Ciudad Juárez—Even as dusk falls, those who have returned for 16 years to the same spot in southeastern Ciudad Juárez gather once again to remember their children and grandchildren at the January 30th Memorial. It’s not a public gathering or a formal ceremony. It’s a mass.
In front of the site where 15 young people—mostly high school students celebrating a birthday at the house numbered 1310 on Villas del Portal Street—were murdered on the night of January 30th, 2010, family members dressed in black settle in silence. Some greet each other with long hugs. Others stand before the photographs of the victims placed at the site.
The service is presided over by Father Jorge Ramos of the Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish. He has led this Mass for six consecutive years, although the tradition of gathering here began in 2011, when the families of the murdered young people decided to transform the site into a memorial. Since then, the memorial has received flowers, candles, and visitors every anniversary.
Days before this date, family members came to clean the site. They no longer live in the neighborhood, but they return. They remove the dust, arrange the images, and prepare the space.
Villas de Salvárcar is located in southeastern Juárez, an area identified in urban assessments as having high levels of social conflict, peripheral urban growth, a historical lack of community infrastructure, and one of the highest crime rates in the city.
Nearly half a million people live in this area. There are more than 25,000 vacant and vandalized homes. The perception of insecurity affects 89.3 percent of its inhabitants, according to the IMIP’s Diagnosis of the Southwest Peri-urban Zone.
It is in this environment that the massacre occurred, marking a turning point in the recent history of Juárez, within the context of the so-called war on drugs.
The mass, which brings together families of the victims and neighbors from the community, proceeds with readings and brief hymns. There are no political speeches. Only the memory persists.
Among those attending is Hilda Soto Pérez, grandmother of Horacio Alberto Soto Camargo and José Luis Aguilar Camargo, two of the young men murdered that night. She approaches the memorial with slow steps. Look at the photographs and reflect on the memorial’s current meaning:
“It’s a very beautiful, very grand thing. We know that our Lord is with us despite the immense pain we feel. Was it God’s will? Perhaps. But what I can tell you is that it’s a very deep pain. This happens year after year, and it’s a constant suffering. Two of my grandsons were killed, Horacio and José Luis. They were young, just 16 and 17 years old, students.”
Hilda doesn’t relive the night of the attack. She speaks of who her grandsons were in life.
“I remember them smiling, joking. They always told me, ‘Grandma, you know I love you.’ I remember their laughter, the joy with which they saw life. For them, everything was love for their neighbors, for their grandparents. They called me ‘little grandma’ with all their affection.”
“They were good kids, studious, they weren’t doing anything wrong. I don’t understand why this had to happen to them. They didn’t go out, they didn’t drink, they weren’t players. They were just kids who were there to study, obedient to their parents’ rules,” she says.
Her story focuses on family memory, not on the violent act itself. She says the pain hasn’t gone away, that she has sustained herself with faith and the community she formed with other families. And when referring to the legal process, she expresses a feeling shared by several of those present:
“I think justice wasn’t served, the wound is still open, and nothing will console us. Even if justice is done, they’re no longer here. Was it a mistake? Yes, it was a mistake, but unfortunately, it had already been done. So, what can one do?” she asks.
The legal process for the massacre is officially concluded. In July 2011, an oral trial court sentenced Juan Alfredo Soto Arias, Heriberto Martínez, Aldo Favio Hernández Lozano, and José Dolores Arroyo to 240 years in prison for aggravated homicide and attempted aggravated homicide.
Two years later, in 2013, the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation ordered the release of Israel Arzate Meléndez, ruling that the only evidence against him, his confession, had been obtained through torture.
For the families, the legal resolution did not end the grieving process.
Prayers fill the air. After the mass, many remain at the memorial. They talk, share champurrado and bread. They ask about their children, their grandchildren, their health. The scene seems ordinary, but it takes place in a location that evokes a permanent absence.
Sixteen years after the events, the context of violence affecting young people in Chihuahua remains an unavoidable point of reference. According to data from the Criminal Statistics Directorate of the State Attorney General’s Office, more than 7,500 adolescents and young adults between the ages of 12 and 29 died violently in the state between 2014 and 2024.
For the southeastern part of the city, the violence has not ceased. In 2025 alone, at least 276 intentional homicides were recorded in the Valle police district, according to data from the Executive Secretariat of the National Public Security System. The violence that befell those students in 2010 has not disappeared.
Before leaving, Hilda places a floral arrangement in front of José Luis’s photograph. The ashes of her grandchildren’s parents also rest in the memorial, which she herself placed next to the photographs.
She gazes at the images intently, as if reviewing the history of a family that was once whole. Her eyes, almost gray, fill with tears.
“God has given us great strength, great courage to endure. I don’t blame anyone. These are the ways of evil. It still hurts, and it will hurt for the rest of our lives. Every birthday, every family gathering, they are missing. The pain hasn’t gone away.”
The sun sets. The memorial begins to empty. The photographs remain. The flowers, too.
And every January 30th, at dusk, memory reunites them in the same place.
Original article from Jonathan Álvarez, La Verdad Juárez, February 1st, 2026.
Translated by Schools for Chiapas.