Desert Blood: The Juárez Murders

“Dad, I thought you were gonna supervise me in the kid’s section, I’m starting to feel kinda lonely.”

As she settles into El Paso, Ivon recalls how her wife Brigit tried to convince her to have a child and how she resisted because she did not want parenthood to interfere with her job. She feels pressure to finish her dissertation so she can earn tenure, which would enable them to buy a house. However, one day, Ivon heard a child calling for his father in a bookstore, and in that moment, she realized that “[t]he not enough time motto of Ivon’s just couldn’t hold up next to he’s my son” (19). The incident prompts Ivon’s desire for a child, and Ivon frequently imagines her child speaking this line to her. At the end of the novel, Ivon realizes that what moved her about the little boy in the bookstore is that it actually spurred a memory of Irene: when Ivon left for college, Irene, only six years old, tearfully said, “‘Pancho, I thought you were gonna help me with my homework. I’m gonna be lonely every day’” (303). In this moment, Ivon realizes her desire to have a child is inspired by her desire to protect her little sister. The frequency with which Ivon recalls the little boy in the bookstore illustrates how the love between Ivon and Irene drives the entire novel.

“A hundred and thirty-seven slaughtered women on the U.S.-Mexico border and nobody knows about it? What’s that about?”

Ivon had not heard of the Juárez murders until she read an article about them on a plane, and she is incredulous that “it’s not plastered in every newspaper in the country” (23). Ximena notes that that number “doesn’t even include the ones who’ve gone missing” (23). As Ivon grows increasingly connected to the murders, she discovers how the girls are considered expendable and how the murders are motivated by racism and sexism. In addition to not being discussed in the newspapers, the murders tend not to receive much attention from law enforcement. After Irene’s disappearance, Ivon is frustrated by the slowness of the investigation. She concludes, “They don’t give a shit about any of us” (168). At the end of the novel, having uncovered much of the conspiracy to control and subvert the population of young female factory workers, Ivon is more cynical; in response to Brigit’s disbelief that the murders are not in the news, she asks hypothetically, “‘Because who cares about girls from the south?’” (329).

“People like to pretend they can cover the sun with one finger, while the truth is shining all over the place.”

Ivon discusses with Father Francis that a headline in a newspaper grossly understates the number of girls who have been found dead. When Father Francis asks, “‘Who do they think they’re fooling?’” (31), Ivon explains that people in El Paso go out of their way to overlook inconvenient facts. This willful ignorance is “one of the things that had driven her away” (31) and partially why she hopes Irene will come live with her.

“‘Maqui-Locas,’ the boy said, flashing a gap-toothed smile at them. ‘Muy cheap!’”

As Father Francis, Ximena, and Ivon drive away from Cecilia’s house, devastated by her murder, a little boy taps on the windshield to sell them provocatively styled Barbie dolls. Ivon recalls how Ximena told her “maqui-loca” is “the vernacular way of referring to maquiladora workers who become Americanized and turn into whores” (211). Ivon asks, “Do they turn into whores, Ximena, or is that just how people perceive them because they have jobs outside the home?” (211). These passages show how the lives of the factory workers are viewed as “cheap” and also suggest that the murders are in part a backlash against women breaking traditional gender roles by making money to support themselves.

“Nobody knows anything. Nobody will tell you anything.”

Ximena tells Ivon that investigating Cecilia’s death would be dangerous and futile because people will withhold information. Ivon experiences this silence when she asks Magda about the graffiti, the transvestites about the man in the cowboy hat, and Laura Godoy about the pennies found in the bodies. Residents of Juárez are afraid to speak about the murders because they fear repercussions—a fear that is justified given Irene and William’s detainment by judiciales and Ximena’s being run off the road by J.W.’s truck. Those who seek justice also meet silence from the government because the murders are part of a conspiracy enabled by authorities on both sides of the border.

“The truth was things had changed, and she didn’t understand any of it—not the murders, not the silence that surrounded the murders, not even the context in which the crimes were committed.”

In the bathroom of the Kentucky Club, Ivon decides to go home to Los Angeles. However, she sees two lines of graffiti on the wall: “Poor Mexico, so far from God, so close to the United States” and “Poor Juárez, so close to Hell, so far from Jesus” (98). Ivon is fascinated because these lines relate to her dissertation on bathroom graffiti. She decides to stay in El Paso and investigate the murders, using Juárez as her third case study. She realizes it is her “chance to do something” (98) to help, in addition to furthering her plan to save her sister from the oppression of the gender roles imposed by their mother. As Ivon delves into the meaning of this graffiti, she discovers how America’s exploitation of Mexico is inextricably tied to the murders. Ivon’s decision to stay in El Paso despite the pain she associates with her hometown shows how she prioritizes social justice over her own convenience.

“She looked like them, same color of skin, same Mexican features and, yet, she didn’t belong. She was an American. To a lot of people that meant sell-out.”

At the Juárez fair, Irene feels underdressed and conspicuous. She is self-conscious when Myrna calls her a “pocha” (103), a pejorative term for a Mexican girl who has been Americanized. At one point, a boy who works the games insults Irene to Myrna; though Irene cannot understand his Spanish, she hears the word “güera,” a word similar to “gringa” (104). Irene feels that she does not fit in because she is from the other side of the border. Her concern over being considered a “sell-out” shows how those of Mexican ancestry who live in America are considered not Mexican enough. The phrase “sell-out” also has political undertones that become important after her disappearance, when Ivon begins to uncover some Mexicans’ resentment for the influence American factories have had on their country and culture.

“‘That lifestyle of hers killed her father, it killed him to think his own daughter was one of those … those troqueras.’”

Ivon’s mother Lydia fights with her brother, Joe, after Lydia attacked Ivon on the front lawn for her role in Irene’s disappearance. The fights grows into general criticism of Ivon’s sexuality, as Lydia frequently blames her daughter for her husband’s death, telling Ivon that her being a lesbian made her father resume drinking. Lydia fears that Irene will turn out like Ivon, and she insists that Irene attend college in El Paso because she believes Ivon’s going off to college made her “one of those women libbers” (65). Lydia represents the repressive gender roles that drove Ivon away from El Paso to Los Angeles.

“Lesbians, although every macho’s wet dream—to voyeurize or to conquer—of course, betrayed not just their culture, but their gender, their families, and their religion.”

As Ivon waits outside the language school for Raquel, the parking attendant leers at her because she is wearing a man’s shirt. Ivon is cognizant of dressing conspicuously: her first morning in El Paso, she dresses in linen pants, a guayabera shirt, and Doc Marten sandals, then puts on lipstick “to defuse the looks she was bound to get from people” (30). Those who do not conform are “traitors” (134) who defy God. While not directly related to the Juárez murders, homophobia is one more way traditional gender roles are espoused in Juárez, and it reinforces how these roles play a part in the murders. Ivon’s refusal to submit or hide demonstrates how she is unafraid to break these barriers and resists repression.

“She cannot believe how lucky she is tonight.”

Mireya, a 14-year-old girl who works in the Phillips plant, is lured to her death by J.W., whose treatment is a glimpse into the careful manipulation employed by perpetrators to ensnare their victims. She is introduced to him in a bar by Ariel—Paco’s wife, who tends to Irene during her captivity—who insists he will “‘treat you with respect’” (148). Mireya loves J.W.’s blond hair and blue eyes and how he is “so masculine and handsome enough to be in a telenovela” (147). Mireya demonstrates childlike innocence throughout this scene. She “loves […] living in a real city” because there are “[d]iscoes and dancing and freedom to do whatever she wants without permission” (147), and she is made uncomfortable by J.W.’s physical advances and believes her subtle chastisements will be enough to make him agree “to be friends for now” (150). She orders a Shirley Temple to drink and talks to him about the barrette in her hair. J.W. exploits her innocence, telling her she is pretty enough to be in one of his movies and drawing her from the bar by promising to get her free makeup samples. Later, her body is found mutilated. In this scene, Gaspar de Alba focuses on how these tragic victims are innocent children and shows how carefully orchestrated the crimes are.

“Know your audience, that’s what he was saying.”

When Ivon visits Father Francis to pick up flyers of Irene to pass out in Juárez, she is upset that he chose not to use the photo she gave him because Irene’s lipstick “sends the wrong message” (179). Father Francis responds that he is “not passing judgment on anyone’s life” but that he “know[s] how people react” (179)—people might think Irene’s disappearance is her own fault if she looks like overly done up. Father Francis knows that his ability to help the missing girls depends on cooperation from the community and that if they are going to find Irene, they need to speak to their “audience” in a way that will make them receptive. Though Ivon doubts Father Francis’s motivations and approach, she ultimately agrees. The sexism that is at the root of the murders is a part of the community and, though they do not adhere to these beliefs, they must acknowledge them in others if they are to succeed.

“Poor Juarez, so far from the Truth, so close to Jesus.”

In the Kentucky Club with William, Ivon goes to the ladies’ room and finds this new graffiti. She writes her phone number above it, asking for information. Later that day, she receives a phone call from a woman who says, “‘It’s a factory close to Jesus’” (211). At the time, Ivon does not know what this means. However, after being detained by J.W., she realizes they are headed toward the old ASARCO copper factory. ASARCO’s being a copper factory reinforces that the girls—described as pennies—are products or objects to be bartered.

“I don’t want to see a face, I don’t want fingerprints.”

Irene overhears Junior asking J.W. if he wants to see her. J.W. declines, saying he wants her and another girl “turned to bacon with a blowtorch” (198). Aside from the brutality they suggest, these statements show how the identities of the girls do not matter. J.W.’s order to destroy their faces and fingerprints—their most identifying features—represents how unimportant the girls are in the eyes of their captors. This dehumanization is reiterated in his comment that they be “turned to bacon.” The girls are not only compared to animals raised for slaughter but also products to be consumed.

“The new governor sucks the Border Patrol’s cock.”

Ivon comes across this line of graffiti in the bathroom of Casa Colorada in Juárez. At the time, she does not know what it means, only realizing that it “opened a whole new vein of possible research leads” (211). As the novel progresses, she discovers that the intricacies of the relationship between Mexico and America are at the heart of the murders, which involve many levels of government. This line of graffiti, while not explicitly referencing the murders, indicates that the relationship between the governor and the Border Patrol is more complex than she realizes and that illicit deals and arrangements happen behind the scenes.

“‘The bus is here. Six pennies and the other half of your nickel.’”

Irene overhears Ariel speak these words to Junior. The girls who are raped and murdered on camera are referred to as pennies, nickels, and dimes, suggesting that their value is connected solely to the captors’ ability to profit off them. Ariel’s choice of the word “your” suggests possession, as if the girls belong to him. This indicates the captors’ power over women and how sexism is fundamentally a part of the murders.

“They want everyone to know they can do whatever they want with a woman’s body. They’re in control.”

Father Francis and the others on the rastreo find Mireya’s mutilated body in the desert. Her right breast is “marked with a satanic symbol” (247), and her left nipple was removed. Her body was brutalized in other ways as well. When a member of the group asks why they also cut off her hair, Laura says they mutilate the bodies to show they are in control. Her theory is supported by Father Francis, who tells Rubí that “‘Juárez is not ready for the liberated woman, at least not in the lower classes’” (252). He believes the murders are occurring because “traditions are being disrupted” and that people “are expected to alter their value system, to operate within the cultural and political economy of the First World” (252). He adds that the murders are being committed in “a Catholic context” and that “women are being sacrificed to redeem the men for their inability to provide for their families” (252). The murders are the perpetrators’ way of avenging themselves and of reasserting control over women, who are supposed to be subservient to them.

“It’s like Abe Lincoln’s been shoved down her throat.”

Pennies are found inside and around Mireya’s body. Ivon remembers that she saw a cup of pennies that had been taken from Cecilia’s body at the autopsy. Laura Godoy reluctantly confirms that pennies are found inside many of the bodies. Ivon wonders if the bodies with the pennies had specifically been those of the maquiladora workers. She and Ximena deduce that Abe Lincoln is shoved down the victims’ throats “[j]ust like the maquilas themselves have been shoved down Mexico’s throat […] because of NAFTA” (252). The pennies indicate not only how the girls’ lives are monetized but also how many Mexicans see the American factories. Ivon and Ximena’s theory offers yet another aspect of the criticism of girls who work in the factories. The girls are, in Father Francis’s words, being murdered to avenge for men’s “social emasculation […] at the hands of the American corporations” (252).

“He knew Ivon was in danger, and he was going to do something about it, approval or not.”

Pete McCuts constantly defies the rules, preferring instead to trust his instincts when he believes someone he cares about is in danger. Despite knowing he would not be given permission, he follows Ivon into Juárez, where he watches her go to the rastreo and then to Raquel’s house. When he sees her being detained by J.W., Pete calls in for backup and is told not to pursue the vehicle. However, he decides to follow them, justifying his defiance by telling himself he had followed procedure by calling it in and now “had to act” (290). Pete’s tendency to go against protocol is motivated partly by his desire to prove himself a worthy detective, partly by his genuine frustration with the slowness of the investigations, and partly by his affection for Ivon. Though his decisions can be impulsive and ill advised, his instincts generally prove correct, and his success in saving Irene and helping break open the conspiracy suggests that sometimes it is necessary to break the rules.

“The entanglement between perpetrators and public officials was staggering.”

At the ASARCO plant with J.W., Ivon sees Junior and recognizes him as the intern who helped with Cecilia’s autopsy. She ponders how many people in positions of power are involved in the murders. She learned that Junior and J.W. of the Border Patrol are involved, as are the judiciales; she does not yet know about others, such as Cruz Benavídez, president of the Maquiladora Alliance, and Walter Luna, Rubí’s husband and cameramen. The widespread nature of the corruption means regular citizens are powerless and vulnerable and that they have little recourse if wronged. It also helps explain why investigations are slow and incompetent, when they occur at all.

This passage is also important because it indicates how unlikely it is that the perpetrators will be fully exposed and stopped. Because so many of those involved are in positions of authority, those trying to uncover the conspiracy struggle to be taken seriously. J.W., one of the ringleaders of the murders, is even hailed as a hero and memorialized after his death. Later, Ivon ponders how “[t]his thing implicated everyone” and that the crimes would not “be solved until someone with much more power than she, with nothing to lose or to gain, brought this conspiracy out into the open” (335).

“‘I see, so maybe I’m just some stressed, hysterical female, and none of what I said really happened’”

Gender stereotypes are an important theme in the novel, and traditional standards of femininity are at the center of the Juárez murders. This passage is an example of the everyday effects of a patriarchal order in which women’s opinions are minimized and discounted. Ivon is frustrated when officers interviewing her after Irene is found do not seem to believe her account of what happened at ASARCO. They say Irene was attacked by wild coyotes, despite Ivon’s insistence that it was trained dogs, and that Ivon’s account of the events differs from those of eyewitnesses.

“No thanks to Jesus, she’s banged up all right, Ivon wanted to say […].”

Ivon speaks with the nurse about Irene’s condition. The nurse tells her Irene is “[a] little banged-up, but we’re gonna take good care of her,” ending her comment with, “Praise Jesus” (315). Ivon thinks of the pain Irene must have endured during her captivity and must refrain from telling the nurse that it is no thanks to Jesus. Ivon has demonstrated frustration with religion throughout the novel. When families of missing girls in the PREVIAS office tell her that “God will bring back the missing girl in their lives” (167), Ivon refrains from asking “if they have ever wondered why God did this to them in the first place” (167). It is also notable that the ASARCO factory, where the films are made, is “close to Jesus,” or the statue at Mount Cristo Rey: the murders taking place in the shadow of Jesus represents that “Jesus” is blind to suffering, or that it happens even under his eye. Father Francis’s comment that the murders occur in “a Catholic context” (252)—that traditional mores are at the heart of the murders—reiterates that God is not the healer but rather that the murders are happening in his name.

“What happens if they cross over? More illegal Mexican women in El Paso means more legal brown babies. Who wants more brown babies as legal citizens of the Promised Land?”

Ivon gazes at the desert and thinks about all she learned about the Juárez murders. She concluded that the murders are directly related to the reproductive powers of the maquiladora workers. She thinks about how the girls’ periods are monitored and how they are forced to take pregnancy tests. She sees that those in power seek to “continue to make a profit from these women’s bodies and also curtail the threat of their reproductive power” (332). However, the sexual mutilation and murders are inspired by racism as well as sexism. Ivon has long believed that “immigration laws […] have always targeted women of color to prevent them from entering the U. S. and breeding babies of color” (166).

“Somewhere out there, under the impassive limestone face of Cristo Rey and the pervasive, fetid fumes of a copper smelter, a prophet was writing on bathroom walls, and rosebuds were dropping like blood over the desert.”

Ivon realizes that solving the murders is not as simple as catching the perpetrator and that the murders will likely continue given the prevalence of corruption. In this passage, she ponders how a faceless, nameless, desperate person who confesses oppression in bathroom graffiti will continue to leave hints for those who may one day be able to put an end to this terror. That this prophet writes “under the impassive limestone face of Cristo Rey and the pervasive, fetid fumes of a copper smelter” is significant because she does so with the forces of religion and industry bearing down on her. Those who rebel against the oppression will have to do so secretly. The rosebuds that are “dropping like blood over the desert” refer to how “[o]n Father’s Day, the candidate for the Green Party of the State of Chihuahua will be dropping rosebuds” in the desert “in commemoration of the dead daughters of Juárez” (329). To Ivon, this gesture only reinforces the lack of seriousness with which the crimes are taken. It is, she says, “a great election gimmick” (329), and it underestimates the number of girls who have been killed.