César Guzmán: The man who chose not to be corrupted

I met César Guzmán in 1995, when he was patrolling the streets with a dog at his side as part of the Guadalajara Police's canine squad, then called Grupo Lobos. I was a rookie reporter, covering crime for Notimex. He, a young police officer, already knew that his calling wasn't force for force's sake, but rather a clear vocation: to protect without betraying himself.

That first period, from 1995 to 2000, taught me more than a newsroom could. We often patrolled together; he armed, I with a notebook and tape recorder. Thanks to César, I understood how crime works in Mexico. Not from the bulletins, but from the streets. From fear. From invisible codes.

During those years, César rose to commander of the Lobos group. Meanwhile, I continued my journalistic career in other states. We met again in 2007, at a meeting at the U.S. Consulate. We had both been selected, at different times, for U.S. government training programs. I saw him and knew he hadn't changed: the same steady gaze, the same incorruptible ethics. He told me he had trained in the United States, in Israel, in England. That he had learned, yes, but without selling out. Because in this country, to continue rising in public service, you often have to get dirty. And César didn't want to.

He broke away from the system. He founded his private security agency. He worked with foreign agents, with specialists, with others who also believed this could be changed. And from his position, he continued fighting. Not for money—of which he had plenty—but out of conviction. Because César wanted "the bad guys" not to win. That's what he said, referring to criminals with a quiet but sharp contempt.

He didn't drink a drop of alcohol. Not because he was a puritan. But because that's who he was: clear, focused, disciplined. He was consistent. Honest. Professional.

And it infuriates me that they murdered him cowardly. In this country where life is worth little if you're not part of the red circle or the golden bureaucracy. They killed him without giving him a chance to defend himself. A man who lived defending others.

César taught me to read the game where businessmen, politicians, criminals, and agents of justice, increasingly similar, clash. He made me feel safe in a city where having a gun or power is enough to kill you with impunity.

One of his quotes stuck with me: "For evil to triumph, all that is necessary is for good people to do nothing."

He did. And that makes him eternal.

Caesar did not stay still.

He didn't become famous, nor did he seek the spotlight.

He just worked. He studied. He contributed. He taught.

He helped whoever he could. And he fought.

We also had plans.

Crime didn't just take his life: it cut short a project we built with artificial intelligence to prevent risks, inform people, and deliver clear safety messages through social media.

We created a character with his name—GPT César Guzmán—a digital extension of his experience, designed to communicate, guide, and teach.

There we were: over 9,000 followers on Facebook, 14,000 on Instagram, and TikTok just getting off the ground. But the message was getting through.

And now I'm writing this. Because they killed him.

Because crime—the kind he fought all his life—murdered him without giving him the chance to defend himself.

And he didn't just take his life.

He took away his desire. His example. His plans. His clean way of doing things.

I'm pissed off. Because good people shouldn't die like this.

Because the bad guys shouldn't win so easily.

Because the bad guys shouldn't win so easily.

Cesar was consistent, honest, and professional.

He was my friend.

And I miss him more than I thought possible.

Because Caesar wanted the good guys to do something.

And I, for him, for what we did together, I don't intend to remain silent.