Ernesto is 43 years old and works more than 16 hours a day as a bus driver in Lima. He has always enjoyed his job, is patient with passengers, and likes driving. But he doesn’t any more. He knows that every day he risks death. Nearly 70 public transport drivers have been murdered this year in Peru by hitmen for refusing to pay extortion money, according to police data.
“Before, they’d rob you, take your cell phone, or your day’s earnings. Now it’s like Russian roulette: imagine I go out right now and it’s my turn, they shoot me and it’s all over,” says Ernesto, a pseudonym. “People are terrified,” he adds. In the country, extortion has increased by more than 600% between 2018 and 2025, according to official figures. From January to September of this year, 20,705 cases were registered.
San Juan de Lurigancho is one of the most vulnerable districts. Ernesto has no choice but to travel through it, because his route starts there and covers the entire area. Sometimes he wishes he could work less, to be less exposed; three or four days a week would be enough to cover his family’s expenses. However, a year ago he bought the bus he drives and now he has to pay for it. His children and wife beg him not to go out to work.
Ernesto remembers what his friend told him a few days ago. “They got on the bus to leave him the note; they boarded like normal passengers. Then they pointed a gun at his head and threatened him.” He told Ernesto this in tears, feeling helpless, and his friend hasn’t left his house in days.
Drivers are just one link in the extortion chain that exists in the transportation sector. They are the ones who receive the threats and the final bullet from the hitmen; but they are not always the ones being extorted. Frequently, the targets are the owners of the companies.
Julio César Raurau, representative of the United Transport group in the eastern part of San Juan de Lurigancho, explains that the extortion began in 2024: “They left bullets, grenades, but they didn’t kill the drivers.” He says that all transport companies must operate under extortion: “It would be a miracle if someone hadn’t experienced something like this.”
The extortionists send a message to the company’s WhatsApp account demanding money. “They use a weapon, speak vulgarly to intimidate, and create terror,” Raurau explains. Then they give a timeframe of 24 hours to pay: “You start counting the hours, wondering if it’s real or not.” If the business owners don’t respond, the criminals board the bus and threaten the driver to force their boss to pay. If they still don’t comply, they shoot the driver a few days later.
The only way transport companies have found to ensure their drivers’ safety has been to submit to extortion. “One group arrives, then another, and then another. You’re afraid they’ll kill a driver, so you give in. They’re putting their lives on the line for us in a battlefield,” says Raurau.
Urban transportation in Peru depends on various private companies and is not integrated. Most of the money is moved in cash. Martín Ojeda, director of the International Chamber of the Transportation Industry, explains that this makes it especially vulnerable: “The liquidity is concentrated among the owners, and the extortionist wants to seize control of it.”
Raurau explains that in San Juan de Lurigancho, extortionists can demand an initial payment of up to 50,000 soles ($14,800) from a company, followed by 20,000 soles per month ($5,900). In other cases, where the extortion is directed at drivers, they demand around 10 soles ($3) per day.
The government has so far been unable to stop extortion and contract killings. Despite the current state of emergency, two drivers have been murdered in the last two weeks. Ricardo Valdés, executive director of the organization CHS Alternativo, which investigates the issue, explains that the state lacks the technical capacity due to insufficient investment and training.
Before, at the end of the day, some drivers would sit down for a few beers at a nearby bodega. They don’t do that anymore; they fear they’ve been followed by hitmen. However, the fear isn’t limited to drivers; bodega owners are also victims. Since 2021, an average of 2,000 bodegas a year have closed due to extortion, says Andrés Choy, president of the Peruvian Bodega Owners Association.
A survey by Ipsos and CHS Alternativo indicates that half of Lima’s population knows of at least one business in their neighborhood that has closed due to insecurity and extortion. The most-affected sectors are C and D: “These are sectors of entrepreneurs, the emerging class, and students who have dropped out of university and want to start a business. They put themselves out there on social media to market their products, and this information is captured by extortionists,” explains Valdés.
Small shop owners — there are around 535,000 in Peru — have been victims of extortion since 2021. “Opening the shop every day is torture,” says Choy. “It’s terrifying, but they have no other choice because if they don’t sell, they don’t eat.” Initially, the criminals demanded around 20,000 soles. “Even if they sold their entire business, they couldn’t pay it,” he explains. But the extortionists themselves realized this and decided to rethink their method to be more efficient. Now they demand much smaller amounts daily, weekly, or monthly.
“They don’t want to fix their warehouse anymore, because they think the criminals will see it and charge them more,” Choy adds.
Artists in the spotlight
Recently, one of the country’s most famous cumbia groups, Armonía10, performed on stage wearing bulletproof vests. Weeks earlier, another famous band, Agua Marina, had been the victim of an attack during a concert. But Armonía10 carried another enormous burden: last March, one of its singers, Paul Flores, was murdered while traveling between concerts. “I had never heard the sound of a gunshot,” says Carlos, 36, who was there: “Now I know.”
The attacks on these music groups add to a list of other artists murdered in private residences, on the street, or on buses. Carlos, a pseudonym, has worked in the entertainment industry since he was 17. “We’ve gotten used to living in fear,” he says, “we work in an industry that tries to bring joy, and to do that we have to live with the risk.”
After Flores’ death, the band implemented protocols. “Bulletproof vests were part of the requirement that musicians and singers demanded to board the bus,” says Carlos. “We didn’t wear them on stage because we never thought it was a risk. Until the Agua Marina tragedy.”
Other popular groups have followed this lead. Most have been trained by experts on how to react, for example, to a burst of gunfire. However, for smaller groups or independent artists, this is nearly impossible. Some, like Carlos, have stepped aside, but others continue working because they are the breadwinners for their families.
As is often the case in the transportation sector, singers aren’t always the direct victims of extortion. Sometimes criminals contact the musicians, but frequently the threats are directed at the promoters or owners of the venues where they perform. Now, when they work and negotiate with promoters, they no longer just ask about technical requirements: “We ask them if they’ve already paid the protection money,” says Carlos. “If we play at an event where the promoter hasn’t paid, we know the attack will be against us.”
Workers, from any trade, feel unprotected. They also don’t believe in filing police reports. “What we do is entrust ourselves to God and say: whatever will be, will be,” says Carlos. “My mother used to say that when I went to work, it was like I was a soldier going off to war.”
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