(Editor’s note: Journalism asks readers to encounter people and subjects as they are, not as we wish them to be. The individual whose story follows, lived in a world riddled with addiction, violence and fear, and his language reflects that reality.
The profanity appearing in this article has been preserved only as a means to serve the accuracy and integrity of the narrative. It has not been included for the purpose of sensationalism, but because fidelity to the truth sometimes requires resisting the temptation to make difficult stories more comfortable than they were lived.)
“I used to manufacture methamphetamine,” says Sean Barrett, a former meth addict now reformed and trying to help others who share a similar path. “I was not a good person – I was a real piece of shit, and I was pretty obviously in hardcore addiction.”
Barrett is quite open and honest about who he was, what he is still struggling against, and the world that exists right here in our very breathing space that many choose to either ignore or not even accept as a local reality. To most Ocalans, ours is a world of equestrian events, youth baseball games, and petty disputes over building permits and water usage. Talk of Mexican cartels, drug gangs, and human trafficking is generally about some large urban area or remote border town distant from these friendlier confines.
But Ocala’s namesake woodlands just to the east create a safe haven for those who would manufacture and distribute deadly drugs while arming themselves as a small army in order to protect their profitable enclaves. For many like Barrett’s former self, the Ocala National Forest is less a hiker’s or camper’s paradise as it is a buyer’s drug emporium.
Barrett tells his story to lift the veil on what hides in the underbelly of this growing community, but his tale is not one fraught with shootouts and kidnappings, but one recounting the quiet reality of transactions unfolding without fear or retribution – just an addict getting what he wants from a source he considered safe.
“I would say over a three-year period, I went probably 30 times (to buy drugs),” Barrett said. “The first time, I didn’t know the people I was going to meet. I went out there with this girl who said she knew some people out there that sold it.”
Barrett and his partner headed out to the forest during daylight hours – nighttime would be too risky and frightening for a first timer. Evening excursions would come later as he became more comfortable and the dealers more familiar with him as a regular. The two drove Highway 40 to around the entrances close to Mill Dam Recreation Area and Halfmoon Lake. From the highway, it was about a 30-minute drive into the forest, “the last part definitely an ATV trail.”
When they arrived at the destination, Barrett describes it as “very secluded and shady.
“There was a little RV back there that was painted camouflage and there were guys with automatic weapons. They were definitely of the rough variety – from my understanding, it was Mexican cartel; they didn’t speak much English. I know a little bit of Spanish and was able to communicate with them that way – I believe they were definitely illegal in this country.”
His female partner had made the call and spoke to someone named Pablo. Later, Barrett began to realize that several people called themselves Pablo and that may have just been a generic name used by members.
Barrett was greeted by gunmen covered in tattoos and bandanas covering their faces. “You could see their eyes, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you who it was if I saw them today. One or two times, there was a couple of guys who didn’t have things on their faces, but usually those guys, you got the vibe they weren’t the ones you wanted to fuck with. The ones that were showing their face, usually they were probably the shot-caller.”
Barrett describes the transaction as very matter-of-fact, even professional in its nature: no questions asked, just cash in one hand and a bag of goodies in the other, each quietly making its way to the proper new owner. The transaction would be a quarter pound of meth for around $400, “which is a phenomenal price.
“They said, ‘que tal?’ which is ‘what’s up?’ When I realized they spoke Spanish, I was like, ‘tiene droga?’ which is ‘do you have drugs?’
“‘Que necessita?’ (what you need?) And I didn’t know how to say a quarter pound and I never said methamphetamine the first time, so I’m assuming that’s what they specialized in, or I look like a tweaker – I will take that; at the time I did (look like a tweaker).
“They went inside, came back out, almost like it was in a black trash bag that was ripped and tied – it was a nice little chunk. I handed them the money and they gave it to me. I said, ‘buenos noches’ and they said, ‘buenos noches’ and we left.
“You told them what you wanted and you got it, and you dipped. It wasn’t like a hangout. At times there were people there, but you could tell they were all affiliated with something because they weren’t just sitting around drinking – it was very quiet. They were sitting there guarding the stuff.”
Barrett’s first interaction with the cartel came without incident, and after several dealings that involved his female confidant, he would soon go it alone – sometimes even at night.
“One time, I got one of the guy’s numbers myself and from then on I would just go out there by myself. In the drug world, that’s how you should operate anyway – you shouldn’t ever take anyone to meet your supplier, especially because I don’t know that it was ever the same people out there.”
Just as Barrett became acquainted with the locale, things switched on him, and that would be the norm over the next several years. The cartel would never stay in the same place too long.
The first time he was told a different location, it was close to where he had been before, but he was sent coordinates via phone. “It was never an address – it was a latitude and longitude.”
The new location seemed a bit more ominous, but he could only guess as to why.
“It was definitely like they moved abruptly to that location. There were more people there than I had seen before and more firepower. I didn’t ask questions, just told them what I was there for, grabbed it and got out of there.”
Barrett says he never feared the danger that existed, mainly because he knew how to play the game correctly and safely: Arrive the same way, make the same purchase, avoid small talk, pay the correct price, then leave. Never deviate from the routine, then never have to deal with the cartel’s wrath.
Because he played by the rules, Barrett never feared any repercussions, which came as a surprise to others.
“The same girl that introduced me to this supplier, some of the people she knew I also knew, and they found out I was still going out there a year or so later. They’re like, ‘man, you’re crazy – those mutherfuckers kill people out there.’ And I was like, ‘I don’t know; they’re cool with me, bro.’
“They said there were guys there that will kill you and there were people that would go there and never come back. I could definitely tell by the way they were talking that there was fear on their end – they had a bad experience, for sure.”
The only time Barrett sensed fear was the one time he changed the deal and brought suspicion on himself. Every time he had gone, he asked for a quarter pound of meth, but on one occasion he decided to buy a pound without calling first.
“They seemed very apprehensive. Tensions were a little high and I didn’t know how they were going to react after I said it. They started talking to each other in Spanish, and from the gist I got, it was, ‘what the fuck is going on? Should we check him!?’ But one guy was like, ‘No; he’s cool.’
“I do believe because of the quantity of drugs that was said to be there, and the behavior and the weapons, that it was affiliated with a cartel. It was very organized.”
Although Barrett only purchased meth from the dealers, he knows there was much more on the menu, including fentanyl. Though he personally never witnessed it, Barrett heard from others there was human sex trafficking taking place there as well.
THE DRUG LIFE
Long before becoming a purchaser of meth, Barrett used to manufacture methamphetamine himself around 2010. “The government made it a lot harder to (manufacture), so now it’s easier to get from people for really cheap. Now, it wasn’t the same quality, but it was way easier than trying to manufacture it yourself.”
From manufacturer to purchaser, Barrett was accustomed to drug life and became desensitized to the fear that struck others when dealing with the cartel. His greatest fear may have been not from getting shot by a cartel member, but by ingesting meth laced with fentanyl.
“In the beginning there was no fear (of fentanyl-laced meth), but the closer it got to 2023 the more it spiked – it was just being put into everything. I don’t believe I ever got any (fentanyl) and nobody I ever associated with overdosed, so that’s why I continued to go through that source, because it was the better of the options.”
Barrett said when he first purchased meth at $400 for a quarter pound that was cheap, but his last encounter he was able to purchase the same amount for just $275 and that’s what keeps many coming back.
His first trip into the Ocala National Forest came not as a purchaser of meth, but to join a Rainbow Gathering in 2002. At the time, Barrett lived in West Palm Beach, but made the trip up due to the lure of acid.
“Someone told us in West Palm that we could come here with paper products and canned goods and we could trade them for acid with the Rainbow People. Sure enough, we went out there and did just that. There were thousands of people out there.
“In 2022, we went out there to do the same thing and there were only hundreds, compared to thousands. The Rainbow People used to gather heavily in the Ocala National Forest and pretty much don’t anymore because of the cartel and gang presence and the fear of not being seen again. (The Rainbow People) are out there, but not nearly the amount as before – their gatherings aren’t as large.”
Today, Barrett is two years clean from meth and putting his experience to good use as a state board member for Oxford House, an organization that provides self-supported homes for individuals in recovery from substance abuse. He has spent several years in prison, manufactured and purchased meth and can empathize with other addicts in dire need of help.
Because he once was one, Barrett can spot a tweaker miles away. He knows the traits and a drive down just about any street in Ocala he will be able to point one out.
“They’re identifiable usually by a strange walk – they just kind of got a sway to them a little bit. They’re usually wearing light clothing like a tank top and shorts. They usually have a stolen pair of sunglasses on and are talking to themselves. They also have a backpack, which is usually where the drugs are and their belongings, because they are usually homeless or what we call “couch surfers” where they bounce from place to place.
“If you look in their eyes, it looks like there’s not anybody home. That’s a tweaker.”
When he was a tweaker, Barrett fed his addiction with bold excursions to the forest to deal with the drug cartels. Now, he’s clean and giving back to the community, but out in those woods still thrive the dealers in the bandanas, the cartels that have taken over the Ocala National Forest.
“They’re not just a bunch of thugs; they’re definitely organized and know what they’re doing.”