After mudslide, priest builds a new town on narco land
By ALBERTO ARCE and RODRIGO ABD
Associated Press
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Updated:
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano celebrates a Mass broadcast via Facebook from a chapel in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Saturday, June 19, 2021. Located on the border of the departments of Santa Barbara and Copan, his sprawling mission straddles the road that is one of the main drug trafficking corridors in the region.
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Marian Castron, from left, Maria Castron, 25, and Jenny Castron, 19, visit their home devastated by a landslide triggered by consecutive hurricanes in La Reina, Honduras, Friday, June 25, 2021. The Honduran town was hammered in November 2020 by Hurricanes Eta and Iota and then obliterated by a mudslide.
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano celebrates an outdoor Mass at Mission San Francisco de Asis, in Honduras, Sunday, June 27, 2021. The pastor of souls has turned into a project manager and construction foreman for the families of La Reina, a nearby Honduran village buried in an epic mudslide in November 2020, its families among nearly half a million Central Americans displaced by Hurricanes Eta and Iota.
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La Reina residents left homeless when their community was buried in an epic mudslide triggered by Hurricanes Eta and Iota, attend an outdoor Mass at Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Sunday, June 27, 2021. It was the the first time in recorded history that successive Category 4 and 5 Atlantic hurricanes slammed the same place.
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Alejandro Mejia, 80, rests in a chair alongside a dirt road after a visit to the site where the home he built once stood, in the hillside community of La Reina, Honduras, Saturday, June 26, 2021. The home that Mejia and his wife had lived in for 48 years was buried in an epic mudslide triggered by heavy rains brought on by Hurricanes Eta and Iota in November 2020.
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A bird's eye view shows the drug rehabilitation center run by Friar Leopoldo Serrano, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Tuesday, June 29, 2021. Serrano arrived here in 2009, after spiritual missions in New York and the Mosquitia region of Honduras.
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano shows bulldozer operators which direction he would like them to pave a road for a new community being constructed for the residents of La Reina, whose homes were devastated by a mudslide triggered by Hurricanes Eta and Iota, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Tuesday, June 22, 2021. Twenty-five years ago, the powerful local cartel run by Arnulfo Valle bought the 70 acres adjacent to the mission where Father Serrano hopes to put those displaced from La Reina.
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Ivan Varela carries a cinder block as he helps day laborers lay brick for a new home for his parents, who were left homeless in November 2020 when their house was obliterated by a mudslide triggered by Hurricanes Eta and Iota, at the construction site in Mission San Francisco de Asis Honduras, Thursday, July 15, 2021. Each family must send one person to work on the construction of their home. They do not receive wages and if they don’t work, they must pay into a kitty about $6 a day (150 lempiras).
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Seminarist Oveniel Garcia, 21, left, kneels during a Mass celebrated by Friar Leopoldo Serrano in the chapel at Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Saturday, June 19, 2021. Garcia, a former drug addict and trafficker, entered the rehab center at the mission run by Serrano. Over the years, he became Serrano’s right-hand man.
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Guillermo Alonso, 54, cradles his 6-year-old grandson Elvin, in the bed of a pickup truck as they leave the site where his home once stood, in the hillside village of La Reina, Honduras, Thursday, June 24, 2021. His home was obliterated by a mudslide triggered by Hurricanes Eta and Iota. "We feel sad because we are homeless but the important thing is that the whole family is alive,” said Alonso.
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A boy carries a rock at a construction site for new homes for the residents of La Reina, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Saturday, June 26, 2021. Hurricane Eta, then, Hurricane Iota, unleashed rains of biblical proportions in November 2020, causing a mudslide that obliterated the hillside community of La Reina.
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A bird's eye view of the Honduran hilltop community La Reina, seven months after it was buried by a mudslide triggered by the November 2020 Hurricanes Eta and Iota, Tuesday, June 29, 2021. To rebuild their houses and replant their crops, the villagers needed land -- much of which is in the hands of drug traffickers.
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Julio Villanueva Melgar, 70, stands on the edge of a lagoon created when heavy rains caused by the November 2020 Hurricanes Eta and Iota triggered a mudslide in La Reina village, Honduras, Wednesday, Sunday, June 20, 2021. More than 1,000 people are stranded in the valley marked by the poverty and drug violence that have driven so many Hondurans to the United States.
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Residents gather for a community meeting under threatening skies in Hacienda Uno, Honduras, Friday, June 25, 2021, near El Espiritu, an area historically controlled by the Valle family drug traffickers.
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A handmade road sign with a message that reads, in Spanish, "Don't kill" -- a reference to the Sixth Commandment, "Thou shall not kill" -- pokes out from overgrowth on Friday, June 25, 2021, on the outskirts of La Reina, Honduras, a hillside community destroyed by a mudslide triggered by the November 2020 Hurricanes Eta and Iota. Fearful that the disaster would spur emigration to the United States, Friar Leopoldo Serrano has sought to rebuild on land that was in the hands of drug traffickers.
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Seminarian Alfredo Santos, 21, brings water to a goat at the drug rehabilitation center in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Tuesday, June 29, 2021. A year ago, Brother Santos, who used to go out to pray on the road, was kidnapped, beaten, doused with gasoline and subjected to a simulated hanging. He still is not able to talk about it.
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An aerial view shows the property of drug trafficker Nery Orlando Lopez Sanabria, where he is buried in the mausoleum, center, still under construction, after he was killed in a prison riot, in the Santa Barbara department of Honduras, Thursday, July 15, 2021. More than 1,000 people are stranded in this area marked by poverty and drug violence that have driven so many Hondurans to the United States.
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A policeman stands guard at the entrance of the mission and drug rehab center run by Friar Leopoldo Serrano, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Thursday, June 24, 2021. Father Serrano’s message is not widely popular. He has sought protection for his mission.
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Seminarians monitor security cameras at the mission and drug rehab center run by Friar Leopoldo Serrano, located in a valley marked by poverty and drug violence, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Thursday, June 24, 2021. Serrano who is routinely observed by men passing by in oversized SUVs with tinted windows, complained to the prosecutor’s office which led to the installation of surveillance systems.
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano, right, shows soldiers images he made with his cellphone of a suspicious truck seen near the entrance of his mission, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Friday, June 25, 2021. Serrano’s message is not widely popular. He has sought protection for his mission, which is routinely observed by men passing by in oversized SUVs with tinted windows.
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Children wait in line to receive donated used toys at a ceremony with government officials who arrived to open envelopes containing the bids from companies seeking to build homes for the victims of Hurricane Eta and Iota, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Monday, June 28, 2021. Friar Leopoldo Serrano, who runs the mission, warned the community to be wary: “In Honduras we live a daily storm more damaging than hurricanes, the storm of corruption. The authorities deceive us with false promises. That is why I tell you that I still have doubts about the construction of these houses.”
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano shoots for a goal while playing soccer with seminarians and residents at his drug rehab center in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Monday, June 21, 2021. Since moving to the mission in 2009, Serrano has preached the Bible, organized protest marches against violence, negotiated drug-free events such as soccer matches, and promoted religious celebrations and social work.
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Friar Leopoldo Serrano surveys the landscape where he built a rehab center for drug addicts, in Mission San Francisco de Asis, Honduras, Tuesday, July 15, 2021. As Serrano stood on the lookout over the valley, he said, “Half of all the land and businesses you see from here belong to drug traffickers."
MISSION SAN FRANCISCO DE ASIS, Honduras (AP) — First came Hurricane Eta. Then, Hurricane Iota, unleashing rains of biblical proportions on the hillside community of La Reina.
As Iota hammered La Reina for four days last fall, residents kept watch on the mountain above their 300 homes for signs that they should flee. Some left quickly when the downpour ceased.
Then, La Reina was gone, buried in an epic mudslide, its families among nearly half a million Central Americans displaced by the hurricanes. Bathed in tears and shaking with cold, the frightened and disoriented residents of La Reina wandered the main road at the bottom of the valley looking for help.
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This story is part of a series, After the Deluge, produced with support from the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.
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That’s when the Rev. Leopoldo Serrano arrived in his Franciscan robes like an answer to their prayers, ready to take charge — and ready, it would turn out, to make a deal with the devil to save the people of La Reina.
Serrano, a friar who ran a nearby drug rehabilitation center, understood they would have to act quickly if they were to keep families intact and the community from disintegrating. Something had to be done for the more than 1,000 people stranded in a valley marked by the poverty and drug violence that have driven so many Hondurans to the United States.
Serrano turned schools into shelters, looked for borrowed houses and organized a census of victims. He made hundreds of phone calls looking for help. Bags of food, clothes and medicine trickled in from relatives and churches abroad, but “the Honduran government did not even give us a tent,” Serrano said.
In any case, they would need more than tents. To rebuild their houses and replant their crops, the villagers needed land — and Serrano knew that much of that land was in the hands of drug traffickers.
So, the agent of God became a broker with agents of the underworld, many of whom were fighting each other for control of the land and lucrative drug routes from South America to Mexico and the United States. The pastor of souls turned into a project manager and construction foreman for the families of La Reina, building them a new town at Mission San Francisco de Asís.
Twenty-five years ago, the powerful local cartel run by Arnulfo Valle bought the 70 acres adjacent to the mission where Father Serrano hopes to put those displaced from La Reina.
When capos are arrested, the government confiscates whatever land is in their name and holds it in a byzantine bureaucracy. Heirs fight for control over hidden assets — land that has been put in the name of front men and women, sometimes without their knowledge. “The land itself is not worth that much, but the message of who is in control is everything,” Serrano explains.
Two weeks after the disaster, Serrano was publicly asking for land donations during Masses he broadcasts on Facebook. The way he tells it, Arnulfo Valle’s son, José Luis, contacted him and they arranged for a legal donation.
“My responsibility was only to legalize the situation. I hired a lawyer to identify the legal owner and we got them to donate it to the National Agrarian Institute,” which in turn would give houses and lots to La Reina’s people and common areas to the mission, Serrano said.
But the story is a little more complicated than that. It all turned on an intermediary with Jose Luis Valle: a young friar, Oveniel Garcia.
Garcia, who ran away from home at the age of 12 and became a drug addict, is a street-smart survivor. At 16, he got a job cleaning floors in a discotheque frequented by traffickers, where he met Jose Luis Valle.
“Bodyguards, women, weapons, drugs,” he recalls. “That same day I already knew who he was. The connection was immediate … He paid the owner of the place so that I could dedicate myself only to him.” They would spend many nights talking.
The closer they became the more Garcia learned about the Valle family business. He resisted Valle’s request to work for him, but eventually found himself carrying a weapon. He was well aware that almost no one gets out of the drug business alive, and he was scared.
He had heard Serrano’s call to drug traffickers to turn from evil to good, and he reached out. “The only way they could believe that I really wanted to disassociate myself and was not going to betray them was through a conversion,” he explains. “Otherwise they would have killed me.”
Garcia left Valle’s orbit and entered Serrano’s rehab center for seven months. Over the next few years, he became Serrano’s right-hand man in the mission. He largely kept his distance from Valle until December 2020.
It was then that Serrano told Garcia, “We need land. Call your friend.”
Valle agreed to give them the land, but he didn’t have the titles. “He had to put pressure on those who occupied it, they were usurpers. He would go there with weapons. There were deaths,” Garcia recounted, cryptically.
The signing and official transfer of the land took place on the last day of the year. On May 7, the first measurements were taken to mark out plots for houses.
And on May 28, the new inhabitants entered the farm to find narco squatters still occupying part of the land.
To evict them, men from La Reina moved in, armed only with machetes. They moved the squatters’ cattle out to the main road and, bit by bit, took possession of the land where they planned to build their new houses as part of the mission.
Each morning now, Serrano goes out to inspect the mission construction sites. A few men and women from La Reina have already begun to build three new homes and a group of apartments for widows with funds donated by churches. He checks on the type of stone they are using, takes measurements and coordinates the crews.
The workers put up windows, lay bricks and make cement. Each family must send one person to work on the construction of their home. They do not receive wages and if they don’t work, they must pay into a kitty about $6 a day (150 lempiras.)
Serrano soldiers on — raising money, advocating construction over migration, training the next generation of priests. He preaches good farming over evil drug trafficking.
He shared a WhatsApp message from an army coroner who urged him to be cautious: “Don’t keep talking about these people, Father, they will hurt you.”
Serrano was defiant. “They have weapons,” he replied, “if they wanted to kill me they would have done it already.”
And even his death would not stop the new town that was rising at Mission San Francisco de Asís, he insisted.
The friars he is training “can continue my work when I die.”