The Invisible Hierarchy: How Power Is Structured Inside a Cartel
On the surface, cartels appear chaotic: armed convoys, ambushes, improvised checkpoints. But beneath that visible violence operates a precise, almost bureaucratic machinery — one where every level has a specific role, and power is exercised through both fear and strategy.
At the top stands the leader, a figure increasingly detached from the territory he controls. He rarely sets foot in operational zones; his moves are calculated, his public appearances nonexistent. He rules through intermediaries, messengers, or encrypted communication. His power depends on loyalty —and on a steady flow of money, weapons, and silence.
In some organizations, leadership is shared: a ruling triad that divides regions and decisions, ensuring the cartel survives arrests or betrayals. Power, in those cases, becomes a constant negotiation between men who do not trust each other, yet cannot operate alone.
Just below him sits the plaza boss or regional chief —the true shadow governor of each city or corridor. His job isn’t only to control operations, but to keep the balance: deciding when to unleash violence and when to contain it. He oversees lieutenants, coordinates extortion fees, and dictates who may traffic, sell, or operate within his territory.
He’s the bridge between war and politics: the one who distributes bribes, negotiates with police chiefs, mayors, or businessmen, and defines the “peace” bought daily with either money or blood. He wields military power —commanding men and weapons— but also political power, deciding who may live, trade, or govern unbothered.
Below him operates the lieutenant, a more visible, more exposed figure. His duty is to execute the plaza boss’s orders: organize transfers, plan attacks, kidnap, monitor, or punish. He supervises armed cells, lookouts, collectors, and street distributors.
Usually a veteran with years of service, he has earned his place through efficiency and brutality. He is not always the most violent, but always the most trusted. On his discipline rests the stability of the local structure; in his mistakes, entire networks can fall.
The broadest and most expendable level consists of the enforcers: gunmen, lookouts, collectors, and dealers —the eyes, ears, and hands of the system.
The lookouts watch and report police or rival movements.
The sicarios eliminate targets, guard shipments, and enforce fear.
The collectors extract protection fees from local businesses, transporters, or vendors, while the dealers keep the retail economy alive —fueling the financial bloodstream of the organization.
They live and die on the front line: the anonymous faces of a war that is never officially declared.
Though hierarchies may seem rigid, cartels function with flexible logic. Ranks are replaced quickly, alliances shift overnight, and leadership changes hands according to convenience. What remains constant is the structure: a pyramid of power where violence is the language and money the only ideology.
Today, those mechanisms of control extend far beyond drug trafficking. The same hierarchies of fear and submission appear in religious sects, street-vendor networks, and public markets now infiltrated by organized groups. There, extortion, surveillance, and imposed discipline mirror the operational model of a cartel —a silent, everyday form of domination.
That infiltration —quiet, systemic, and deeply rooted— will be explored further in the next installments of this series.
In this invisible hierarchy, every role has a price and a purpose. Silence is paid with life; loyalty, with fear. And while the names change, the machinery keeps turning —invisible, lethal, and ever-present— over the territory everyone thinks they know, but few truly understand.
