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Global Free Speech

Mexican journalist Luis Ángel López is second killed in Veracruz

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Mexican journalist Luis Ángel López is second killed in Veracruz

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Mexico City, June 12, 2026—Mexican authorities must immediately and credibly investigate the killing of journalist Luis Ángel López and determine the motive, the Committee to Protect Journalists said Friday.

López was shot and killed around 1 a.m. on June 11, 2026, in Poza Rica, a city in the eastern Mexican state of Veracruz, according to news reports and a statement released by the Veracruz State Commission for Attention to and Protection of Journalists (CEAPP) on Facebook on the same day. According to the reports, López, a reporter for regional newspaper Vanguardia, was shot by unknown assailants on the same road where journalist Carlos Castro was shot and killed in January, CPJ previously reported.

“The brutal slaying of Luis Ángel López is shocking, especially given that he was killed near the same spot where another journalist lost his life just a few months prior. These killings serve as a reminder that Mexico continues to be the most dangerous place for journalists in the western hemisphere, with Veracruz maintaining its abysmal status as the deadliest state for the press in the country,” said Jan-Albert Hootsen, CPJ’s Mexico representative. “Only by bringing the attackers to justice can Mexican authorities break the cycle of violence and impunity that continues to plague the Mexican press.”

López covered crime and violence in Poza Rica and its surrounding areas for Vanguardia, according to a statement published by the newspaper on its Facebook page. CPJ was unable to find specific articles written by López on Vanguardia’s website, as most articles on crime and security do not carry a byline. Several telephone calls by CPJ to the paper for comment were not answered.

The newspaper reported on the same day as the killing that López had received threats and was incorporated by the CEAPP in a state-sponsored protection program. In another article, the paper said that unspecified “clashes” between the reporter and municipal police officers in Poza Rica were one of the lines of investigation of the Veracruz state prosecutor’s office (FGE).

Luis Baqueiro, the president of the CEAPP, clarified to CPJ via messaging app that López had received some financial assistance from his agency, but that he had not been subject to any protection measures. An official for the Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists, an agency of the Mexican federal government, told CPJ via messaging app on Thursday that his office was unaware of any threats against López’s life.

Several telephone calls by CPJ to the Veracruz state prosecutor’s office for comment were not answered.

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Global Free Speech

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I imagined the dirt roads of the market, the carriages and carts parked around the crowded streets, and the salesmen with tired faces standing helplessly behind their vegetables and goods. Dust hung in the hot air while the woman was dragged away, and everyone pretended not to see because in that moment even looking too long could be dangerous. He lowered his gaze and looked down. There was a kind of silent shame on his face, a silence that many men in Afghanistan seem to carry when they witness these restrictions, but cannot openly oppose them.  The weight of it all bore down on the room. We teachers looked at each other. Yalda pressed her mask tighter against her face, as if trying to disappear into it. Freshta looked down, as if she was searching on the floor for the lost sparkles in her eyes. I stopped eating my biscuit. For a few seconds, no one spoke. The silence was so deep that it felt like even breathing had become louder than usual. The headteacher said: “Dear teachers, your dignity is more important than anything to us. We don’t want any of you to be beaten or arrested on the excuse that you are wearing makeup, using nail polish or not properly covering your face and body.” After that, he left the room. But the heaviness of his words, and the heaviness of these rules, stayed in the room. At that moment something inside me tightened. The room felt even smaller. I looked away and stayed silent. I thought about all the years I had spent studying and working for a future I believed in. I had worked so hard to become someone. Yet now, even the smallest choices, how I dressed, whether I covered my face with a mask on a hot afternoon, no longer belonged to me. I realised that I wanted to scream. Not just a sound, something deeper. I wanted to scream that I exist. That I am a human being. That I have thoughts and a heart and a voice. But the scream did not come out. It stayed inside my throat like a stone that I could not swallow or remove. I wiped my tears before anyone could notice. Outside, life continued as normal. Inside us, something had already changed, even if nothing around us did. I can still feel that scream now. I’m putting it here. Rahmati is a 24-year-old and lives in Kabul, Afghanistan. She had been studying at Kabul University for two years, but her education was stopped. She currently works in education and writes under a pen name for her safety. Some personal details have been adjusted to protect her identity and her family. This story is very personal to her. It reflects the emotional reality of living under restrictions and the silence experienced by many Afghan women. Writing has become her only way to express what cannot be safely spoken in daily life. She hopes that, through publication, these experiences will be seen and understood by a wider audience. READ MORE

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