Inclusion in the terrorism registry enables the government to impose “financial sanctions and operational restrictions” aimed at limiting the capacity of criminal organizations and their members, according to the statement from President Javier Milei’s administration.
March 26 (UPI) — Argentina’s government on Thursday formally designated the Jalisco New Generation Cartel, known as CJNG, as a terrorist organization and ordered its inclusion in the country’s public registry of individuals and entities linked to terrorism and its financing.
In an official statement, Argentina’s presidential office said the decision is based on reports documenting the group’s transnational criminal activities and links to other terrorist entities.
The move aligns Argentina with U.S. security policy, which designated the cartel as a terrorist organization in 2025.
Inclusion in the registry enables the government to impose “financial sanctions and operational restrictions aimed at limiting the capacity of these criminal organizations and their members,” according to the statement from President Javier Milei’s administration.
It also “protects Argentina’s financial system from being used for illicit purposes” and strengthens international cooperation in security and justice matters “in close coordination with countries that have already designated the Jalisco Cartel as a terrorist organization.”
The government said CJNG has become one of the world’s most powerful drug trafficking organizations over the past decade, with a presence in Mexico, operations in the United States and expansion into at least 40 countries, including Argentina.
The statement also highlighted the measure’s impact on international cooperation, saying it reinforces security and judicial coordination with countries that have already classified the cartel as a terrorist group.
The Jalisco New Generation Cartel emerged in Mexico in the early 2010s amid the fragmentation of major drug cartels. Its leader and founder, Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes, known as “El Mencho,” died in February during an operation in Mexico supported by U.S. intelligence. The United States had offered a $15 million reward for information leading to his capture.
Milei’s government has previously designated as terrorist organizations groups already classified as such by the United States, including branches of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, Lebanon and Jordan, the Palestinian militant group Hamas and Iran’s Quds Force.
The framed photo of César Chávez and Dolores Huerta sits in my personal office on a bookshelf crammed with volumes about California and the American West.
The two are at a 1973 United Farm Workers convention, presiding over the union they co-founded. After years of victories in the name of campesinos, the group and its charismatic leaders seem ready for what’s next.
A UFW banner emblazoned with the group’s famous black Aztec eagle logo hangs in the center of the picture, making Chávez and Huerta look like equals.
But they’re not.
He’s speaking from a podium, looking down and appearing cast in darkness due to Chávez blue vest melding into his black hair and brown skin. She’s by his side clasping her hands, wearing a colorful blouse that pales in radiance to Huerta’s hopeful face as she looks at the crowd before them.
It’s the only picture of historical figures that I display at home, and it’s in a place where I’m guaranteed to look at it. It has long served as my secular version of a prayer card, a daily reminder to fight for the good in the world and a reminder that giants before me faced challenges far more daunting than mine. It was also a testament to teamwork — when I acquired the photo a few years ago, it called to me in a way a solo Chávez never would have because I always knew el movimento was more than just one man.
Their portrait can never mean just those things ever again after the New York Times reported last week Chávez sexually assaulted two teenage girls in the 1970s and Huerta in the 1960s.
Places left and right — colleges, cities, classrooms, even states that mark Chávez’s birthday as a holiday — are now deleting his name and image from the public sphere. It’s not going to be a quick, easy task even if the cancellation is starting to take place with startling speed: Chávez’s presence is as ubiquitous in Mexican American life as the Virgin of Guadalupe.
Just this weekend, a friend acknowledged that he and his wife had just started reading a book about him to their 5-year-old daughter, a book they now plan to trash.
I thought of doing the same to my photo of Chávez and Huerta. But I’ve decided not to.
I don’t fault folks for wanting to scrub any hint of Chávez from their daily lives and neither does the Cesar Chavez Foundation, the nonprofit headed by his descendants that recently announced in a statement, “We support and respect whatever decision[s]” may come in the weeks and months to come. Communities are entitled to decide whom they should and shouldn’t publicly honor.
But to eradicate Chávez’s civic presence so fast — to tear down his statues, relabel streets and parks named in his honor, paint over his image on old and new murals, to throw away artwork that has adorned homes and offices for decades — doesn’t remove the fact that millions largely saw him as a champion of the downtrodden until last week. It can’t rescind the positive influence Chávez had on generations of Latinos and non-Latinos who saw in him the hopes of a people and now must reconcile their memories with his horrible deeds.
Historians, educators, activists and politicians for far too long elevated Chávez above Huerta in the name of a simplistic narrative that should’ve never been constructed. The public at large bought into those efforts with little skepticism in the understandable desire to have Latinos star in the American story. It’s a culpability we should all interrogate, not immediately purge.
That’s why not only am I keeping up my photo of Chávez and Huerta, I’m going to put it in a more prominent place from where I can’t look away.
Workers for the city of San Fernando cover the statue at Cesar E. Chavez Memorial Park on Thursday.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
It will serve as a memory of a tragic, tremendous moment in the history of Latinos in the United States, where we should be focusing our attention on a presidential administration that wants most of us gone but instead must deal with the fallout from the downfall of one of our own. It will challenge me anew to look past the big names of the past and highlight those whose stories aren’t nearly as known by the mainstream.
Seeing Huerta next to her abuser will forever remind me about how the now-95-year-old sacrificed her own mental health and safety in the name of something bigger than the two of them — a choice no one should ever have to make but one that she nevertheless did.
The photo will stand as the manifestation of the old newspaper adage that if your mom tells you she loves you, go check it out. No one should ever be above skepticism no matter how sanctified and righteous they may seem — that’s why the New York Times investigation crashed into the Chicano collective sense of self like a meteor. No one could’ve imagined that Chávez could’ve possibly done things so monstrous, but maybe we shouldn’t have built him up so much while he was alive and after his death in the first place.
My framed Chávez-Huerta memento will make me think of how the stories of sexual abuse survivors are still not heard enough or even believed. Even now, some Chávez defenders are casting doubt on the claims of Huerta and the three other women named in the New York Times story, questioning their motivations to come forward after decades of silence and decrying how their decision to do so has permanently tarnished the reputation of one the few nationally known Chicano heroes. In Huerta’s case, critics just don’t buy how someone who carried Chávez’s torch decades after his death could all of a sudden supposedly turn on him.
But as a Catholic who has long covered the Catholic Church sex abuse scandal, I know that every sexual assault survivor has their own journey of recovery. I also know that we must always seek the truth instead of living a lie.
And turning Chávez into a historical footnote is a lie. He long served as a moral exemplar; he should now serve as a cautionary tale known to all.
Erasing historic figures from the public sphere is an exercise in power going back to the pharaohs, a way rulers ensured future generations couldn’t learn about their enemies. The push to nix Chávez comes from the trend in recent years by progressive activists to remove monuments that hail problematic figures under the pretense that someone’s sins trump any good they might have done no matter how influential they were.
Again, all communities have that right to reexamine the past. But we can’t and shouldn’t disappear the full story of Chávez, as painful as it is. It’s the easy way out — and remedying wrongs is never easy.
If the photo in my book shelf was only of Chávez, I’d still keep it up. The good he did was really good — the bad he committed was as terrible as it gets.
Four hours before Sienna Spiro is due to launch her first U.S. headlining tour, the 20-year-old singer and songwriter from London sits upstairs in the Troubadour’s empty balcony, peering down as several crew members wheel a grand piano onstage.
“The fact that I’m 11-and-a-half hours from home and that this room is gonna be filled with people that have never met me and that I’ve never seen before — that’s just crazy,” she says. “I’m kind of scared.”
The song that brought Spiro to West Hollywood this past Tuesday is “Die on This Hill,” a showstopping pop-soul ballad about staying in a toxic relationship — “I’ll take my pride, stand here for you,” she sings, “I’m not blind, just seeing it through” — that’s been streamed more than 300 million times on YouTube and Spotify since it came out in October. Built around tolling piano chords and Spiro’s titanic vocal, the song hit No. 9 in the U.K. and broke into the Top 20 of Billboard’s Hot 100; last month, Spiro — whose famous admirers include SZA, Mark Ronson and Alex Warren — was nominated for the Critics’ Choice prize at England’s annual BRIT Awards.
With its unabashed emotion and its throwback feel, “Die on This Hill” can be heard as the latest in a long line of melodramatic ballads by young Brits such as Amy Winehouse, Duffy, Lewis Capaldi and Olivia Dean, the last of whom was just named best new artist at the Grammys. Yet Spiro’s voice stands out: Rich and pulpy, with a crack she knows how to deploy for maximum heartbreak, it might be the most impressive instrument to come out of England since Adele emerged nearly two decades ago.
“Sienna is a true artist with the voice of a generation,” says Sam Smith, one more English singer (and former best new artist winner) with a flair for ugly-cry theatrics. Late last year, Smith, who identifies as nonbinary, invited Spiro to join them onstage in New York for a performance of Smith’s song “Lay Me Down.” Spiro, Smith recalls, “blew the room away” — one reason they brought her out again Wednesday night at San Francisco’s Castro Theatre, this time to sing “Die on This Hill” together.
Says Smith of the younger artist: “The world is at her feet.”
At the Troubadour, where she’ll follow Tuesday’s sold-out concert with an encore appearance Friday night, Spiro describes singing as a life calling. “I’ve known what I wanted to do since — honestly, since I’ve been a conscious human being,” she says. Dressed in a black-and-white-striped turtleneck, she has her legs folded beneath her on a wooden bench; her dark hair hangs loose around her face, yet to be styled into the ’60s-inspired do she’ll wear come showtime.
“I always felt a bit invisible,” she adds, whether at school with friends or at home as a middle child. “Not in a victimized way. But I always struggled with that existentialism. Music is the only thing that’s made me feel real.”
Are we to believe that one of pop’s bright new stars was once … kind of a bummer?
“In my own way, yeah,” she says with a laugh. “It’s OK. It happened. Character building.”
Spiro grew up privileged in London, one of four children of Glenn Spiro, a prominent jeweler who counts Jay-Z as a client and pal. Her dad turned her onto Frank Sinatra and Nina Simone and the Italian film “Profumo di donna” when she was little; by age 10 she’d written her first song (“Lady in the Mirror,” it was called) and played her first gig (at a pub not far from Heathrow Airport).
At 16 she enrolled at East London Arts and Music, a performing arts academy she describes as “the up-and-coming version” of London’s prestigious BRIT School, whose alumni include Adele and Winehouse. Her academic career didn’t last long, though: On her first day of classes she posted a TikTok of herself covering Finneas’ song “Break My Heart Again” that triggered a wave of interest from various record-industry types; soon she dropped out and began regularly traveling to Los Angeles to work on music.
Today Spiro says she has a “love-hate relationship” with the town where she estimates she spends half her time. “I’m very English, and I think something about English people is our honesty — you don’t really have to guess what people are saying. What was shocking to me when I came here was that people didn’t say what they meant.
“I was very, very lonely, and it was hard to make music when you feel that,” she adds. “I make sad music, but it’s hard to be a teenager and be away from your family and your friends and be in a place where you kind of have to play pretend being an adult.”
Did suffering among the two-faced liars of L.A. ever lead her to question her commitment to music?
“No. It just made me question how I was doing it. And not everyone’s a two-faced liar. There are some good ones out there.”
Was she ever at risk of becoming a two-faced liar herself?
“Oh, I’m too English for that,” she says. “If I did that, I’d get a slap.”
Sienna Spiro performs this week at the Troubadour in West Hollywood.
(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)
Spiro started releasing singles in 2024 and quickly signed a deal with Capitol Records; last year she opened for Teddy Swims on the road and turned heads with “You Stole the Show,” a luxuriously gloomy slow jam with echoes of Adele’s “Skyfall.”
For “Die on This Hill,” which she wrote with Michael Pollack and Omer Fedi (both of whom went on to produce the song with Blake Slatkin), Spiro wanted to capture the feeling of “when you go above and beyond just to feel something reciprocated back from someone,” she says. But if the writing came quickly, the recording didn’t: Spiro jokes that she cut “900 different versions” of the song, including one she says sounded like Silk Sonic and another that sounded like Lauryn Hill.
“I was desperate for something up-tempo,” she says, given that virtually everything she’d dropped so far had been a ballad. Yet Fedi pushed her to cut the tune live with just her on vocals and Pollack on piano. They did four takes, according to the producer, one of which forms the basis of the record that eventually came out.
“Very old-school, very human,” Fedi says of the process. “Maybe I’m corny but with Sienna, less is really more. Her voice is so special, so big and upfront, that you just want to put a giant flashlight on it and let it shine.”
In early January, Spiro gave a bravura performance of “Die on This Hill” on Jimmy Fallon’s late-night show; one clip on TikTok has been viewed more than 70 million times. For that appearance, she wore a retro mini dress printed with an old photo of Johnny Carson behind his desk; for a recent performance in the BBC’s Live Lounge, she wore a different dress showing the faces of the four Beatles.
On stage at the Troubadour, her dress features images of the Chateau Marmont and the Capitol Records tower — a bit of setup, she says, for her next single, “The Visitor,” which is due March 13. Spiro has been slowly assembling her debut album for the past two years, but with headlining concerts to play, she’s reaching back for some of her oldies from 2024.
Some, not all.
“To be real with you, some of my early stuff wasn’t the most authentic,” she says as her drummer starts thwacking a snare during sound check . “I was trying to be someone else because I really wasn’t comfortable with myself.”
Can she point to an example?
“‘Back to Blonde,’” she says, referring to a vaguely Lana Del Rey-ish number about a woman who dyes her hair after killing a no-good lover. “I put it out for all the wrong reasons. It was a mistake — an inauthentic move that I regret making.”
What were the wrong reasons?
“It’s a long story, and it’s not very interesting. I didn’t do it because I loved the song — that’s what I’ll say. But at the end of the day it’s my name and I have to stand by it.”
Which is why she’s taking her time on the LP. Some artists her age don’t care much about the album format but Spiro is a true believer. Among her faves: Sinatra’s “In the Wee Small Hours,” Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life,” Adele’s “21” — “a perfect album,” she says — and Billie Eilish’s “Hit Me Hard and Soft.”
“I love an album where you don’t ever question why a song’s on there,” she says. “Where everything feels intentional.”
She doesn’t want to divulge too much about the work in progress. “The problem with me is I have a huge mouth and I give everything away,” she says, which — hey, great.
“No, I know it is for you,” she adds with a laugh. “But not for me, because then when I actually want to do the big reveal, I’ve got nothing because I’ve said it all.”
She will allow one detail: “It won’t be 12 ballads, I’ll tell you that.” She looks toward the ceiling, jiggling her head slightly, as though she’s doing some mental math regarding the track list.
“I mean, there’s a lot of ballads,” she says. “I just love a ballad — I can’t help it.”
