomes a river by Francisco Cantú, a former border guard who wrote about his time at the border, and Nareconomy by Tom Wainwright, who examines the business behind drugs and how the cartels have become businesses.

Through Sofia I was able to journey through my own story and I hope readers will do the same.

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