At first, it barely registered as unusual — a fire reported after hours, another tragic entry in the daily news cycle.
But as fragments of information surfaced, the story refused to settle into the familiar pattern of an accident. Doors that never opened. Workers trapped inside.
Safety measures that became barriers instead of protection. From the start, the incident carried a disturbing sense that this was not simply a fire, but a failure layered with silence.
What later came to be known as the Coppel case left a deep and lasting mark on Mexico. Not only because six women lost their lives, but because of where and how it happened. This was not a remote factory or a hazardous site —
it was a department store in the heart of Culiacán. A place of routine, of employment, of normalcy. Six employees arrived for a night shift and never made it home.
This story deserves retelling not for shock value, but because tragedies rooted in negligence demand memory. Behind every official statement are families waiting for answers, and behind every unanswered question is a life that should not have ended that way.
A Routine Shift That Turned Fatal
On the night of November 10, 2010, six female employees reported to a Coppel store in downtown Culiacán, Sinaloa, to conduct overnight inventory. Such shifts were not uncommon. The task was expected to be quiet, methodical, uneventful.
Shortly before 10:00 p.m., a fire ignited inside the building. What followed was swift and catastrophic.
According to witness statements and later investigations, the store’s entrances had been intentionally secured. Metal shutters were pulled down. Doors were padlocked. Windows were sealed. When smoke began filling the interior, the women inside found themselves with no clear exit.
Emergency services were alerted almost immediately. Firefighters from Culiacán, along with Civil Protection teams and neighboring emergency units, responded and battled the blaze for more than 13 hours. But the building itself had become a trap.
Trapped Behind Locked Exits
The most harrowing detail emerged later: some of the women managed to make phone calls while the fire was spreading. They reached out to relatives and emergency operators, explaining that they were locked inside and unable to escape. Their voices carried panic, confusion, and urgency.
When responders arrived, they encountered reinforced metal curtains and locked access points that could not be opened quickly. Attempts were made to force entry, including the use of heavy machinery, but smoke and flames had already overtaken much of the interior.
Autopsy reports confirmed that the victims died primarily from smoke inhalation. Three showed partial burn injuries. Their names — Ariana López Soto (24), Carmen Selene Moreno Zazueta (36), Verónica Picos Bastidas (22), Claudia Yaneth Bernal Delgado (25), Rosa Imelda Félix Gamboa, and another young woman listed in official records — became symbols of a preventable loss.
Questions That Would Not Fade
In the days that followed, grief turned into outrage. Families demanded to know who authorized locking the store, whether emergency protocols existed, and why workers were left with no viable escape route.
Coppel representatives stated that the fire may have originated from an electrical short circuit in the basement and pledged cooperation with authorities. They offered condolences and assurances of support. But for families, these explanations felt incomplete.
One particularly troubling revelation was that locking stores during overnight inventory was reportedly standard practice. While routine does not excuse tragedy, it raises serious concerns about normalized risk and overlooked safety obligations.
Investigations also revealed that the only alternative exit was allegedly located on the roof and required specialized equipment — equipment the employees did not have access to. Even awareness of danger would not have guaranteed escape.
The Human Cost Behind the Headlines
Beyond procedures and reports, the impact of the fire rippled outward into broken families. Children were left without mothers. Claudia Bernal’s son, Sebastián, would grow up with unanswered questions. Carmen Moreno’s son, Ángel, was taken in by relatives. Grief was compounded by uncertainty and prolonged silence.
Years passed, yet definitive accountability never materialized. Authorities referenced ongoing analyses and pending conclusions, but no clear responsibility was publicly assigned. Promises of compensation and support were inconsistently fulfilled, further deepening distrust.
Adding to the pain was the spread of misinformation. Graphic images circulated online, some falsely attributed to the incident. Journalistic investigations later clarified that several widely shared photographs were unrelated, underscoring how easily truth can be distorted alongside tragedy.
More Than an Accident
Some fires are accidents. But when exits are blocked, doors are locked, and safety protocols fail the people they are meant to protect, the distinction between accident and negligence becomes dangerously thin.
The image of six women trapped in smoke-filled darkness, calling for help that could not reach them in time, forces an uncomfortable question: how often are workers placed at risk for the sake of convenience, routine, or profit?
A Memory That Demands Accountability
More than a decade later, the Coppel fire remains etched into the collective memory of Culiacán and beyond. Families continue to call for justice — not just remembrance, but consequences. They seek truth, responsibility, and assurance that such a loss will not be repeated.
The six women who died that night were not statistics. They were daughters, mothers, coworkers — people who trusted that their workplace would not become their final prison.
Final Reflection
Time has passed, but the fire has never truly been extinguished. It lives on in unanswered questions, in fractured families, and in the insistence that safety should never be negotiable.
On November 10, 2010, six women walked into a store expecting to leave as they always had. They never did. Remembering them matters — but ensuring accountability is what gives that memory meaning. Forgetting would be the final injustice.