Mexico 2060: Was Friedman Wrong?

Mexico 2060: Was Friedman Wrong?

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Dr. Samuel Schmidt, a prominent Mexican political scientist and one of the most respected voices on topics such as geopolitics, governance, power networks in Mexico, the far right, and natural resources, was recently awarded an honorary doctorate at a ceremony held at the El Carmen Cultural Center in Tehuacán, Puebla, as part of the Mexico in the 21st Century academic seminar organized by CICAP (Centro de Investigación Científica, Académica y Postgrados) and various academic institutions.

Samuel Schmidt long deserved this kind of recognition, given his impressive academic and social career; he has made significant contributions to the understanding of the country's political and social phenomena.

Furthermore, his approach to studying the future, particularly in relation to Mexico, challenges conventional methods and enriches the academic debate.

Dr. Schmidt's career combines his training in Political Science from the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), North America, and Israel; It reflects a constant dedication to research and the struggle for a more informed and just society.

Therefore, any institution that recognizes his work not only honors a high-caliber intellectual but also dignifies the academic and social history of Mexico.

Within the debate, Samuel Schmidt's proposal for studying the future was addressed, with a special emphasis on the situation in Mexico.

His approach is innovative and, in some aspects, contradictory to the conventional method proposed by George Friedman in the Mexico 2080 scenario.

In The Next 100 Years, George Friedman imagined an uncomfortable future for the United States: by 2080, Mexico would have acquired enough economic, demographic, and political power to become a strategic challenge for Washington.

His hypothesis seemed extravagant when it was formulated in 2009.

However, seventeen years later, it is difficult to dismiss.

Friedman wasn't necessarily right about the timing or all the mechanisms, but he did identify a profound transformation: the destinies of the United States and Mexico would become increasingly intertwined through geography, demographics, the economy, and migration. His main insight was understanding that Mexico could not be considered a subordinate periphery indefinitely.

North American integration would produce a paradox: while the United States tried to control the border, it would increasingly need Mexico's economy, labor, and strategic position.

This contradiction is evident today.

Mexico has become an essential component of American production chains, and the trade uncertainty caused by Donald Trump demonstrates both Mexican vulnerability and reciprocal dependence.

Friedman, however, was wrong about some crucial elements.

His vision of Mexico's future relied too heavily on population growth and a population that would become a permanent source of power.

Mexico's demographic transition has altered that premise.

The Mexico of 2080 will likely be older and will have to maintain its influence through productivity, technology, capital, energy, infrastructure, and knowledge.

Nor does a war between Mexico and the United States seem inevitable.

Interdependence makes an open rupture too costly.

Here, the critiques and alternatives of Samuel Schmidt and Mexican foresight become important.

The Mexico 2060 exercise attempts precisely to escape linear prediction and envision alternative futures, in which Mexico can become the agent of its own transformation.

The possibility of a closer relationship with China, new forms of economic sovereignty, and the growing strategic importance of water constitute a valuable intellectual provocation.

But, so far, these scenarios belong more to the realm of possible futures than to that of dominant trends.

The reality of 2026 is less romantic.

Mexico trades with China, seeks to diversify its relationships, and can take advantage of the competition among the great powers, but its economic structure remains deeply intertwined with the United States.

And Donald Trump has demonstrated that Washington possesses sufficient instruments to exert extraordinary pressure on Mexico through tariffs, trade, migration, and security.

The recent trade uncertainty makes it clear that Mexico still lacks strategic autonomy comparable to its interdependence with the United States.

That is perhaps why Friedman was not fundamentally wrong.

His mistake was imagining the conflict as a confrontation between two national powers that would end up fighting over North America.

The real challenge may be more complex: building a relationship in which Mexico gains greater power without turning that power into a threat to the United States, and in which Washington understands that economically crushing Mexico could end up weakening the very North American platform it needs to face China.

Samuel Schmidt and Guillermina Baena’s forward-looking analysis of Mexico is right to envision that the country can be much more than it has been.

China can offer alternatives, but it cannot replace geography.

Nationalism can provide dignity, but not productivity.

Sovereignty is indispensable, but it does not mean isolation.

To envision desirable futures, one must possess the capabilities to realize them through government and educational institutions.

The most plausible future for "Mexamérica" ​​is neither a Mexican conquest of the United States nor an apocalyptic decline of North America.

It is an integration that is conflict-ridden, unequal, and progressively inevitable.

Mexico will have to learn to negotiate from a position of greater strength; the United States will have to learn that its neighbor can become a strategic partner without becoming a subordinate.

If both fail, interdependence will be a constant source of conflict.

If they cooperate, the very integration Friedman envisioned as the source of a crisis could become North America’s greatest geopolitical advantage.

Friedman, then, may not have been wrong.

What remains to be decided is whether Mexico and the United States will turn their shared destiny into a threat or an opportunity.

The Centenary of the Cristiada: Religious Memory or Political Resource?

 The Centenary of the Cristiada: Religious Memory or Political Resource?

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Television programs on Canal Once—specifically "Sacro y Profano" and "Los Periodistas"—have analyzed the outbreak of the Cristero War a century later. The question arises once more: what does it mean to remember that conflict?

The question should not be limited to determining who was right—the government of Plutarco Elías Calles or the Catholic hierarchy.

There is a more uncomfortable contemporary issue: who needs to reclaim that memory today, and for what purpose?

Mexico remains predominantly Catholic.

The 2020 Census recorded that 77.7% of the population identified with that religion. However, this national figure masks significant regional differences.

Guanajuato, Jalisco, Michoacán, and Zacatecas maintain Catholic populations exceeding 88%, whereas in other states, the Catholic population is considerably smaller.

This leads to an initial hypothesis: the memory of the "Cristiada" does not necessarily hold the same political significance across all of Mexico.

The problem arises when a religious memory ceases to be merely historical and begins to function as a political identity.

To demonstrate that this is happening, it is not enough simply to point to bishops speaking about the "Cristiada" or Catholic organizations honoring its martyrs.

One must observe which symbols are being revived, which contemporary enemies are associated with them, which actors are promoting this memory, and what political objectives are linked to its use.

The centenary of the Cristero War may be creating an opportunity for certain conservative sectors to transform a regional religious memory into a tool for mobilization. The Mexican Episcopal Conference itself states that the commemoration is not intended to glorify violence or to place that memory at the service of any political or partisan agenda.

It even acknowledges that the conflict involved political calculations, erroneous decisions, and instances of culpability within the Church itself.

Therefore, it would be insufficient to claim that the hierarchy is simply manipulating that memory. If the memory of the Cristero War remains confined to religious acts, pilgrimages, lectures, and historical tributes, we will see evidence of a revival of religious memory, but not necessarily of a political maneuver.

However, if we begin to observe—the identification of contemporary political adversaries with the Church's historical enemies, the use of Cristero symbols in political campaigns or movements, and a concentration of such mobilization in regions with large Catholic populations—then more solid evidence would emerge of religious memory transforming into political identity.

A commemoration can bolster the public authority of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, but it can also benefit conservative organizations, right-wing movements, or political actors seeking to portray themselves as defenders of a threatened religious tradition.

For this reason, the centenary of the Cristero War should be studied less as a dispute over the past and more as an experiment regarding the present.

The question is not merely who won that war, but who can gain political power by defining what it means to remember it a century later.

The evidence must be sought beyond commemorative speeches: in patterns of mobilization, political messaging, participating organizations, territorial distribution, and, above all, in the response of the citizens themselves.

Felipe Gaitan, Fernando M. González, and Roberto Blancarte agree that the Catholic hierarchy has consistently manipulated sociopolitical processes to weaken the Mexican State; this fact should also be part of the historical assessment.

The Catholic Church has been a systematic adversary of the Mexican State and its liberal development; now, amidst the political maneuvering of the "Fourth Transformation," the eternal game of invisible power resurfaces to hinder national modernization.

It is curious that, during this centenary, the Catholic Church is a key player in the federal government's disarmament campaigns, and that President Sheinbaum has requested a visit to Mexico by Pope Leo XIV.

The influence of Benito Juárez on the "Fourth Transformation" has been diminished to an incredible degree—a phenomenon explicable only by the populist, progressive, revolutionary conservatism of the current era.

Trump and the War Against the Mexican Future of North America

 Trump and the War Against the Mexican Future of North America

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

In The Next 100 Years, George Friedman formulated one of the most unsettling geopolitical hypotheses regarding the future of Mexico and the United States: the problem of the 21st century would not be Mexico invading the United States, but rather the two countries becoming so deeply integrated that the political border would cease to align with the economic, demographic, and cultural borders.

The scenario he envisioned is paradoxical. The United States would initially need Mexican workers to offset its aging population; immigration would fuel growth; decades later, robotics would reduce the demand for labor; Washington would then attempt to curb immigration and reverse its effects. Yet, by then, millions of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans would be deeply rooted in the American Southwest. Simultaneously, Mexico would have gained significantly greater economic power. Friedman places the moment when this combination could trigger a crisis of sovereignty and identity in North America in the decades following 2070.

This is where the fundamental difference from Samuel Huntington arises. In *Who Are We?*, Huntington viewed Mexican immigration and Hispanization as a threat to the Anglo-Protestant identity of the United States, warning of the risk of a culturally bifurcated nation. The implicit solution was to strengthen assimilation and reclaim a shared national identity.

Friedman, by contrast, poses a geopolitical question: what will happen when the Mexican transformation of North America has become irreversible?

Donald Trump’s policy can be interpreted—albeit as a hypothesis rather than a proven intent—as an attempt to preemptively address that dilemma. His strategy combines pressure regarding migration, tariffs, the fight against cartels, and an increasing willingness to employ instruments of extraterritorial power. In February 2025, Trump imposed an additional 25% tariff on Mexican goods, citing a national emergency related to migration and drugs; he later modified and partially suspended these measures based on the level of Mexican cooperation. In 2025, orders were also issued to designate criminal organizations as terrorist groups, even as U.S. officials debated more aggressive options against the cartels.

The stated goal is to combat drugs, migration, and organized crime. Yet there is a deeper geopolitical dimension: reducing U.S. dependence on Mexico before that reliance becomes structurally irreversible. By 2026, no one can deny that Mexico and the United States are on the brink of war.

Therein lies the historical paradox. The economic integration that Washington might perceive as a vulnerability is, at the same time, one of the greatest sources of American power vis-à-vis China and the BRICS. Mexico is not merely a neighbor; it is an industrial, energy, demographic, and logistical platform integrated with the United States. The alternative to such integration could end up weakening the very bloc Washington needs to strengthen.

The analogy to Adolf Hitler’s Operation Barbarossa should be understood as a warning, not a historical equivalence. A strategy aimed at destroying a neighbor's capacity can end up destroying the very conditions of security and prosperity that justified the strategy in the first place. The true risk for the United States would not be the "Mexicanization" of North America, but rather interpreting North American integration as a threat when it could serve as the nation's primary strategic advantage in the face of the rise of China and other powers.

Friedman’s question, therefore, takes on renewed relevance: will the United States attempt to prevent the "Mexican future" of North America, or will it learn to transform that future into a source of American power? The history of the next fifty years will depend, in large measure, on that choice.

The Geopolitical Likelihood of a US Intervention in México

 The Geopolitical Likelihood of a U.S. Intervention in Mexico

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

During Donald Trump’s second administration, Washington has designated various cartels as terrorist organizations and ordered the Pentagon to prepare options to combat them. Alternatives ranging from drone strikes to missile launches from U.S. naval vessels have even been considered. In this context, the analyses by Dr. Víctor Hernández Ojeda of the Universidad Panamericana merit attention, although some of his assertions need to be weighed against evidence and distinguished as facts, hypotheses, or projections.

Hernández Ojeda maintains that there is a growing political willingness in the U.S. to consider intervention against the cartels and that the fundamental shift from Trump’s first term lies in the transformation of the drug trafficking problem into a national security issue. His argument has some basis: the executive order of January 2025 indeed framed the cartels as a threat transcending conventional organized crime, linking them to terrorism, foreign governments, and insurgency. Furthermore, Trump had previously raised the possibility of sending troops to Mexico and—according to the former Secretary of Defense—had even inquired during his first term about the possibility of using missiles against drug laboratories.

However, turning that pressure into a successful invasion would be far more complex. The primary cost to the United States would not be merely military. Mexico is currently an essential component of the U.S. economy; bilateral trade in goods reached approximately $872.8 billion. A war would jeopardize integrated supply chains for automobiles, electronics, medical devices, food, and energy. The Federal Reserve has specifically highlighted Mexico's growing importance within U.S. supply chains.

There would also be legal and diplomatic costs. A unilateral military operation on Mexican soil would clash with the principle of sovereignty and the prohibition on the use of force—barring exceptions recognized under international law. Moreover, the experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan demonstrate that overwhelming military superiority does not guarantee a stable political solution. Likewise, Mexico is not Colombia; Despite striking similarities, the scenario involving Mexico represents a potential mass influx of millions of people into North America in immediate response to any attempted armed conflict. An attack on Mexico would, *de ​​facto*, trigger the likely immediate migration of thirty million people into North America.

Opportunities, therefore, seem to lie less in invasion than in much deeper security cooperation: shared intelligence, financial targeting of criminal organizations, control of arms trafficking from the United States, a reduction in U.S. drug demand, and Mexican operations supported by U.S. intelligence. The neutralization of Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes in February 2026 illustrates that intelligence cooperation can yield results without the need for foreign occupation.

George Friedman’s outlook is particularly interesting: he envisions a Mexico that has become a major economic power, alongside a confrontation arising from demographic, migratory, and cultural shifts along the border. According to Friedman, the conflict would emerge organically from North America’s transformation, rather than from a Mexican plan to attack the United States. In other words, a U.S. civil war appears more plausible—particularly in the American South, driven by long-established cartels that have "Mexicanized" key states like Texas and California.

The value of Friedman’s proposal—like those previously offered by Robert Pastor and Alain Rouquie—lies in the warning that the bilateral relationship could undergo a radical transformation as demographics, economics, and the distribution of power shift. The current paradox is that an intervention intended to preserve U.S. hegemony could accelerate the very outcome Friedman foresaw: a strategic rupture between two deeply integrated societies. For North America, the greatest success would not be the conquest of Mexico, but rather preventing the fight against drug trafficking from destroying the economic, social, and geopolitical interdependence that constitutes the primary advantage for both nations.

Mexamérica without Trumpism

 Mexamérica without Trumpism

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Can Mexico live apart from the United States in a more multipolar world? Economic and social evidence indicates that the answer is no, at least not in the short or medium term without facing a major crisis.

Although the international system is evolving toward greater competition among powers and China has increased its economic and geopolitical influence, Mexico maintains a level of integration with the United States that is unparalleled with any other country.

Talking about a separation between the two does not simply mean replacing a trading partner, but rather transforming an economic model built over more than three decades.

Trade dependence is the first indicator.

Around 83% of Mexican exports are destined for the U.S. market, while China represents only about 2% of national exports.

This means that if preferential access to the U.S. market were to disappear, Mexico would have to find buyers for hundreds of billions of dollars' worth of manufactured goods, a task impossible to accomplish in just a few years.

No economy, not even China or the BRICS countries, currently has the capacity to absorb that volume of Mexican exports.

However, the relationship goes far beyond trade.

Mexican industry is part of a single North American production platform.

Sectors such as automotive, aerospace, electronics, and machinery operate through supply chains that cross the border multiple times before a finished product is completed.

A car assembled in Mexico may incorporate engines manufactured in the United States, electronic components from Asia, and parts produced in Canada.

This integration allows for reduced costs and increased competitiveness compared to other regions of the world.

Breaking these chains would mean rebuilding suppliers, infrastructure, and industrial processes that have taken decades to consolidate.

Foreign investment confirms this dependence.

Approximately 39% of all foreign direct investment received by Mexico comes from the United States.

Including Canada, North America represents practically half of the productive investment that comes to the country.

This is not just about financial capital; This investment also incorporates technology, patents, training, innovation, and access to international markets.

Replacing these flows would require other economies to be willing to invest with the same intensity and stability, something that is not currently the case.

In the social sphere, remittances represent another fundamental component.

Millions of Mexican families depend on money sent by workers who reside primarily in the United States.

Although remittances are not the main source of gross domestic product, they do sustain consumption and the local economy in numerous municipalities and states.

A significant reduction in these flows would have immediate effects on employment, regional trade, and poverty levels.

Energy security also demonstrates this close interdependence.

Mexico imports large quantities of natural gas, gasoline, diesel, and other fuels from the United States.

Much of the electricity used by Mexican industry depends indirectly on this energy supply.

An abrupt interruption would raise production costs, fuel inflation, and reduce the competitiveness of the national economy.

The phenomenon of migration and drug trafficking demonstrate that the bilateral relationship cannot be understood solely through the lens of trade.

Migration acts as an economic engine, generating employment for millions of Mexicans and producing remittances, while the U.S. market is the primary destination for drug trafficking organizations.

This shows that both countries share structural problems whose solution requires cooperation, regardless of any existing political differences.

In this context, China has significantly increased its commercial presence in Mexico.

The Asian country supplies machinery, electronic equipment, industrial inputs, and consumer goods, but purchases relatively few Mexican products.

This results in a profoundly unbalanced trade relationship.

Although China represents a world-class manufacturing power and an increasingly influential player, it is not yet a viable alternative to the economic integration that Mexico maintains with the United States.

All of this is happening while the international system is transitioning toward a more multipolar order.

It is possible that the United States will face a relative decline. The United States may face a relative decline compared to the dominance it exercised after the Cold War, but this does not signify a collapse of its economic or technological capabilities.

Likewise, China’s growing prominence does not automatically imply absolute dominance over the international system.

Both countries will continue to compete for global influence, while mid-sized economies will seek to maintain relations with both blocs.

Mexico cannot exist apart from the United States without incurring extraordinarily high economic and social costs.

Interdependence regarding trade, industry, finance, energy, and migration means that both countries are part of the same economic ecosystem.

The real challenge for Mexico lies not in replacing the United States with China or another power, but in gradually diversifying its markets, strengthening its technological capabilities, boosting productivity, and reducing vulnerabilities—all without severing the integration that currently serves as the primary engine of its economy.

The Fourth Transformation Facing Donald Trump

 The Fourth Transformation Facing Donald Trump

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

In the analysis of political transitions, the theory of the rupture of the dominant coalition explains how, at certain moments, the groups sustaining a regime or political system begin to splinter or weaken due to internal changes or external pressures.

In the case of Morena—the party that has concentrated power in Mexico in recent years—one can observe a process that appears to be approaching such a rupture, particularly in light of pressure and accusations regarding U.S. intervention in the country's internal affairs.

Donald Trump and, subsequently, other actors in the United States have asserted that Mexico is governed by drug trafficking and "narco-politics," a claim that has had a profound impact on the various internal factions of Morena.

For some time now, Morena has not been a homogeneous bloc; within it exist distinct currents and figures with varied interests and loyalties.

Some of these actors—considered the "softliners"—have begun seeking agreements and understandings with U.S. authorities, hoping to safeguard their positions and avoid being directly affected by external pressures.

Others—the more radical or "hardline" elements—maintain a stance of resistance, defending national sovereignty and criticizing foreign interference.

However, tension between these internal groups has intensified in recent months, creating an atmosphere of mistrust, fragmentation, and power struggles.

The situation is reminiscent, in certain respects, of what occurred in Venezuela following the U.S. and its allies' targeting of Nicolás Maduro.

In that scenario, different factions within Chavismo split between those who accepted external negotiations to maintain their standing and those who resisted and fought to preserve the regime's autonomy.

In Mexico, some Morena actors appear to be following a similar path, seeking—from within—agreements with the United States that would allow them to preserve their influence and, in some cases, distance themselves from the radicalism that they view as a threat to their political survival.

Can we speak, then, of a rupture in Morena's dominant coalition? The evidence suggests the answer is yes. The unity that once seemed solid around López Obrador and his transformation project is now under threat.

Internal factions are increasingly acting in their own self-interest and for political survival, within a landscape where external pressure has acted as a catalyst for emerging divisions.

In this context, the struggle for power in Mexico is no longer merely an internal dispute; it has become a battle where alliances are being redrawn based on who is willing and able to negotiate with the United States, and who prefers to resist and maintain a confrontational stance.

While it cannot yet be stated with certainty that the Morena coalition has definitively fractured, the signs indicate that the process is underway.

External pressure, internal fragmentation, and power struggles are creating a scenario where alliances and loyalties are becoming blurred, and the cohesion that underpinned the so-called "Fourth Transformation" is beginning to give way.

Mexico's political history—and parallels with other cases in the region—suggest that if this trend continues, Morena could face a process similar to that of Venezuela, where internal rifts and external pressures ultimately redefine the political system in ways that cannot yet be clearly foreseen.

Schettino and the Minion Conspirancy

 Schettino and the Minion Conspiracy

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

At first glance, comparing Mexicans to Minions seems like an absurd notion. Minions are small, yellow characters who cluster around a boss, organize in groups, obey enthusiastically, and seem to feel safer when someone tells them what to do. Mexico, of course, is a complex, diverse, and contradictory society that cannot be reduced to a caricature. Yet, the comparison raises an interesting question: why do so many human societies need intermediaries, bosses, communities, and safety nets to feel secure?

That is where the resemblance begins. For centuries, a large part of Mexican society has learned to solve problems through personal relationships. When institutions fail to function adequately, what matters is who knows whom, who can intervene, who has access to the government, who controls an organization, or who can protect a community. The local strongman (*cacique*), the priest, the union leader, the politician, the boss, the relative who emigrated to the United States, and even—in some regions—criminal groups, can all fill different roles driven by the same need: achieving security in the face of uncertainty.

Like the Minion, the Mexican might seek out a boss. But that is where the comparison ends, because the Mexican is also capable of rebelling against that boss.

This is perhaps the most important characteristic of our history. Mexico is not merely an obedient, corporatist society; it is also a deeply rebellious one. The War of Independence, the Reform, the Revolution, peasant movements, community struggles, and contemporary protests all demonstrate a persistent resistance to arbitrary power. Mexicans may accept authority when it provides security, but they can also rise up when that authority becomes abusive.

That is why Mexican liberalism has a much deeper history than we sometimes assume. Benito Juárez and the liberals did not triumph because all Mexicans had suddenly turned into liberal philosophers. They triumphed because liberal language offered many groups a tool to combat privileges, special exemptions, and arbitrary power. A peasant could defend his community while simultaneously using the Constitution to challenge the power of a large landowner. A person could be deeply religious and, at the same time, champion legal equality. Liberalism never needed to completely erase communal identities to gain followers.

That is why Mexico cannot be understood simply as a society divided between modern liberals and traditional Mexicans. In reality, many people combine both aspects. They may defend private property, desire economic freedom, and vote democratically, yet also rely on family, community, local leaders, or personal networks for security. They can be liberals while understanding the central role of clientelism within the triad of business elites, the clergy, and local political bosses (*caciques*).

Minions need a boss because they seem to know no other form of organization. Mexicans, however, are aware of another possibility: conspiracy. That is the crucial difference. The Mexican liberal tradition aspires to a state where a person does not need a protector to be safe, because the law alone should suffice. Its fundamental promise is not to turn everyone into isolated individuals, but to prevent anyone from exercising arbitrary power over them.

Mexico’s great historical problem has been that this promise has never been fully realized. When the State fails to provide security, justice, and opportunity, community ties, corporatism, clientelism, migration, and—in some territories—criminal coercion re-emerge.

Perhaps, then, Mexicans resemble minions in that both seek to belong to something that offers security. Yet they differ in a decisive way: for two centuries, Mexicans have been trying to figure out how to live together without arbitrary, unjust, and indifferent bosses. Mexico’s history could well be defined as the story of that very attempt.