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.

American March

American March 

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero 

In the country's most influential political and media circles, a concern that can no longer be ignored is resonating with increasing intensity: Will Mexico be the next stage for a direct US intervention, similar to the one El Salvador experienced in the 1980s? The perception that Washington's strategy seeks to consolidate its dominance in our territory through covert actions, and not only through diplomatic or economic pressure, has begun to circulate strongly in certain sectors of the elite.

Víctor Hugo Arteaga has warned that this threat is not a conspiracy theorist invention, but a reality that has been developing in the recent history of the bilateral relationship, marked by structural subordination and clandestine operations by intelligence agencies.

This view is echoed by the opinions of prominent national security specialists who write for El Independiente.

According to their analyses, there is evidence that the United States has perfected a multifaceted, “silent” intervention strategy in recent decades, in which direct military occupation is not the only option.

The infiltration of criminal actors, the co-opting of political and economic elites, and the creation of crisis scenarios that can justify a larger intervention are all part of a logic that seeks to maintain control without triggering an open conflict.

Analysts agree that the increase in violence, the expansion of drug trafficking, and the fentanyl crisis in the United States have been used as pretexts to justify actions that, in reality, aim to dismantle any attempt by Mexico to regain its full sovereignty.

In contrast to the more alarmist perspectives, some security specialists at El Independiente believe that direct military intervention in Mexico would not be the preferred option in the short term.

They argue that the United States is increasingly inclined toward a strategy of economic pressure, cyberattacks, media manipulation, and alliances with domestic sectors that can facilitate its political, economic, and military control of our country.

However, they warn that the danger lies in the fact that, in practice, these covert actions could quickly escalate into a more visible occupation if Mexican elites, in their eagerness to maintain privileges, continue to make backroom deals and ignore the risks of ever-increasing dependence.

For their part, Víctor Hugo Arteaga and other analysts have emphasized that Latin American history reveals that the United States has repeatedly used the "divide and conquer" strategy to neutralize sovereignist or leftist movements.

The presence of drug traffickers, conservative sectors, religious institutions, and economic elites—who, in many cases, operate in collusion with foreign interests—facilitates the country becoming an arena of conflict where sovereignty is diluted in a web of pacts and complicity.

The narrative that Mexico is a country incapable of controlling its own destiny, that it can only be “protected” by Washington, is the perfect pretext to justify an intervention that could go far beyond police or economic operations.

Analysts at El Independiente also contrast these perspectives with the opinions of other experts who believe that the real threat to Mexico lies in its own history of populism, clientelism, and pacts with the United States.

The country's tendency to accept “easy solutions,” to maintain a sovereignist discourse for public consumption while, in practice, perpetuating agreements of convenience, reinforces our nation's vulnerability.

The potential intervention, they argue, would not only be a military action, but the culmination of a process in which Mexican elites, through their silence or complicity, have allowed dependency to become institutionalized and irreversible.

In short, the convergence of opinions among academics and analysts in media outlets like El Independiente, along with the comments of Víctor Hugo Arteaga, paints a complex and dangerous picture.

History teaches us that sovereignty is not declared, but rather built through resistance to external pressures and the strength of institutions.

The threat that Mexico could become the “El Salvador” of the 21st century, under an intervention strategy that combines economic warfare, media manipulation, and covert actions, is no longer a distant hypothesis, but a concrete possibility if the elites and the citizenry do not become aware of the risk and act accordingly.

The ongoing tension between Mexico and the United States has been a constant in the country's modern history, and in this context, the academic Soledad Loaeza has contributed a profound and nuanced perspective.

In his book published a few years ago, Loaeza analyzes how North America has exerted constant pressure on Mexico, driven by economic, political, and security interests, which has often tested the Mexican state's capacity to maintain its sovereignty and autonomy.

Loaeza argues that, despite this pressure and the emerging threats, the Mexican government has managed to weather these onslaughts with a strategy of negotiation and resistance that, while not eliminating the risks, prevents the relationship from becoming one of absolute subordination.

Loaeza points out that this tension is not only a foreign policy issue, but a structural element that defines the country's identity and domestic politics, and that, at key moments, has tested Mexico's ability to defend its interests against a power that ultimately seeks to consolidate its dominance in our region.

Narco-Democracy

Narco-Democracy

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero 

George Friedman argues that states are not static entities; they are constantly evolving structures, influenced by their geopolitical, economic, and social environment.

When organized crime—in this case, narco-politics—manages to penetrate political and economic institutions, it creates a kind of parallel state that challenges the authority of the formal state.

Narco-politics, in essence, seeks not only to control illicit markets but also to influence political decisions, the selection of leaders, and the configuration of power.

The inertia of drug trafficking in Mexico, which has been entrenched for over fifty years, has pushed relations between the two countries to the breaking point.

The inability to halt the expansion of narco-politics has generated a situation in which the logic of organized crime has deeply infiltrated the state structure, creating a scenario of complicity and institutional weakening that threatens to blur the lines between legality and illegality.

In Mexico, the persistence of a narco-political model has prevented efforts to curb the image of a country where violence, corruption, and the influence of cartels seem to exist in a precarious balance, similar to the approach the United States has adopted in other political systems such as those of Colombia and Italy.

In these countries, drug trafficking and organized crime have operated to some extent, but always within a framework of U.S. oversight and against nations considered enemies or rivals of the United States.

In Colombia, alliances between drug traffickers, the military, and politicians have allowed the Colombian state, at times, to function as a secondary actor in the face of criminal networks.

In Italy, the mafias—Cosa Nostra, the 'Ndrangheta, the Camorra—have established complex relationships with political, economic, and religious sectors, which, while infiltrating institutions, have not transformed the country into a narco-democracy in the absolute sense.

The difference lies in the fact that, in Italy, legal and political mechanisms exist to combat these organizations, although they are often weakened or co-opted, and the country maintains a formal democratic structure with elected institutions and a relatively strong rule of law.

Friedman's analysis warns that if the United States does not halt the advance of narco-politics in Mexico, the influence of the cartels is likely to expand southward, leading to the emergence of Mexamerica, where organized crime could seize vast regions of U.S. territory.

The idea that drug trafficking could become an actor controlling territories and political decisions in the United States is not just a futuristic hypothesis, but a possibility that, according to Friedman, is becoming increasingly plausible if decisive measures are not taken.

The inertia of drug trafficking, which has been sustained for decades in Mexico, has pushed the bilateral relationship to its limits, and the need for a fundamental overhaul of the Mexican political system is becoming imperative.

Only through a profound process of institutional, political, and cultural transformation can Mexico resist this threat and prevent narco-politics from consolidating itself as an alternative power system that challenges state sovereignty and jeopardizes regional and global stability.

Unlike a rogue state where organized crime exerts almost absolute control over institutions and the popular will, Mexico has not yet reached that extreme, but persistent infiltration and complicity have led the country to a state of extreme vulnerability.

The United States has partially tolerated the existence of criminal structures in other countries, always in the interest of strategic interests.

However, this tolerance has come at a cost: it has consolidated a precarious balance that, if broken, could lead to a scenario of greater violence, destabilization, and loss of sovereignty in the affected countries.

History, and Friedman's perspective in particular, warns that the delay in combating drug-related politics in Mexico could translate into a long-lasting crisis, where the shared border will be not only a territorial boundary but also a line of conflict that will determine the stability of the entire region in the coming years.

The need to reform the Mexican political system, strengthen its institutions, and adopt a comprehensive strategy against drug-related politics thus becomes an urgent priority to avoid a scenario of regression and a definitive loss of sovereignty.

The dispute over populism in Mexico

The dispute over populism in Mexico

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero 

In Mexico, both the Catholic Church and the State have been key players in perpetuating clientelistic, corporatist, patrimonial, and kleptocratic practices.

The difference lies not so much in the methods they employ, but in the age and formality with which these mechanisms have become embedded in their structures.

For centuries, the Church has operated on multiple levels, articulating networks of social, cultural, and political support that, in many cases, have functioned as a kind of parallel or complementary power structure to that of the State.

Religion has been used to consolidate loyalties, sustain certain elites, and, at times, reinforce social dependency through the distribution of spiritual and material benefits.

It is not surprising that, in a country with so much poverty, the Church continues to be an actor that, at different levels, employs these same mechanisms to maintain its influence and social control.

For its part, the Mexican State, since its inception, has resorted to the same logic, only at a more institutionalized and formal level.

Clientelism, corporatism, and patrimonialism have been recurring tools in the country's political history.

Governments, regardless of their political affiliation, have distributed resources, positions, favors, and benefits in a system designed to consolidate loyalties and ensure their hold on power.

The difference with the Church lies in the fact that, on many occasions, these practices have been carried out within the framework of legality, or at least under the guise of legality, through social programs, the allocation of resources, institutional manipulation, and networks of intermediaries that guarantee territorial and social control.

Corruption, in its most basic form, has been a structural element of the relationship between elites and vulnerable communities.

What is evident is that, fundamentally, there is no substantial difference in the methods used by the Church and the State to maintain their power.

Both actors have resorted to clientelism and corporatism, only at different times and with varying degrees of formality and longevity.

While the Church has historically operated on a more social, cultural, and religious level, the State has employed these mechanisms in public administration and resource management.

However, in practice, both maintain a similar logic: the distribution of benefits in exchange for loyalties, votes, or social support, in a context where poverty and inequality are plagues that fuel this dynamic.

The central problem is that these practices reinforce a system of domination that keeps Mexican society in a state of permanent vulnerability.

Poverty, lack of opportunities, and weak economic structures make communities easy prey for these mechanisms.

Society, for the most part, lacks the tools and institutions that would allow it to demand rights or build a strong citizenry.

In this scenario, both the Church and the State operate within a system where clientelism is presented as the only way to access certain minimal benefits, thus preventing the formation of a genuine democratic culture and a civil society capable of challenging these powers.

Joy Langston and Bernardo Barranco have investigated several cases where these sociological phenomena can be observed: the clientelism of the PRI/MORENA coalition and the corruption scandals within the high clergy.

The electoral struggle, then, becomes a battle for the hegemony of clientelism, where political, religious, and social actors intertwine in a scenario where poverty and social inequalities are the main ingredients fueling this dispute.

The competition is not only for votes, but also for the ability to offer immediate benefits and promises of well-being that, in reality, perpetuate social dependency and exclusion.

From the critiques of authors such as Loris Zanatta and Mario Vargas Llosa, we can understand that populism is not just a campaign method, but a way of consolidating power based on emotional manipulation, the distribution of benefits, and the destruction of institutional checks and balances.

Clientelism in Mexico has become a structure that, beyond official rhetoric, functions as a system in which intermediaries, both from the government and the Church, maintain long-term relationships with communities, fostering a culture of dependency and weakening mechanisms for democratic participation.

As long as a large and robust middle class does not exist in Mexico, we can hardly speak of an autonomous citizenry, a strong civil society, or institutions capable of confronting these clientelistic mechanisms.