October Ends, and Sheinbaum Remains

 October Ends, and Sheinbaum Remains

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

To what extent is U.S. pressure shaping security decisions, creating dependencies, and altering the future of the Mexican political system? The hypothesis that Washington prefers to exert leverage over the national government—rather than seek its replacement—is a plausible strategic interpretation; it is even possible that, following November, the United States may develop specific preferences regarding the presidential succession.

The Republican Party’s hardline strategy toward Mexico suggests not only that Washington wishes to weaken the Morena-led government, but also that the White House seeks cooperation, predictability, and the ability to exert influence in service of its own strategic interests.

Venezuela offers a significant point of contrast. The U.S. operation in January 2026 that led to the capture of Nicolás Maduro demonstrated the lengths to which Washington’s coercion could go when its leaders deemed that security and geopolitical objectives justified direct intervention. However, applying that precedent to Mexico in a mechanical fashion would be a mistake. Economic integration, a shared border, and deep-rooted social ties between the two nations make the costs of destabilizing Mexico prohibitively high. The notion of such an intervention belongs firmly in the realm of sensationalist, alarmist political theater.

Trump has leveraged commercial, psychological, and social pressure—along with the threat of more aggressive security measures—to extract concessions. In response, Sheinbaum has established coordination mechanisms that include intelligence sharing, efforts to combat arms trafficking, and operations against criminal organizations. The result is a relationship in which coercion and negotiation are not necessarily mutually exclusive; rather, they can function as complementary tools to influence a government’s behavior without incurring the economic and political costs of a total rupture.

The United States has opted to keep Morena in power because it finds advantages in dealing with authorities capable of ensuring operational cooperation, institutional stability, and economic continuity. A government that is politically distinct from the one preferred by certain U.S. sectors can still prove functional, provided it delivers on specific strategic objectives. The early endorsement by the PVEM (Ecologist Green Party of Mexico) of Omar García Harfuch—whose position at the helm of public security makes him a key figure in the bilateral relationship—opens the debate over Mexico’s political succession within the framework of U.S. geopolitical strategy. The United States does not always need to exercise direct control over its interlocutors; often, it suffices to establish incentives, increase the costs of certain decisions, and expand its capacity for influence.

Ultimately, the "Fourth Transformation" is leading Mexico to see its own reflection in the mirror of Delcy Rodríguez. Which form of collaborationism will prove more burdensome for the Mexican people: the populist version or the neoliberal one?

The history of Mexico’s political system demonstrates that the country will always exist in the shadow of the superpower, as Soledad Loaeza points out. For this reason, the United States should bear in mind that a fire—or neglect—in its "backyard" could easily spread to set the house itself ablaze.

Mexico: The Tragedy of Abandoning the Future

 Mexico: The Tragedy of Abandoning the Future

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Some countries squander their opportunities due to a lack of resources; others, because of weak institutions; and some seem to do so because their political elites have come to confuse the defense of an identity with the foolish obligation to preserve their own past mistakes. Mexico runs the risk of falling into this last category.

In Letras Libres, Eduardo Turrent Mena poses an uncomfortable question: what would have happened if Mexico had fully taken advantage of the geopolitical reconfiguration that led the United States to seek alternatives to Chinese manufacturing? Geographic proximity, the North American trade agreement, Mexico’s industrial base, and the need to build infrastructure for artificial intelligence appeared to offer an exceptional opportunity to boost investment, productivity, and wages.

This argument does not rely on imagining a utopia. It relies on recognizing that Mexico possesses objective advantages—and that transforming these into prosperity requires institutions, security, energy, water, infrastructure, and legal certainty. The problem is that such conditions are not built through patriotic declarations, but rather through technical, political, and administrative decisions that demand continuity.

Mexican history provides legitimate reasons to be wary of the hegemonic ambitions of the United States. The war of 1846–1848, subsequent interventions, and the profound asymmetries between the two nations are all part of the national memory. It would be absurd to demand that Mexico forget this history or accept Washington’s decisions without resistance.

In 1996, Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza, Carlos Alberto Montaner, and Álvaro Vargas Llosa poked fun at a familiar political archetype: the intellectual or leader who explains Latin American poverty by pointing to the malice of foreigners, blames capitalism for all social ills, and believes that nationalism or the expansion of the state are sufficient responses to problems that actually require effective institutions.

The Mexican contradiction is also cultural. Millions of people live on both sides of the border, maintain transnational families, work within shared production chains, and participate in cultural circuits that pay no heed to the ideological divisions drawn by governments. The Mexican economy is deeply integrated with that of the United States, even if national politics does not always act as though this reality carries strategic implications.

This ambiguity comes at a geopolitical cost: the challenge lies in shifting from viewing the relationship with the United States as a perpetual struggle for dignity to seeing it as an ongoing negotiation for prosperity—all while upholding democratic principles and national interests.

A long-standing culture of corruption is paving the way for a worst-case scenario; by 2060, mere survival will not be enough. The future demands that we move beyond the false dichotomy between sovereignty and integration, as well as the one between social justice and a competitive economy. No society can sustain its well-being if it fails to produce, innovate, and develop human capital—nor can it do so if growth benefits only a privileged few.

The ultimate question is not whether Mexico can become American. Rather, can Mexico be fully Mexican without fearing modernity, without conflating cooperation with subordination, and without sacrificing its own future just to preserve the ideological certainties of its leaders? Can Mexico move past corruption? Can it shed the stifling influence of medieval-style Catholicism over its decision-making processes?

For nearly two centuries, Mexico has been debating its problems without addressing their root causes. In 2009, Jorge G. Castañeda and Héctor Aguilar Camín published Un futuro para México (A Future for Mexico), an essay that warned of the weight of the past, a lack of direction, and an inability to translate democracy into prosperity. Seventeen years later, the question remains as relevant as ever: why does a country with so many advantages continue to postpone fundamental decisions?

Eduardo Turrent Mena offers an answer rooted in geopolitics: Mexico had the opportunity to become a strategic industrial and technological hub for the United States—precisely as competition with China was driving a reorganization of global supply chains. Artificial intelligence, semiconductors, energy, and advanced manufacturing could have ushered in a new era of growth. But such an opportunity requires security, infrastructure, an adequate energy supply, investment, and legal certainty.

Mexico’s challenges are not merely economic; they are also political, social, and cultural. We remain trapped between the myths of the past and the demands of the present. We conflate sovereignty with isolation, nationalism with development, and political loyalty with governing competence. Meanwhile, problems continue to mount, and opportunities are shifting toward other nations.

The U.S. legislative elections in November and the upcoming review of the USMCA (T-MEC) add a sense of urgency to this situation. While Mexico cannot dictate the electoral trajectory of its neighbor, it can—and must—prepare to negotiate with a U.S. Congress and administration whose priorities may shift. Entering these discussions without a clear energy, industrial, and security strategy would narrow our room for maneuver, precisely when we most need to expand it. Mexico’s future is not predetermined, but the missed opportunities of today could evolve into the crises of tomorrow. The relationship with the United States and the November legislative elections lend a sense of urgency to this reflection—without presuming what the electoral outcome might be. Given these various potential futures, what kind of institutions are we building today? There is a possibility: a democratic, secure, innovative, and prosperous Mexico—integrated into North America without relinquishing its own identity. To achieve this, we need economic growth, universal social rights, quality education, an independent judiciary, and a pragmatic foreign policy. We must also ensure that the benefits of integration reach the workers and the regions that have historically been left behind. The decisive fight against racism, corruption, and crime can no longer be deferred.

Mexico must decide whether it wishes to remain tethered to its foundational myths or begin building its future. Geopolitics offers boundless prospects. What is missing is the will to confront reality before the future turns into mere nostalgia.

Vance: The Kid from The One Horse Town

 Vance: The Kid from the "One-Horse Town"

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

There are political moments that seem to encapsulate contradictions far deeper than the specific event that triggered them. The incident at a JD Vance rally—where an individual waved first the Mexican flag and then the Palestinian flag—can be interpreted as more than just an immediate confrontation; it serves as a symbolic scene reflecting the tensions coursing through the United States in an era defined by migration, national identity, and global competition.

For many, Vance embodies a contemporary expression of rural America seeking to reclaim a lost sense of belonging. His personal story—rooted in the working class of Appalachia and popularized by his book *Hillbilly Elegy*—resonates with communities that feel displaced by economic, cultural, and technological shifts. This nostalgia evokes the atmosphere of songs like Blackberry Smoke’s "One Horse Town," conjuring images of small towns where people strive to preserve their roots while watching the world change around them.

Yet, this very experience finds an unexpected parallel in the millions of migrants who have arrived in the United States from all corners of the globe. Many leave their homelands not out of simple choice, but driven by poverty, insecurity, a lack of opportunity, or the fallout from international economic and political dynamics that have impacted their societies.

The history of migration from Mexico to the United States exemplifies this complexity. Millions of Mexicans have crossed the border over the decades in search of jobs and stability, while the relationship between the two nations has been defined by profound economic, social, and cultural interdependence. Migration cannot be understood merely as a border issue; it is also the result of a continental economy characterized by the constant flow of goods, capital, labor, and ideas. The comedy film *You Don't Mess with the Zohan* uses humor to show how people from international conflict zones can end up sharing everyday spaces in the United States, forced to cooperate to survive in a diverse society. Beneath the satire lies a reality: U.S. immigration has brought together the stories of people carrying the wounds, conflicts, and memories of different parts of the world.

The song "I Am a Mexican," performed by Treviño and Jiménez, expresses another dimension of this experience through music: migrant identity as a blend of pride, adaptation, and resilience. American culture has been built precisely through these manifold contributions. The so-called "melting pot" has sparked debates about integration, inequality, and the loss of identity, yet it has also been a historic source of creativity, innovation, and economic growth.

The paradox is that many sectors advocating for a more insular view of American identity are part of a nation whose history is deeply intertwined with the arrival of foreigners. Even rural communities currently facing economic uncertainty have been shaped by earlier waves of migration.

In an international landscape where the United States faces economic and technological competition from China, the immigration debate takes on a strategic dimension. The question is not merely how many people arrive in the country, but how a society organizes its human capital, integrates talent, and confronts the challenges of a global economy.

JD Vance’s personal story—like that of many Americans from humble backgrounds—also reveals a universal truth: small communities do not exist in isolation from the rest of the world. Human, cultural, and economic exchanges transcend borders, even those that some seek to reinforce. Migrants carry stories of terror, but also of love.

Perhaps the most powerful image in the U.S. immigration debate is not that of a border, but of a town looking outward and discovering that the world has already arrived at its doorstep. It is within this difficult, contradictory, and sometimes conflict-ridden coexistence that an essential part of the American story is found.

Future Outlooks for 21st-Century Mexico

Future Outlooks for 21st-Century Mexico

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Commemorating national independence compels us to take stock of the ideas and projections of figures such as Lorenzo de Zavala and Lucas Alamán. Their insights remain strikingly relevant, particularly in a context where U.S. influence over the Mexican economy and political landscape is undeniable. Although they held differing visions, both thinkers offered perspectives that—if carefully considered—can shed light on the nation's current dilemmas.

Lorenzo de Zavala, a key figure in the struggle for independence and the formation of Texas, held an ambivalent view regarding Mexico and its destiny on the continent. He believed Mexico should operate under U.S. tutelage—driven not merely by economic interests, but by a form of Manifest Destiny. A pragmatist and a liberal, Zavala saw the U.S. trajectory as both a refuge and an opportunity for his country. To him, the emergence of "Spanglish-ness"—that cultural and linguistic blend defining today's U.S. communities—represented a natural progression. This vision, viewed in his time as either treason or realism, is reflected today in economic dependency: Mexico relies entirely on the U.S. economy, and millions of Mexicans work in the United States, sending home remittances that sustain a significant portion of the Mexican economy. Zavala warned that Mexico needed to understand its destiny and capitalize on its proximity to North America, even if doing so entailed a loss of sovereignty.

Conversely, the politician and historian Lucas Alamán believed that the key to Mexican power lay in its access to the Caribbean, specifically Cuba. Alamán viewed Cuba as a "lock" capable of opening or closing doors for Mexico, thereby determining the country's influence in the Gulf of Mexico and, by extension, its security and international prestige. For Alamán, the Caribbean island was a crucial factor in either Mexico's greatness or its vulnerability. In the current landscape—where the United States contemplates its influence in the Caribbean and Cuba remains a key piece of regional geopolitics—Alamán’s warning takes on unsettling relevance. A potential U.S. intervention in Cuba, coupled with the strategy of figures like Marco Rubio—who seeks to link Florida with the Caribbean and South America—could translate into an attempt to curb Mexican influence in the region by building a bridge that sidelines Mexico as a regional power.

Both figures, therefore, offer complementary analyses: Zavala, who foresaw integration with and dependence on North America, and Alamán, who warned of the Caribbean’s geostrategic importance to Mexico. Current reality shows Mexico undergoing a process of cultural and economic hybridization; while U.S. influence has become entrenched, this has not resulted in a definitive loss of the country's identity or sovereignty. The insight to be drawn from these 19th-century visionaries is that the nation must learn to navigate its destiny intelligently—accepting its ties to the United States while simultaneously defending its place in the Caribbean and Latin America.

In a world where geopolitical dynamics are accelerating and regional spheres of influence are being redefined, the warnings of Zavala and Alamán serve as beacons guiding our understanding of the present. The key lies in transforming that dependence into a strategic advantage, without losing sight of the history and ideas of figures who still have much to say about Mexico’s future.

Donald Trump: American Woman

 Donald Trump: American Woman

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The trade war between the United States and Canada—largely linked to Donald Trump’s nationalist vision—reflects not only an economic dispute but also a dynamic of power and sovereignty within a relationship that, despite its closeness, has been marked by ups and downs and confrontations. To contextualize this issue, it is useful to look at the Canadian response to U.S. pressures and policies, as illustrated by the iconic song "American Woman" by The Guess Who.

During Trump’s term, the bilateral relationship became significantly strained. The imposition of tariffs on Canadian products, the renegotiation of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), and threats of protectionist measures reveal a pattern of pressure aimed at reshaping the relationship to favor U.S. interests.

A comparative analysis with other historical periods reveals that this strategy of pressure is nothing new in U.S. politics; however, the Trump administration was distinguished by its openly nationalist and confrontational approach. The story behind The Guess Who’s "American Woman," for instance, symbolizes the tension between Canada and the United States: a Canadian band, weary of U.S. politics, expresses a desire in the song to distance itself and assert its national identity. The lyric "American Woman, stay away from me" can be understood as a metaphor for cultural and economic resistance against U.S. hegemony. In this sense, The Guess Who’s song encapsulates the sentiment of a country that—despite its proximity and economic dependence—refuses to be subjugated by a nation attempting to impose unilateral conditions in its drive to reassert its power.

Canadian resistance—symbolized by this iconic song as well as by policies of economic and cultural protection—demonstrates that the relationship is not one-sided. Canada has managed to maintain its autonomy by fostering alliances with other nations, particularly in Europe, and by strengthening its economy to counter external pressures. Mexico, by contrast, occupies a distinct historical and geopolitical position: as a country deeply integrated with and dependent on the United States, it lacks the conditions to wage an open trade war against Washington. Its status as a satellite nation and its historical commitments dictate a different strategy. Now more than ever, Mexico must demonstrate its capacity to become a central, reliable, and indispensable cog in the U.S. economy. In this regard, while Canada can approach its relationship with the United States through a lens of resistance and the reaffirmation of sovereignty, Mexico faces the challenge of preserving its autonomy without jeopardizing the economic integration upon which much of its prosperity depends.

The German Far Right and Its Impact on Mexico

 The German Far Right and Its Impact on Mexico

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The rise of the German far right, represented primarily by the Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, has had a significant impact on the international political landscape, including in Latin American countries. In Mexico specifically, this victory could have profound implications for electoral behavior and the perception of political forces—particularly amidst a context of political polarization and a crisis of confidence in traditional institutions. Could the AfD influence Mexican voters by reinforcing nationalist, anti-immigrant, and anti-establishment rhetoric, thereby contributing to greater polarization and increased support for right-wing political figures and parties in Mexico? While such an outcome is highly probable—albeit with certain nuances—it would be premature to conclude that this process will exert an influence in Mexico comparable to that of Nazism.

The Mexican right possesses its own distinct genealogy, shaped by a convergence of Hispanism, Catholic nationalism, social conservatism, and—at certain points during the 20th century—references to Spanish Francoism and European fascism. There were even pro-Nazi factions in Mexico that viewed Adolf Hitler with admiration as Germany emerged as a truly global power. The current situation differs significantly. The AfD is only just beginning to emerge as an actor capable of altering the European political balance, whereas Nazism—prior to World War II—represented a project of state and geopolitical power with planetary and millenarian dimensions.

Therefore, rather than speaking of a new Mexican right modeled directly on Europe, it is more relevant to observe the persistence of pre-existing conservative traditions. A significant portion of Mexico's conservative sectors remains linked—albeit indirectly—to forms of paleoconservatism, Catholic nationalism, and geopolitical imaginaries associated with the "Intermarium" region and 16th-century Spain. In this sense, right-wing movements in Mexico do not necessarily need to import AfD rhetoric to become radicalized; they possess their own intellectual and historical traditions upon which to build new positions.

Latin American points of reference may prove to be far more influential. Chile, Colombia, Argentina, and El Salvador offer examples of right-wing forces reorganizing around themes such as security, nationalism, social order, state downsizing, and confrontation with progressive left-wing movements. These processes can be interpreted as attempts to rebuild a conservative Latin American order that, in certain respects, revives historical imaginaries linked to the old Hispanic world and to what might metaphorically be termed a "Habsburg Model": political centralization, social hierarchy, authority, and cultural continuity.

Ecuador presents a further crucial dimension: the realignment of Latin American political sectors with the US-led geopolitics championed by Donald Trump may possess a greater capacity to spread across the region than the AfD itself. US influence operates through economic, trade, military, and diplomatic ties that are far more immediate for Mexico and Latin America.

European and Latin American right-wing movements respond to distinct sociological processes. While the AfD has emerged within the specific context of immigration, the crisis of the German economic model, Europe’s demographic shifts, and tensions within the European integration project, Latin American right-wing movements are shaped by their own specific challenges: insecurity, inequality, corruption, institutional crises, and ideological polarization.

The AfD’s primary influence is symbolic and geopolitical. Its growth demonstrates that a radical right-wing force can transform the party system of an established democracy. However, for this experience to gain real traction in Mexico, it would need to align with local traditions and the specific circumstances of Latin America. Furthermore, the history of Nazism serves as a reminder that a political movement can attain an international significance far greater than initially seemed possible. Precisely for this reason, the phenomenon warrants close observation—without conflating its growing relevance in Europe with an already established influence on Mexican society.

Mexico and the Magnificent Seven

 Mexico and the Magnificent Seven

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

There is something deeply comical—though the consequences are no longer amusing—about the way Washington imagines it can solve the issue of Mexican drug trafficking. In Delta Farce, three U.S. soldiers accidentally arrive in Mexico believing they are in Iraq; with the characteristic confidence of the ignorant—unaware of where they actually stand—they end up interpreting the country as a war zone. In ¡Three Amigos!, three confused actors arrive in a Mexican village convinced that their roles as cinematic heroes align with reality. Today, both films serve as unintentional metaphors for a U.S. policy that seeks to confront an extraordinarily complex problem with extraordinarily simple solutions.

The Donald Trump administration seems to expect Mexico to do the heavy lifting: fighting cartels, controlling territory, halting drug trafficking, and curbing violence. Meanwhile, Washington can harden the border, impose tariffs, deport migrants, and threaten extraordinary measures. The problem is that Mexico is not a chessboard where moving a single piece is enough to make drug trafficking disappear. The informal economy, inequality, local corruption, institutional weakness, and U.S. demand for drugs form a social structure far more resilient than any military operation.

The paradox is striking: while the United States demands results from Mexico, its own economic policies may erode the social conditions necessary to effectively combat crime. Tariffs, unemployment, deportations, and market closures can increase the vulnerability of entire communities. A strategy based exclusively on pressure may end up producing the very thing it seeks to avoid: increased migration, greater informality, and new incentives for criminal economies. Trump will multiply the problems he aims to solve and end up completely "Mexicanizing" the United States.

October is approaching, and U.S. politics is once again entering a season of election-year anxiety. Yet no electoral calculation will solve the Mexican problem. Nor will fantasies about bombing laboratories from across the border. Mexico needs a "Magnificent Seven," but not Hollywood gunslingers: it needs effective institutions, professional police forces, independent judges, financial intelligence capabilities, economic opportunities, and a crime strategy that simultaneously targets supply, demand, and money laundering.

For if Washington insists on showing up dressed as the Three Amigos or the Delta Farce, it may well discover the moral Hollywood already knew: Mexico does not need foreign heroes; it needs its own capabilities and a U.S. partner that understands this war cannot be won solely south of the Rio Grande.