As a cancer patient, your choice would be private — modern, effective, efficient, and available without waiting.
Corruption is like cancer: it spreads aggressively, seeking to infect everything.
No institution remains untouched in a corrupt system. And just as cancer restricts the body’s ability to heal, corruption restricts access to public remedies. The Fiscalía presents endless scenarios to delay any advance, to discourage, to demotivate, hoping you will simply give up and bend down. What follows is frustration. Anger. Rage.
To channel those emotions, corruption itself creates Derechos Humanos commissions and Anti‑Corruption offices. Their names give you hope, because you have no other choice but to trust them — at least a little. Yet all they do is waste your time, fooling you into believing there might be progress. But in the end, there isn’t. There never was supposed to be.
Denuncia Ciudadana? Maybe they can help. Another waste of time. But how could you know beforehand? Impossible.
And what about a private lawyer you trust? Even there, the illusion persists. Your lawyer is part of the lawyers’ association — a state‑controlled institution that authorizes and regulates the profession. So even a private lawyer is only semi‑private, bound by the same system.
So the question grows sharper: is there actually anyone who is fully free to act against corruption without repercussion?
Contact with Anti‑Corruption, 2023–2026
The Fiscalía Anti Corrupción was presented as the state of Querétaro’s latest invention to tackle corruption. A new building, a polished website — but access requires an appointment. Emails to FAnticorrupcion@ bounce back undeliverable, and they still bounce back today, April 2026.
The official contact is supposedly Benjamin Salazar, Director of Anti‑Corruption. We called his phone. A young woman answered, never giving her name or any detail. We asked to speak with Anti‑Corruption directly. Instead, she immediately pressed us to explain the nature of our inquiry. Her tone was rude, her language unlike anyone working in that area, and she behaved like a call‑center agent. Too young, too detached, and unwilling to help.
We wanted to arrange a meeting, looking for an opportunity to have a discreet and constructive conversation. She couldn’t help with the email problem either — she didn’t care. The conversation ended without any ground to establish trust.
In January 2024, a few months after that call, we submitted a denuncia ciudadana against Benjamin Salazar. We weren’t accusing him of wrongdoing, but explaining the situation that, as director, he should want to resolve. No progress followed. A complete freeze for two years.
On April 20, 2026, at 10:36 a.m., we called again. The experience was identical. Same attitude, same refusal to engage. The email still bounced back.
Two years later, nothing has changed.
