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“There is a geography of violence”: Ibero researcher explains where priests’ lives are at risk in Mexico
Guerrero, Chihuahua and the State of Mexico are among the areas of concern identified by Yves Solis Nicot. His research examines how territorial disputes and the work of accompanying victims can make priests unwelcome figures to local power holders.
INTERVIEW | THE CHURCH IN MEXICO
Ana Paula Morales (Poli)
10/29/202610 min read
Yves Solis Nicot, a researcher at the Instituto Ibero, examines the geographical patterns of violence against priests in Mexico. AI-assisted illustration combining his portrait with cartography by María Fernanda A. Durand, based on data from the Centro Católico Multimedial. The rosary and spent cartridge cases are symbolic elements.
Mexico City.-“Priests are killed because they are inconvenient, because they are in conflict zones.” Yves Bernardo Roger Solis Nicot, a professor and researcher at the Instituto Ibero in Mexico City, places that inconvenient presence at the heart of community life: accompanying victims, defending their rights and sustaining social projects in contested territories. Understanding attacks on clergy, he argues, requires investigating whose interests encounter an obstacle in that work.
“There is a geography of violence,” he tells Press Crux. His analysis begins with a distinction: the killings of priests do not necessarily follow the same geographical pattern as violence across the country. Beyond counting cases, he proposes examining who controls each territory, how the authorities act and what role religious ministers play among its residents.
The disappearance of Father Clemente Morales Topete, who returned alive in Culiacán, Sinaloa, brings those questions into sharp focus. The pastor of Cristo Resucitado parish was reported missing on October 24, 2026, and returned on October 27. The diocese said he was receiving medical care, while Mexico’s bishops expressed gratitude for his return, according to Fides. His return relieved the community, although the information released at the time did not explain the circumstances of his absence.
Guerrero, Chihuahua and the State of Mexico: areas requiring attention
Guerrero holds a central place in Solis’ research. In the interview, he singles out the dioceses of Ciudad Altamirano and Chilpancingo-Chilapa among the jurisdictions where killings of priests are concentrated. His concern also extends to the State of Mexico, where the cartographic material he shared records cases in jurisdictions including Tlalnepantla, Atlacomulco and Cuautitlán, and to Chihuahua, whose recurrence he sums up in one sentence: “Chihuahua is a constant.”
The 2024 annual report from the Centro Católico Multimedial (CCM) places that concern in a historical perspective. Its geographical breakdown for 1990–2024 lists 11 events in Guerrero; eight in Mexico City; seven each in Chihuahua and Michoacán; six each in Jalisco and the State of Mexico; and five each in Veracruz and Baja California. The report specifies that this tally includes incidents involving priests, religious and laypeople. These figures should therefore not be presented as a count exclusively of murdered priests or as a measure of current risk.
Looking at dioceses reveals differences that state boundaries can obscure. In Michoacán, Solis points to Apatzingán and Zamora; in Baja California, the material highlights the Tijuana area. Communities within a single state can face different disputes and security conditions. The question, he insists, is “what is happening in the territory,” because the presence of criminal groups alone does not explain why a parish or priest becomes a target.
That approach also informs Violencia contra agentes religiosos católicos en México: 2006–2024, a study published in Derecho en Sociedad that Solis coauthored with Débora Roberta Sánchez Guajardo and María Fernanda A. Durand. It identifies geographical overlap between territories contested by criminal groups and areas of violence against religious actors, particularly in Guerrero, Michoacán, Veracruz and Chihuahua. The authors interpret those patterns through tensions between pastoral and social work and the interests of criminal networks.
Sinaloa and the contrast that raises questions
Sinaloa occupies a different place in his analysis. Despite the violence surrounding its communities and the long-standing presence of criminal organizations, Solis says he had known of few recent attacks on priests. “There had been few cases of aggression,” he says. From that perspective, he considers “Father Clemente’s case atypical for the region.” His observation raises a research question: why does a state marked by violence not necessarily reproduce the same pattern of attacks on religious ministers seen elsewhere?
That contrast does not mean there were no attacks in the past. In September 2012, Fides documented the killing of Father Teodoro Mariscal Rivas, who served Santa Cecilia church in Mochicahui, Sinaloa. His body was found at his home. Solis’ concern therefore centers on the small number of recent cases he had known about and what new attacks might reveal about changing local dynamics.
He also recounts the testimony of another priest in Culiacán who, he says, escaped an attempted kidnapping. The case illustrates a difficulty in documenting violence: some victims choose silence out of fear. “He does not want to talk, he does not want to report it, and often what happens is that he leaves,” Solis explains. The absence of a public complaint does not establish that a community is free of threats.
In Father Clemente’s case, the researcher discusses several possibilities but stresses that they remain provisional: “These are all hypotheses and conjectures.” References to criminal rivalries or possible extortion are not findings of the investigation. Solis urges caution against explanations that further stigmatize the priest or attribute criminal ties to him without evidence.
The national figures behind parish life
Pastoral work takes place amid a crisis affecting thousands of families. Mexico’s National Institute of Statistics and Geography, INEGI, reported a preliminary 27,989 deaths classified as presumed homicides registered in 2025. That figure conveys the scale of violence nationwide, but it is not a count of attacks against religious workers and does not explain the motives behind those crimes.
The difficulty of reporting crimes also has a statistical dimension. The 2026 National Survey on Victimization and Perception of Public Security, ENVIPE, estimated that 23 million people age 18 or older were victims of crime in 2025. According to the survey, 93.4% of the estimated 33.8 million crimes were either not reported or did not result in an investigation file being opened. That percentage represents the unreported or uninvestigated share of crimes covered by the survey; it is neither a specific rate for attacks against priests nor a measure of impunity.
Disappearances are another dimension of the suffering affecting communities. In communication AL MEX 3/2026, dated March 31, 2026, UN human rights mechanisms cited Mexico’s national register: 132,061 people were listed as disappeared or missing as of March 12, including 1,918 in Chiapas. These figures refer to that specific cutoff date and do not represent the number of legally established enforced disappearances.
For families, searches can last for years. Parishes can become places to meet, be heard and find support. Understanding what happens within them requires moving beyond statistics, Solis argues: “It is not enough to work with data.” Records make the phenomenon visible, but its causes and consequences must also be understood on the ground, through the people living with them.
The research behind the maps
A historian, political scientist and educator, Solis studies contemporary religion, with a particular focus on Catholicism. He is currently undertaking SECIHTI-supported postdoctoral research at UAM Xochimilco on violence against religious actors. His work combines historical perspective and geographical analysis to examine how attacks have changed and how they relate to the work of religious ministers.
In ¿Ecos de la cristiada? Necropolítica y “martirio sacerdotal” en el siglo XXI mexicano, published in Encartes, he compares killings of priests documented between 1993 and 2024 with religious violence in the early decades of the 20th century. The study examines differences in scale, distribution and motivations, questioning automatic comparisons between past conflicts and contemporary crimes.
The study coauthored with Sánchez Guajardo and Durand broadens the focus to killings, forced displacement, desecration and other attacks. It draws on records from the CCM, the Observatory of Religious Freedom in Latin America and Open Doors. Durand’s cartography makes geographical differences visible and allows comparisons across periods. The historical maps use data supplied by Father Juan González Morfín, while the contemporary maps draw on CCM records.
An independent researcher, Durand holds a master’s degree in science and is currently a doctoral student at the Universidad Politécnica de Madrid, according to the biography provided for this interview. Her contribution includes both the graphics and coauthorship of the study published in Derecho en Sociedad.
Baptisms, weddings and celebrations: the boundaries of pastoral proximity
A priest’s presence in territory controlled by criminal groups involves decisions that are not always apparent from outside. People involved in criminal activity also have families, community ties and requests for religious care. Solis describes that environment by explaining that a priest knows he must offer spiritual accompaniment “not only to the population, but also to criminals.”
In practice, that proximity may lead him to celebrate baptisms, weddings or quinceañeras—celebrations marking a girl’s 15th birthday—for families connected to those groups. “There is a very fine line,” Solis warns, distinguishing sacramental ministry from participation in the festivities. The dilemma is how to exercise that ministry without allowing a religious presence to be used as a sign of support, closeness or legitimacy.
“As a priest, I cannot be absent from the territory,” he says, putting himself in the minister’s position. His reflection places the issue within communities whose family and social relationships run through everyday life: the priest accompanies people who belong to that society. His presence alone, however, does not establish complicity in their activities.
The question also extends to alms, donations and contributions that may reach religious institutions. Solis explicitly calls for examining the origin of those resources: “What about the Church’s acceptance of some ill-gotten money?” He is raising an issue distinct from spiritual care: receiving money derived from criminal activity requires examining the responsibilities and boundaries of that relationship.
The researcher believes the Church itself must confront the issue. Offering someone spiritual care does not remove the need to examine that person’s conduct or make the money they contribute legitimate. In his analysis, this tension is part of exercising ministry in places where organized crime maintains family, social and economic ties with the population.
A lived faith that can become inconvenient
Solis urges caution when comparing today’s attacks with the Cristero War: “These are extremely different processes,” he says. The historical map for 1914–1940 shows a marked concentration of cases in Jalisco; the map for 1990–2024 gives greater prominence to Guerrero and shows other geographical concentrations. The periods differ in length and reflect different political and religious circumstances.
In the interview, he distinguishes persecution directed at “faith as faith” from what he describes in some areas as persecution associated with “lived faith”: the consequences of accompanying victims, defending a community or sustaining social work. “There are areas where being a priest is extremely dangerous, especially if faith and the Gospel are lived through social works,” he says. That interpretation requires investigating each attack: a killing does not automatically establish a religious motive, but a victim’s work cannot be disregarded when threats are connected to it.
The case of Father Marcelo Pérez Pérez illustrates the relationship between ministry, community advocacy and exposure to violence. The Indigenous Tsotsil priest was killed on October 20, 2024, after celebrating Mass in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas. Reuters reported that two people on a motorcycle fired at his vehicle. The UN Human Rights Office in Mexico condemned the killing and recalled that he had been a beneficiary of precautionary measures from the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights since 2015 because of the risks associated with his work.
The office called for a prompt, thorough and effective investigation. His death exposed the gap between recognizing a threat and effectively protecting the person facing it. That problem also shapes the decisions of priests who want to remain with their communities. “They are committed to accompanying the faithful who are suffering,” Solis says, describing the tension between a priest’s personal safety and his pastoral responsibility.
For the researcher, building peace requires community processes capable of outlasting a change in a criminal leader or public official. He also identifies people and institutions willing to transform local life: “There are honest police officers; there are civil society groups that truly want change, a transformation.” The Church’s contribution does not replace the State’s duties to search for missing people, investigate crimes and protect those under threat.
Father Clemente’s return allowed parishioners to welcome back their pastor. In other communities, the challenge remains how to protect those who have chosen to stay alongside people who are suffering. Explaining that commitment, Solis again puts himself in the priest’s position: “I cannot refrain from accompanying people in life and in death.”
Maps and charts: María Fernanda A. Durand. Historical data: Father Juan González Morfín. Contemporary map data: Centro Católico Multimedial. Power BI dashboard: Yves Bernardo Roger Solis Nicot.
Interview quotations translated from Spanish.
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