Baja California, in northern Mexico. The Mexican underworld is concentrated here,
right on the American border. With savage violence, the cartels fight over
this drug and arms corridor in no-man’s-land. The bloody consequence: countless murders,
kidnappings, and torture. Thousands of soldiers and police officers
take part in the fight against the narcos every day. But in a vicious circle of corruption and
violence, the situation is more dangerous than ever. As a check on the drug war, the worst criminals
are banished to the desert. To the middle of nowhere, to the dreaded maximum-security
prison El Hongo. A high-tech fortress – designed according
to American models. The only prison in all of Mexico where bribery
is powerless! Fences over ten feet high, countless video
cameras. The inmates here must obey the law of the
guards. Original audio Francisco Javier Valdez, Prisoner
“There’s nothing here: no drugs, no tobacco. The government’s in charge. But resistance stirs within. “The prisoners got out of their cell, ripped
the legs off the tables and chairs, and attacked us with these homemade weapons.” Cartel killers, drug bosses, child molesters
– serving sentences of up to 70 years, the inmates have nothing left to lose. „You can´t always win, but that doesn´t
mean you have to stop fighting them.” A daily struggle for survival. Original audio Carlos Alberto Villalvazo Medina,
Commander “The hardest thing is not knowing what will
happen each day.” In a prison for the most hardened criminals
in the country, it only takes one spark to light the powder keg. 11:30 a.m. – shift change in the maximum-security
bunker. Starting now, 26-year-old XY Parra will spend
24 hours behind these walls. The command center has to give its approval
each time the gate is opened. No one enters El Hongo without consent. This is a super-maximum security prison! Everyone is subject to the same search procedure. No exceptions. Nothing is allowed through the security check
– no cell phones, cigarettes, or food. Each new shift demands a major effort from
the 26-year-old guard. “When I first started working here, I was
afraid of the prisoners. But you get used to it over time. I can deal with it better now.” Entrance into the high-tech bunker requires
a fingerprint and iris scan. The first stop: the weapons storeroom. “Hi, I’d like a gas canister and a baton.” Live ammunition is only allowed on the watchtowers
and outside the prison walls. Inside, the guards protect themselves from
rebellious prisoners with tear gas and batons. A necessity. El Hongo is one of the biggest prisons in
Mexico, and one of the most notorious! The gigantic complex consists of three security
zones. El Hongo 1 houses 3,000 prisoners of all kinds
– murderers, rapists, drug dealers. Next door, El Hongo 2 has about 600 inmates
who require the next-highest security level. Gang members and rebels are housed separately,
in F-Block. El Hongo 3 tops them all – its nearly 300
prisoners are among the most dangerous criminals in the whole country. The new shift begins in El Hongo 2. Along with 20 other guards, Parra has to keep
the unruly prisoners under control. In the five years in which he’s worked at
the prison, he has already experienced a major riot. “The cell door was open, and the prisoners
got out of the cell. They ripped the legs off the tables and chairs
and attacked us with these homemade weapons. Honestly, I was scared. But you’ve got to try to control your feelings. You have to keep your impulses in check.” The guards only managed to put down the riot
with the help of the military and the police. Cell check. Seventy-six inmates in one room. Under observation twenty-four hours a day. Privacy – none at all. Nevertheless, the prisoners find ways to escape
the watch of the authorities. “There are blind spots here, places with
no cameras. So we have to go into the cells to check whether
any prisoners are lying there injured. The inmates know where the cameras don’t
reach, and that’s where they go to resolve their problems.” That’s why Parra is checking the washing
areas. Many prisoners can’t deal with the prison’s
strict rules. The result: they lash out violently at others
or themselves. Today he doesn’t find anything, though. Francisco, a prisoner, knows these problems
well. He’s been here for eight years. “The best is to not cause any problems – or
start a fight with other prisoners. I just want to do my time. If you touch other people’s stuff, that
causes conflict and usually leads to a fight.” See nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing. This is already the 32-year-old’s fifth
time in prison. This time for drug dealing and stealing guns. In El Hongo, however, he’s gotten clean
for the first time – the hard way. “The guards are in control. There’s nothing here: no drugs, no tobacco. The government’s in charge. They’re the bosses, not us.” Poverty and lack of opportunity drive many
Mexicans to drug addiction. But in the maximum-security stronghold in
the desert, it’s nearly impossible to get access to drugs. Sensors, cameras, cell phone jammers – the
prison resembles a high-tech fortress. Sharpshooters on 15 watchtowers make sure
around the clock that nothing comes in or out. Those who try, end up in the notorious F-Block. Isolation and monotony – the punishment
for everyone who causes problems in the prison. Two prisoners per cell at the most. But even that doesn’t prevent many from
rebelling against the system. Once a day, guards like Parra have to check
if everything’s okay. “What’re you doing? Original audio Gabriel Valverde, prisoner
“I’m just making a list – of what I want to buy in the store.” Gabriel has been behind bars for 15 years. The last ten in the special housing unit. Nevertheless, the prisoner is still in active
contact with others. „It´s my mail. We send mails to other floors, other parts. We have ways to communicate. Either sign language, or dialect. We have words that guards can´t understand.” Gabriel is not supposed to have contact to
other prisoners – a couple years ago, he was one of the main people behind the riot. „They consider us dangerous to other people. The way we think, we influence lot of people
to think a certain way - like us. They consider us a danger to them.” Gabriel is from Los Angeles. He’s a member of a Hispanic gang called
“Blythe Street.” He was imprisoned for crimes he committed
as part of the gang. „I´m here because of kidnapping, which
I committed in 2003. 15 years ago. My original sentence was 33,5 years. But to be honest, it´s incriminating, but
I don’t care – I´m in a country which is corrupted. Money talks and I´ll be out pretty soon. I already did more than enough time, so I´ll
be out soon.” Confident statements for a man who has only
seen the world from inside a jail for the last 15 years. His cellmate, Gilbert, is also from LA. He hasn’t set foot outside the prison walls
for 16 years. The one bright spot: a barred window with
a view of the yard. Solitary confinement means isolation. But Gilbert knows how to get by. Using a homemade sling, he trades food with
the inmates on the floor below. “We have to do it without them seeing us. It´s not allowed. If I get caught they take two weeks of yard
from me. I won´t go out. For two weeks I will be in my cell.” He’s willing to take his chances. On the outside, he experienced and did much
bloodier things. „I´m here for working with the cartels
in Mexico - trying to get all of the territories. That was our job, lifting people up, chopping
up heads and everything.” Beheaded, cut into pieces, mutilated beyond
recognition – the methods of the Mexican drug cartels are gruesome. In 2017, more than 19,000 murders were committed
by the mafia. „After so many things you do, you stop counting. At first you do it for the money, it´s nothing
personal. And after that it is just a normal thing. Just for the adrenaline. And it´s easy to get away with it in Mexico. I am only here for guns, I was one of the
lucky persons.” Gilbert is only doing time for arms dealing,
not for murder. It’s no rarity in Mexico. The percentage of violent crimes that get
solved: two percent. That means, 98 out of 100 murderers and kidnappers
get away with it. 2 p.m. Time to go to the yard. Once a week, the prisoners in F-Block are
allowed to spend time in small groups in would-be freedom. The only diversion from their monotonous daily
routing. The inmates now have two hours to make telephone
calls and go shopping. Cash is forbidden in the prison. Payments are made via fingerprint. Money can be paid into the prisoners’ accounts
by wire transfer or in cash on visiting day. A maximum of 65 dollars per week. In this way, the prison director hopes to
prevent extortion and corruption. The only contact to the outside world: the
telephone in the yard. Family news is the top priority. „My daughter is my priority. I´m going to call her first, to check how
she is doing.” Gabriel’s three daughters all live in Los
Angeles. Tomorrow is a big day: his youngest daughter
is coming to visit. For the first time in 14 years. Gabriel clarifies the final details of their
meeting. After that, he takes care of some business. „Casper, no answer. Hold on. Hi, I have a message from Casper.” Gabriel also makes phone calls on behalf of
others. They use hand signals to communicate with
each other. An act of kindness, or calculation? „Whatever I can assist them with. Whatever is to reach, besides doing my calls,
that’s my priority. But if I can help them out, with other people
calls, I´ll do that.” Only two hours of freedom per week. That’s part of the concept in El Hongo – one
of the most secure prisons in the world. The prisoners in F-Block are lucky. There’s one section in the prison where
the inmates see even less daylight. El Hongo 3 houses the worst criminals in all
of Mexico. It’s super-maximum security. Organized crime, cartel bosses, corrupt government
officials – the prisoners here could jeopardize the safety of the entire country. This man is the warden of evil – Commander
Carlos Villalvazo. He’s been in charge of El Hongo 3 for several
years. In that time he has experienced many dangerous
situations. The most recent attack: an inmate wounded
him with a knife. The hardest thing is not knowing what will
happen, what to expect. It always depends on the mood of the prisoners. No two days are alike.” Shift change. The commander is aware of the constantly lurking
danger. That’s why the guards work in teams. Original audio Carlos Alberto Villalvazo Medina,
commander “Being careful is the most important thing. The moment you feel too secure, the prisoners
could pounce. Either they attack you with their fists, beat
you … or they kill you.” One minute of inattentiveness could cost the
commander his life. Each day, the guards in El Hongo 3 have to
settle disputes or separate prisoners. No wonder – each ten by 15 foot cell is
shared by up to six criminals. Today is the annual eye exam. That means: civilians in the super-max wing. An additional challenge for the commander. The prisoners can literally smell how tense
the guards are. “The prisoners can get rebellious when there
are too few guards. That’s why we have to put handcuffs on them,
so that they can’t move too far or too well. In 20XY, there was an escape attempt – but
it failed miserably. The prisoners are under minute observation. Walls over ten feet high. Non-stop surveillance. The prison was even recognized by the American
government for its high security-standards. In Mexico, El Hongo is considered the model
prison par excellence. That’s why the inmates of El Hongo 3 use
every opportunity to escape the dull monotony of their cells. “A little sun is nice. We like it – it gives us a bit more freedom.” Carlos has been in the maximum-security prison
for more than sixteen years. He was the leader of a suicide mission. He murdered his victim with five shots to
the head. Thirty-five dollars – that’s all it costs
to have someone murdered in Mexico. For his crime, he’s serving a 25-year sentence. In prison, Carlos doesn’t need to fear that
someone will take revenge. On the outside, things are different. His victim’s relatives are just waiting
for him to be set free again. “It may be true, but I’m not afraid. I’ve thought about it, but I’m not scared. I believe in God. He protects me from my enemies. And if not, then I’ll bite the grass again,
as we prisoners say. But I can’t imagine I’d have problems
after getting out. If the situation does arise, however, then
I’ll have to stand up straight and take the bull by the horns.” For many of the inmates, life has become a
dangerous game of chance, and the daily routine in prison is not for everyone. “There are also people who can’t handle
prison. We all have to get through it. But those people aren’t here in the cells. They’re somewhere else, housed in a separate
cellblock. The prisoners here are only in for murder
and kidnapping.” Violence among inmates – no rarity. Indeed, it’s the order of the day. El Hongo has murderers, rapists, and drug
smugglers who shrink from absolutely nothing. That’s why some prisoners have to be kept
apart. The cellblock for homosexuals. About 20 men live here, kept separate from
all the other inmates. To protect them from attack. At 59, Francis is one of the older prisoners. The former psychiatrist was arrested by the
police with five kilograms of meth. Since then, he calls this cell his paltry
home. “I’ve been here for seven years and don’t
have any problems. Thank God I’m okay. The guards tell me what to do: do this, don’t
do that. But they’re good to me.” Even if the guards don’t bully the homosexual
inmates, Mexico is split in this regard. Prejudices are strong among the broader population,
and especially among the prisoners. That’s why no one else is present when Francis
goes out into the yard. A gay man in a prison full of men – it’s
a blessing and a curse at the same tie. Original audio Francis Names, prisoner
“It’s a buffet. It’s really quite interesting. You see lots of men here, but you can’t
have them. In prison, you have to get used to abstinence. In my seven years behind bars, I’ve had
only one single relationship. And now I’m trying not to start any new
ones, because of all the diseases. There are diseases like hepatitis and HIV
here. You can get everything.” There are no condoms. That’s why so many diseases spread. But sex among prisoners is not always voluntary. “A man in prison for rape will himself be
raped and beaten – by the heteros, that is. That’s the truth. One time they even made me watch. Many of the men here have a tendency to rape. Some do it once, twice, three times – others
never do it at all. But most of the prisoners do it because they
want to.” So far, Francis has been lucky. In two days, he has a long-awaited hearing. It will decide whether he’ll be released
two years early. “Hopefully the judge will do the right thing.” The prospect of seeing his adopted son and
grandson again soon overwhelms the 59-year-old. He’s had no contact with them since he started
serving his sentence. Francis places all his hopes in the judge’s
decision. His future is uncertain. Seven p.m. The prisoners are sent back to their cells. Time to shut the doors. The guards have to check that every prisoner
is present – about 2,000 in total. Officer Parra is among the guards at work
in El Hongo 2. “Line up, hands behind your backs. You know what to do!” To help the guards keep a clear overview,
each prisoners is entered into the system by his fingerprints. Name, sentence, time served – the system
leaves no room for loopholes. “We have to count the prisoners every day. We use a special system. The machine reads the inmates’ fingerprints
and compares them with the database. If a prisoner isn’t in the cell but rather
in the infirmary, then we have to get his fingerprint from there. Otherwise the system reports a problem. But so far no one’s ever been missing.” So far, no one has managed to escape from
Mexico’s most secure prison. But that doesn’t mean the situation will
stay that way. The mood among the prisoners can change in
a flash. “I’m not really afraid – it’s more
that I’m nervous. You’re here with so many inmates in one
cell, and you know each one’s done something terrible.” That’s why Parra is glad to leave the cellblock
behind him for a while. In El Hongo 3, the guards have their most
difficult task ahead of them: a cell raid. At night in the prison – while the inmates
are in bed, the special commando prepares for its mission. “The first group searches the cells. Understood?” The guards have gotten a tip: drugs have supposedly
been stashed in two cells. The inmates in El Hongo 3 – so dangerous
that even the highly trained special unit only dares to go in with an absolute numeric
advantage. All the prisoners have to leave the cell. The tone is severe. No objections are tolerated. The atmosphere in the group cell is tense. If the guards do indeed find drugs or weapons,
there will be a drastic penalty to pay: a sentence extension of up to 25 years. Carlos lives in one of the cells under suspicion. “It’s unpleasant – I don’t have anything
to hide, but it’s unpleasant.” Whether that’s true remains to be seen. The search party proceeds – every nook is
unsparingly searched. Back-up is waiting outside the cell: the special
canine unit. Despite the excitement, the dog handler, Sandra,
knows she can depend on her four-legged colleague’s nose. “The dogs are trained to stay calm in stressful
situations like these. That means that fast movements, loud noise,
when someone slams a door open or shut or drops something – that stuff doesn’t bother
them. It’s important for the dog to be calm before
the actual search begins. Sandra’s search dog is one of twenty that
support the guards in the search for drugs. Over time, the prisoners come up with the
sneakiest hiding places. Original audio Sandra Hernandez, dog handler
“The inmates can hide things in bed, back at the wall, or in these holes here. Search here. Even in the scratches on the wall or in the
toilet.” If the dog lays its ears back, it’s found
something. The dogs raise the alarm very rarely – but
the guards still have to follow up on every tip. No exceptions! “We’ve searched two cells and found nothing.” False alarm. Neither dog nor guards have found anything. The special commando withdraws. That also means that the security barriers
have worked. El Hongo Prison is and remains the maximum-security
bunker par excellence. F-Block. Preventive detention. Once a week, Gabriel and his cellmate get
to go out into the yard. The other six days of the week, the cell door
stays closed. “It wasn´t always like that. We had the power. We had them under our thumb. We made them to obey us. But things change, you can´t always win the
government, but that doesn´t mean we have to stop fighting them. I miss having my cellphone, I miss having
my tv. I miss a lot of things. We had our own keys to our cells. I miss those times.” Bribery is the order of the day in Mexico. Politics, the bureaucracy, the military – corruption
infiltrates all layers of society like a cancer. “Even though we are behind bars, we still
have strong connections with people out there, that help us when we need it. I am just a simple prisoner doing my time
- the more corrupt, the better for me.” Within the prison walls, however, the wardens
wage a fierce war against corruption. Carlos, the commander, knows what to expect. “Honestly, the people currently in charge
of the prison are not corrupt. But if a guard becomes corrupt, it’s difficult. Then he’s got consequences to fear. Either you get prosecuted and end up behind
bars yourself, or you lose your job. Corruption is scorned here.” El Hongo Prison is considered absolutely incorruptible. The only one in all of Mexico. On the other hand, there’s a great deal
of violence and aggression. Many of the inmates will only leave prison
when they die. “Most of our problems have to do with the
prisoners’ moods. You never know what mood they’ll wake up
in. They can behave quite calmly, but when they
get bad news from home, they immediately get aggressive. And that leads to fights among the inmates
and even to riots. You have to keep an eye on the situation and
make sure that it doesn’t spread to the whole cellblock.” In prison, even the smallest provocation can
lead to a massive revolt among the inmates. For Gabriel in F-Block, today is finally the
day of his youngest daughter’s long-awaited visit. At this point, he still doesn’t know what
the day holds for him. “My daughters and my wife. They are my main motivation.” Gabriel hasn’t seen his youngest daughter
in 14 years. He was arrested and convicted in Mexico right
after her birth. His family lives in America, which is why
they’re only in touch with each other by phone. That’s supposed to change in a few hours. His cellmate Gilbert has no visitors today. El Hongo’s remote location makes it difficult
for people to visit. “The fact how they made this prison here,
it´s pretty hard. I am sure it is different from a lot of prisons. Usually the family could just move around
and live around the city, around the prison. That´s easier for you. But here it´s twice a month a visit. It´s hard, because they have to come all
the way over here. Not only that. It´s dangerous, anything could happen.” The cartel killer knows what he’s talking
about. Nevertheless, family is often the only thing
that keeps the isolated prisoners from going crazy. “My ex-wife, she was having problems. I said to myself, I have to help her. I was only getting 700 pesos a week, which
is 7 dollars. There was a way I could help her, so I had
to do it. And I did it, I helped them out. But while I´m here. Part of me, well I don’t regret it… But half of me.. It´s sad being here. It´s really sad, but hopefully this nightmare
should be going away pretty soon.” He’ll spend at least another two years between
a nightmare and reality. Visiting day in no-man’s-land. Every civilian who wants to enter El Hongo
must submit to a very thorough search. The guards monitor the visitors with cameras
and metal detectors. No contraband is allowed to cross the threshold
of the maximum-security bunker. In addition, Sandra, the dog handler, uses
a search dog to search the family members for drugs and cell phones. “Hold onto your glasses so they don’t
get broken. The dog isn’t aggressive, and he’ll only
jump if there’s something inside. Search.” If the visitors do have something illegal
with them, the dog lies down on the floor right in front of them. But that doesn’t seem to be the case today. “Good, thank you. Go ahead.” Smuggling methods have gotten increasingly
sophisticated over the years. That’s why the search dog checks all the
gifts and mementos brought to the inmates. Especially popular: cell phones. “The whole prison is outfitted with signal
jammers – you can also see them on the watchtowers. So there’s no service inside the walls. But some people still try to smuggle cell
phones inside. The consequence for that can be seen in the
pictures on the wall.” The prison director is ruthless when it comes
to smuggling. Those who try it usually don’t leave the
prison. The smuggling of illegal substances and cell
phones is punishable by up to 25 years in prison. Back to Gabriel in F-Block. He’s looking forward tor his daughter’s
long-awaited visit. But then comes unexpected news. “Do you have a visitor this morning? What did Danny say?” “Yes, from 9:30 to 11. Is she there?” “No, not yet.” “Come on, let me go out into the yard to
make a phone call.” “We’re waiting on a visit for Valverde. His family still has exactly one hour to enter
the prison. If they’re not there by then, the visit
will be cancelled. We have a schedule – from 9:30 to 11:00. If the family arrives even just one minute
past eleven, they can’t come in.” Gabriel hasn’t seen his daughter in 14 years. And now time is running out. If she doesn’t show up in the next hour,
the earliest he can get approval for another visit will be 14 days. The moment of truth. Will Gabriel be able to embrace his daughter
for the first time? “Come here… An hour’s gone by, and no one came. So no visit today.” “Yeah, but I wanted to make a call anyway. You have the authorization, you have the key,
and you can let me into the yard. I understand, it’s not that easy, but the
people over there also get to go down. This sucks. Really, this is giving me a headache.” “Right, but your visitors didn’t show
up. Go back to your routine.” “Okay.” An exception? Not in El Hongo. Gabriel is frustrated. He has no idea why his daughter didn’t come. He has to make a plan. Original audio Gabriel Valverde, prisoner
“Junior’s the next one they’ll take to the yard. He should make the call.” For years, Gabriel has waited for a chance
to see his daughter, who is now 16. Today he must bury his hopes. “It´s bumps in your life. Obstacles, you have to overcome. I´m going to keep fighting, until I get another
chance to see her again. I waited, I haven’t seen her for 14 years
- a few more days, weeks, or a few more months. Eventually I will see her again.” At least he has the chance of being released
in a few years. Some of the prisoners in El Hongo 3 will never
leave. La Flor. The flower. That what the guards call the special cell
block. A prison within the prison. For the worst criminals of all. With sentences between 50 and 70 years. That’s where Carlos, the commander, has
to do his weekly rounds. To avoid dangerous situations, the guards
only enter this cellblock in closed formation. “The inmates here aren’t in solitary confinement,
but they’re watched very closely. There’s very strict surveillance. The prisoners here are serving sentences of
up to 70 years. They have nothing left to lose.” Organized crime, corrupt politicians, drug
barons – La Flor’s 106 inmates could transform the whole country into a bloody battlefield. The nine-by-twelve-foot cells are shared by
two or three prisoners. Hardened men, kept like attack dogs in cages. Some of them for the rest of their lives. “I’m serving 50 years for murder.” “We get to go into the yard once a week
for half an hour – to make phone calls. It’s depressing.” The guards’ job: make sure the prisoners
don’t kill each other or themselves. The commander has to bring one of them to
the doctor. The prisoners have almost no contact to the
outside world. On the other hand, they have lot’s of time
for reflection. “I’m in jail because I was in organized
crime in Baja California. But in prison, you shouldn’t think you’ll
get help from the cartel. You have to pull yourself up out of the muck.” No prospect of a reduced sentence or help
from outside. Instead, lives that will end behind bars,
after decades of time served. The commander’s shift is over. Time to go home. But it’s actually not a home at all. A single room in the administrative section
of the jail. Smaller than the prisoners’ cells. It’s simply too dangerous to live outside
the prison. But Carlos needs neither luxury nor comfort. His job is his life. “I like my job. There aren’t many people who want to do
it. You’ve got to make some tough decisions,
but that’s part of the job. Some prisoners will despise you even if you
encourage them. But that’s no reason to quit. You’ve got to be a professional here.” Gilbert has two more years to serve – enough
time to mull over his future. “My mother, I am her only son. She does feel sad and she is getting older. So I got to stop this. I think it is time to do what I got to do,
when I get out. Because the next time, I don´t think she
will be around. And that´s the only person that I can trust.” And Gabriel? When he gets out, he won’t be able to avoid
gang life. “You could be out, but you don’t have
to do the heavy things. You can do the light things. You can survive with that. As long as you don´t know too much and do
too much, but still be part. It will work out. It´s either that or you run away and get
killed. So, you stick around and stick with the light
stuff. There are big decisions in your life and I
made some, there is no turning back.” Either join them, or die. In Mexico, it’s extremely difficult to stay
on the straight path. And thus most of the prisoners will spend
their whole lives behind bars. In El Hongo – the only incorruptible prison
in a country sinking into corruption and violence.
