A hero in prison clothing
Osuna says cartel king better to folks than government
In a Manhattan jail cell, El Chapo spends 23 hours every day in solitary confinement, awaiting trial.
Twice before, the drug kingpin has escaped from prison. But that was in Mexico, where greasing palms might get a notorious desperado a minibike waiting outside to lam it. Or a guard unlocking his cell door, to slip away in a dirty laundry hamper.
This is the notorious cartel czar that Roberto Osuna describes as a hero.
“People where I live love that guy. We all love that guy because he was a really kind person to us.”
To understand this benign view of an outlaw, one might have needed to grow up dirt poor in the crime-infested Pacific Coast state of Sinaloa where law enforcement was often more of a menace than the drug lords. There is certainly a folk-hero dimension to Joaquin Guzman, whose career on the wrong side of the law rendered him a kind of Robin Hood, if the violence, kidnappings, murders by hit squads of sicarios, billions of dollars in laundered money, is ignored.
Osuna, born in the dust-town of Juan Jose Rios, raised nearby in Los Mochis, dropping out of school at age 12 to work the vegetable fields with his ex-Mexican League pitcher father Roberto Osuna Sr., was raised in the midst of it, the most impoverished of year when his dad retired from the game and had to toil as a farmhand labourer to keep a two-room house roof over his family’s head.
“For me, he helped a lot of people, way more than what the government has done,” says Osuna, who was only a few blocks away in Los Mochis when fugitive Guzman emerged from a sewer, triggering a gun battle between his criminal gang and soldiers and police.
“He’s a hero in Mexico. I respect that.”
Jays management will likely turn ashen hearing of Osuna’s remarks. But the Blue Jays gold-chip closer is merely being honest, which is refreshing. And he has a point. Graftriddled Mexico was ranked 128th of 137 nations for corruption, as per the World Economic Forum index for 2017-18.
Still, such idolizing of a murderous thug, head of Sinaloa’s most sinister cartel? Although, it should be noted, since his re-arrest last January, challengers have stepped into the breach, most notably the Damaso Lopez Nunez-led cartel, moving into Guzman’s turf. It may be that — as he’s done before — Guzman is still managing to direct his criminal empire from behind bars. His head of security was killed by soldiers a few weeks ago.
The 60-year-old, extradited to the U.S. after his last arrest, is facing a slew of drug trafficking and conspiracy charges that could result, if convicted, in a life sentence. His trial is set to start Sept. 5 in a Brooklyn courtroom. Such is Guzman’s reach that a judge last week ruled jurors will be escorted by U.S. marshals to and from the court and they won’t be identified. Guzman is suspected of having potential witnesses whacked in the past. His lawyer claims the accused will not plead and won’t try to cut a deal.
None of which appears to dissuade 23-year-old Osuna from his admiration, even though one of his own uncles is a high-ranking police officer.
“This is my point. He sells drugs. But who buys them?”
Americans buy them. Mexico is the top supplier of illegal drugs to the U.S. Guzman was allegedly responsible for trafficking more than 200 tonnes of cocaine into America.
“I’m not saying that,” continues Osuna, careful not to overtly endorse Guzman’s criminality and certainly not drug use. “I’m saying the consumers are the ones who made the guy rich. So I don’t think it’s his fault. If I’m doing something and it’s working out for me, I’m going to keep doing it, right?’’
Osuna is arguably the secondmost famous export from Sinaloa. His baseball wealth is nowhere in the same orbit as Guzman has made from drug trafficking and his other crimi- nal enterprises. Although Osuna lost at his first arbitration file in January, he nonetheless received a humongous raise — $5.3 million US, half-amillion less than his ask — after making a mere $552,400 last season.
A baseball-leading 10 blown saves likely had something to do with the arbitrator’s decision. Even with an up-anddown second half, Osuna did still finish with 39 saves, second best in the American League.
Guzman’s rap sheet includes abductions. Yet the Osuna family — he has three younger siblings — has never been targeted or threatened. The gangsters appear to have given the Osunas a wide berth.
“People are wrong about that business,” insists Osuna. “They’ve got their way of doing things, right. But they don’t do anything to the ordinary people. Like, for me and my family, we feel really safe out there. We know how those things work. And we don’t really worry about that. Not my family. Like I said, I know the way they do everything and it doesn’t seem very risky for us. I feel very comfortable there. I feel safe. Respect is mutual. So, nothing to worry about.”
Living in the cartel midst, he means. Because Osuna continues to live in Los Mochis in the off-season and has no intention of bugging out. Indeed, he occasionally seems to take a page from Guzman-the-Benefactor’s book by spreading the goodies around to the populace, as he did just before Christmas, playing Santa by handing out blankets and toys and clothing from the back of a truck. “Everything I do, I do from my heart.”
A reporter asks if Osuna has ever crossed paths with Guzman. After all, before his fugitive episodes, Guzman would often drop into local restaurants, everything coming to a quiet standstill, until his security detail reassured diners that Senior Guzman was only there to enjoy a meal. Then Guzman would pick up the tab for the house.
Osuna smiles. “No, no, no. I’ve never met him.”