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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Progressivism, Social Mobilizations, and the World Cup

Progressivism,Social mobilizations, and the World Cup

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The recent social upheaval that shook Mexico during the World Cup, characterized by a choreography of protests that simultaneously challenged the neoliberal pension system, drug-related violence, patriarchy, global capitalism, and, stridently, Zionism, was not an anomaly in our political history, but rather the reactivation of its most archaic codes. The bewilderment sown by the deliberate absence of the President of the Republic from the opening ceremony, coupled with street mobilizations where genuine demands were diluted by provocations sponsored by the progressive regime itself, revealed a subtle strategy. Far from being an ungovernable explosion, the staging of a Mexico transformed into ungovernable chaos and a living monument to resistance against FIFA and the North American axis operates as a calculated geopolitical retreat mechanism. This dynamic, which draws directly from the traditions of Echeverría and Cárdenas embedded in the very fabric of the Mexican left, uses mobilization not to liberate, but to discipline. Beneath the masquerade of emancipatory and decolonial rhetoric, what truly persists and consolidates is the refined method of internal control that anthropologist Claudio Lomnitz termed antisemitism without Jews and, sometimes, without antisemites.

To unravel this cultural labyrinth, it is imperative to understand that Judeophobia in the Ibero-American context does not conform to the parameters of European biological racism, but rather functions as a sociopolitical technology inherited directly from the tribunals of the Holy Inquisition. In the mental architecture of the Habsburg Model, theorized by Howard Wiarda and Loris Zanatta, society is conceived as an organic, unanimous, and corporate body that must be preserved from any external contamination. In this theological-political matrix of national Catholicism, the Jew ceases to be a demographic or flesh-and-blood reality, becoming instead a metaphorical abstraction: the absolute symbol of dissent, the bearer of the virus of modernity, free trade, empirical science, and democratic individualism.

Historically, as Daniela Gleizer and Pablo Yankelevich document in their study of state racism in Mexico, accusations of Judaization or complicity with foreign agendas have served to purge and proscribe internal elements that attempted to break the monopoly of the colonial elites. This occurred with the liberal scientists of the Porfiriato and with the first social reformers; the religious stigma operated as a civil excommunication indispensable for safeguarding the status quo.

In the era of the so-called Fourth Transformation, this inquisitorial apparatus has been secularized and rebranded as anti-Zionist political correctness. When radical factions of the official progressive movement saturate the public sphere claiming that the international financial system, global sports institutions, and North American geopolitics are rigidly controlled by Zionism, they are not conducting a serious materialist or economic analysis, but rather resurrecting the old myth of a synarchic conspiracy. This outlandish cry of aggressive radicalism precisely fulfills the function of what nineteenth-century German sociology termed the socialism of fools: a crude simplification of the contradictions of capital that, instead of questioning the real structures of production and local corruption, personifies oppression in an invisible and absolute enemy.

By channeling social frustration toward this global phantom, the regime shields its own shortcomings and legitimizes the systemic rejection of liberal democracy, institutional capitalism, and economic integration with North America, presenting them as colonial traps set by the enemy.

When artists or opinion leaders of the cultural progressive movement adopt discourses in which Zionism is blamed for all global ills, they often do so from a legitimate empathy with causes like Palestine, but with a profound lack of historical rigor. Lacking nuance, they end up validating narratives that essentialize the Jew as the universal oppressor, unwittingly falling into the same prejudices that the most reactionary right wing has used for centuries.

The ultimate paradox of this phenomenon is that, while proclaiming a break with the neoliberal order, the use of abstract Judeophobia deepens and perpetuates internal colonialism. The Creole elites of Catholic nationalism and the political bureaucracies inherited from the old revolutionary nationalism do not attack the actual members of the Mexican Jewish community, with whom they maintain pragmatic economic alliances, but rather wield the stigma like an axe against anyone who tries to push Mexico toward an open, competitive modernity guided by the rigor of science, the market, or democratic freedom.

State anti-Zionism functions today as the great guardian of stagnation; it is the ideological checkpoint that punishes merit, demonizes institutional dissent, and justifies a hegemonic authoritarianism that returns us to the mental autarky of the viceroyalty. In the end, the folkloric mobilizations surrounding the World Cup and the rhetorical boycott against Western powers were nothing more than a modern-day version of colonial processions, a political charade designed to convince the population that isolation and poverty are mystical virtues in the face of external corruption. As long as the inquisitorial pyre of public discourse continues to burn the promoters of material progress, Mexico will remain trapped in the Habsburg labyrinth, condemned to stagnation by the crushing weight of its own myths.

Terminator. Made in PCR

 Terminator. Made in PCR

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The farce of cultural purity has been the historical anchor that keeps Mexico in a medieval limbo. For generations, the Hispanic and Catholic ideology industry has constructed a narrative of victimization and false pride that, according to Mario Vargas Llosa's scathing diagnosis, constitutes true Latin American idiocy. This rhetorical Matrix, shared by both the folkloric left and the reactionary right, uses polarization to conceal an uncomfortable truth: attachment to the colonial, clerical, and collectivist heritage is not sovereignty, but rather the survival mechanism of a Creole elite that prefers to reign over the ruins of an impoverished country rather than submit to the rules of technical and inclusive modernity. In this scenario of paralysis, while the elites play at ideological simulation, the real Mexico has begun to refound itself from below, crossing the border and embracing an irreversible civilizational mutation.

The migratory phenomenon to the United States is not simply an economic flight, but an existential transmigration. Upon crossing the Rio Grande, Mexicans do not lose their identity; they shed their feudal ties and immerse themselves in the pragmatic liberalism of the American Old West. Thus, Spanglish and Mexican-American identity are born, a popular and bilingual republicanism that no longer fits the molds of the Creole homeland. The millions of compatriots who today speak a mixed language, who demand legal certainty, and who understand the value of individual effort over clerical cronyism, are operating under liberal and meritocratic values. This diaspora represents the great catalyst for a Mexican-American identity that has discovered that material well-being, access to credit, and legal security are preferable to the abstract dignity preached by armchair nationalists. The evidence is compelling, and utilitarian pragmatism doesn't lie: the Mexican-American experience demonstrates that deep integration offers a return on life infinitely superior to ideological isolation.

To understand the magnitude of the opportunity Mexico risks due to its cultural shortcomings, one need only critically examine the global landscape. The contemporary dilemma is not absolute autonomy, but rather choosing a smart subordination that yields dividends for development. Those countries that dared to adopt North American economic and technical security structures, such as South Korea and the Philippines, managed to break the cycle of underdevelopment and become manufacturing and democratic powerhouses. Even intermediate and criticized models like Puerto Rico enjoy living standards and institutional stability that would dwarf the reality of the average Mexican. Attempting to emulate the path of isolation or Third World neutrality is a recipe for collapse. In the midst of a new Cold War, the American train is not an optional choice, but the only escape route before falling into the productive "Argentinization" of Argentina or the predatory extractivism of authoritarian Asian capitalism.

It is here that current geopolitical reality demands a bold analogy to decipher the role of President Claudia Sheinbaum. In the Terminator film saga, the fate of humanity is not decided by a bureaucrat of the Anglo-Saxon establishment, but by Dani Ramos, a young working-class Mexican woman destined to lead the resistance against the machines. Today, Sheinbaum finds herself facing the same existential challenge: the advance of the Terminator manufactured in China, an economic and authoritarian titan that seeks to devour Western markets and turn peripheral nations into enclaves of debt and raw materials. To believe that Beijing or the BRICS schemes will come to rescue Mexico is criminally naive. China has never had a real interest in our development; it sees us as an economic province of Washington. If Sheinbaum aspires to save the nation's viability, she must assume the role of Dani Ramos in the face of the Asian threat and become the leader of the manufacturing and technological resistance of the North American bloc.

To achieve this feat, the governor would have to execute an epistemological break with the old nationalist left and adopt an essentially Mexican-American mindset. This implies defending Mexico's cultural richness internally, but operating with the coldness of a Wall Street technocrat externally. It means understanding that the country's future hinges on the supply chains of microchips, semiconductors, and North American logistics, and not on proclamations of Hispanicity or stale anti-Americanism.

It is essential to leave behind the trauma of the nineteenth century and accept that geography is destiny. Embracing pragmatic Americanization means closing the institutional gap described by Francis Fukuyama, Daron Acemoglu, and James Robinson, transitioning from an extractive and feudal system to an inclusive and modern one. True courageous honesty for the second phase of the Fourth Transformation lies in admitting that Mexico's future is chained to the dollar and the success of the West. The train is moving, migration has already laid the tracks, and all that remains is for the political leadership to have the courage to board the train of modernity.

North America: the cage of the Mexican economy

North America: the cage of the Mexican economy

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero 

Why can't Mexico get off the American train? The favorite narrative of Mexican nationalism is as predictable as it is harmful.

Every time tensions with Washington escalate, the inner circle of invisible power—those corporate and political elites who operate to maintain Mexico as a modern version of the Habsburg Model—pulls out the worn-out script of diversification.

They tell us, with a flippancy bordering on irresponsibility, that the solution is to look toward Beijing or Moscow; that, supposedly being one of the world's leading economies, we possess the strength to emancipate ourselves from the American production chain and access the global market autonomously.

It's madness.

A populist fantasy designed for domestic consumption that clashes head-on with the country's arithmetic and social reality.

If Mexico truly possessed that economic capacity and structural strength, it wouldn't exhibit the glaring inequalities that fracture the country, nor would it depend on the systematic expulsion of its own people to keep domestic consumption afloat.

The truth is harsher and less glamorous: Mexico has voluntarily chained itself to the United States, and today, it is the only path left to avoid collapse.

It is necessary to scrutinize the figures of self-deception with objective data.

The myth of self-sufficiency crumbles when one observes the phenomenon of migration and its real impact.

It is true that demagogues on both sides of the border often distort the variables: there are not 60 million undocumented immigrants in the United States; the total population of Mexican origin is around 38 million, of whom approximately 5 million lack legal status.

However, reducing the problem to a discussion of visas is to ignore the depth of the tragedy.

The real tragedy is not the legal status in the north, but the economic prostration in the south. Remittances are not a macroeconomic achievement to boast about on official platforms; they are the barometer of the Mexican state's failure. In rural communities across the vast majority of the country's states, dependence is absolute: in the most vulnerable segments of the rural population, practically one in three households survives thanks to the dollars earned in the fields of California, the kitchens of New York, or the construction industry in Texas.

The Mexican economic model functions, in essence, like a gigantic Porfirian-era hacienda for human exports.

The inner circle of power prefers to maintain this status quo because migration acts as the great social safety valve.

It allows for the merciless exploitation of the indigenous and mestizo population, denying them decent wages, security, and local opportunities, knowing that the surplus labor will ultimately finance social peace from abroad.

Remittances are, paradoxically, the subsidy that workers in the U.S. pay to the Mexican elite so that nothing changes.

It is the perfect mechanism for perpetuating inequality without triggering a revolution.

To think that China or Russia will replace this symbiosis is to misunderstand how geography and the global economy work.

Mexico is not an autonomous middle power; it is a critical, but subordinate, link in the North American market.

Eighty percent of its exports go north.

Its infrastructure, value chains, and legal treaties are all intertwined with the North American ecosystem.

Flirting with extra-hemispheric autocratic powers is not a strategy; it is geopolitical suicide that Washington will not tolerate and that the markets will punish immediately.

The alternative to deep integration is not sovereignty; it is chaos: a genuinely closed border and a massive return of capital and people.

Without the safety valve of migration and with stagnant binational trade, the Mexican social fabric would tear apart in a matter of weeks.

That void wouldn't be filled by the State; it would be filled by drug trafficking and organized crime, which already control entire fiefdoms of the national territory.

We would go from being an integrated economy to a large-scale failed state, a hacienda set ablaze by its own demons.

Robert Pastor was right, and it's time for the Mexican inner circle to accept it without the national complexes of the 19th century: Mexico's future lies not in utopian emancipation, but in the acceleration and democratization of North American integration.

It is necessary to move from maquiladoras and the export of cheap labor to a true economic community with clear rules, social cohesion funds that close infrastructure gaps, and realistic binational migration policies.

Mexico will not find its salvation in the Silk Road nor in the delusions of grandeur of a paper sovereignty.

Our destiny is inextricably tied to the north. To deny this is not patriotism; it is complicity with backwardness.

The great mistake of the Salinas technocracy was assuming that the success of the first Mexico would automatically pull the second along. It didn't.

North American subsidies (via remittances and export demand) are the only thing preventing internal inequality from triggering a violent social explosion.

Mexico is condemned to North American integration because geography is destiny.

Any attempt at emancipation toward Eurasian powers is not sovereignty; it is a discursive charade to keep the country's radical base happy while, behind the scenes, trade agreements with Washington continue to be signed.

The American train is the only one that passes through our station; getting off it is not an option, it is the abyss.

While the ideologues of the so-called Fourth Transformation theorize in universities about the discovery of China, joining the BRICS, and a budding romance with the Russia-Beijing axis, the real economy reminds us that Mexico has no room to maneuver.

It's not a question of sovereignty; it's a condition of strict and absolute dependence.

Data from the Bank of Mexico dismantles any narrative of diversification.

At the end of last year, Mexican exports reached a record high, but 83% of those shipments had a single destination: the United States.

To pretend that Mexico can flirt with a geopolitical alliance with China while ignoring the USMCA is to misunderstand the basic rules of global trade. If the Asian Dragon has any place in the Mexican value chain, it will only be under the strict rules of origin dictated by Washington.

Anything else is just rhetoric for the consumption of the party faithful.

In the classic Arabian tale "The Tale of the Two Who Dreamed" from One Thousand and One Nights, a man travels to distant lands in search of treasure, only to discover that the wealth was always buried in his own backyard.

Mexican populist progressivism makes the same mistake, but in reverse: it seeks a utopia of development in China's totalitarian state, when the reality of our survival is knocking on the door of our northern neighbor.

The true engine of social stability in Mexico is not government assistance programs, but the small, everyday money that sustains the fabric of the most forgotten communities.

The flow of remittances is the true buffer against poverty, directly supporting one in three households in the country.

If the Donald Trump administration were to carry out its threats, the socioeconomic collapse of the states with the longest history of emigration would be unprecedented.

The dilemma of Mexican foreign policy allows for neither ambiguity nor calculated silence.

Continuing to fuel the falsehood of populist sovereignty, while drug trafficking and institutional corruption spread unchecked, is playing with fire.

Neither China, nor Russia, nor the BRICS have sent a single screw to turn Mexico into the Ukraine of North America.

Alignment with North America is not a moral capitulation; it is the only viable path to guarantee economic viability and improve the social conditions of the population.

This disconnect between aspirations for self-sufficiency and productive reality is also evident at the local level.

In the state of Puebla—home to the Puebla Group—for example, institutional efforts to boost competitiveness, such as the development of the new CU2 complex at the Benemérita Universidad Autónoma de Puebla (BUAP), focused on engineering and exact sciences, the development of the Olinea vehicle, and the Ciudad Audi automotive cluster, illustrate a profound structural challenge.

While these initiatives are born with the legitimate purpose of spurring innovation, in practice they face serious implementation difficulties, plagued by bureaucratic problems, a lack of effective connection with the formal labor market, and accusations of patronage that limit their real social impact.

In contrast to the rigorous industrial and educational planning that characterizes Asian powers, local projects in Mexico often lack the ecosystem of legal certainty and transparency necessary to increase regional productivity.

Would the Beijing politburo allow such a waste of resources and talent on its own soil? Of course not.

The only thing that saves Mexico from its tremendous planned inefficiency is the United States.

Economic vulnerability is exacerbated by the imminent review of the USMCA.

This process will not be a mere formality; Washington is coming to the negotiating table with a markedly protectionist stance, demanding stricter labor oversight mechanisms, even more restrictive industrial rules of origin, and review clauses that reduce long-term certainty for investments.

For Mexico, any neglect at this negotiating table or a potential collapse of the trade agreement would imply a paralysis in the balance of payments that the formal economy could not withstand for more than a year.

Mexico finds itself at a crossroads where economic dependence on the United States is not an ideological choice, but a condition of survival imposed by the very realities of its geography, economy, and social stability.

The key to understanding this situation can be simplified with a simple analogy, like that of the apples, sticks, and balls, which brutally reveals the vulnerabilities we face.

Imagine that Mexico produces ten apples to sell on the global market.

The reality is that eight of those apples are consumed by our neighbor to the north, the United States.

The other two are distributed among Europe, Latin America, and other countries.

China barely buys a bite of one apple.

This means that if the United States decides to close the door or impose high tariffs on our exports, Mexico will be left with eight apples rotting in its yard, without a nearby buyer or enough money to absorb all of our production.

China, for its part, won't cross the Pacific Ocean to buy those apples, since it produces its own cheaper fruit and has a domestic market that satisfies its needs.

The Mexican economy is closely linked to that of its northern neighbor, and this dependence isn't a matter of patriotism, but of economic logic: no one else has the proximity, the size, or the purchasing power to sustain our production.

The second element of this relationship is the support that props up our budget.

In a rural community, the table that represents the economy of many families in Guerrero, Oaxaca, or Michoacán is held up by three pillars: what they grow, government social programs, and remittances sent from the United States.

The reality is that if remittance income is eliminated, social stability collapses, because that money is crucial for people to be able to eat, pay for medicine, or maintain their homes.

Social programs, while valuable, are not enough to cover all basic needs.

Most of the country's income comes from the wages of those who work in the United States.

Without that source, millions would fall into abject poverty within weeks.

The third element is the network of organized crime, which controls a large part of Mexican territory.

The legal economy, with its factories and maquiladoras (assembly plants), can only be sustained if the United States keeps its market open, if the factories continue operating, and if remittances arrive without interruption.

If the U.S. economy shuts down, those factories close, and unemployed young people become easy prey for drug trafficking, which offers a quick and dangerous escape.

This dependence creates a vacuum that organized crime is ready to fill, delivering the country into chaos and lawlessness.

Photo EFE

These three elements demonstrate that Mexico's economy is in a kind of cage from which it cannot escape without facing almost certain collapse.

The United States economy is about twenty times larger than Mexico's, and in a scenario of rupture, Mexico could not sustain itself on its own.

China, which has a huge trade surplus with Mexico, will not act as a lifeline; its interest is in selling, not subsidizing.

The border with the United States, which sees over two billion dollars in daily trade, would be a wall that would halt all of Mexico's productive capacity.

The idea of ​​absolute sovereignty, without integration with North America, is a dangerous illusion.

Mexico is an appendage of the United States; for our country, attempting to separate would be tantamount to death.

Intermarium of Silence

 Intermarium of Silence

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Jean Meyer writes about Andrea Ricardi's work in Confabulario of El Universal (May 3, 2026). The review of Pius XII and his role during the Holocaust, while attempting to nuance the image of the pontiff, fails to avoid oversimplifying a much more complex reality: the structural ambiguity and lack of a clear and consistent stance on the part of the Catholic High Hierarchy regarding totalitarian regimes. It even calls into question the vast body of Jewish historiography on the Holocaust, the German people, Eastern Europe, and the role of Catholic nationalism.

The historical trajectory of the Intermarium Project, which seeks to consolidate an anti-communist bloc and, in many cases, aligns with the interests of the Church, reveals that this ambiguity was not an isolated incident, but a deliberate strategy that has endured over time.

The Church, in its eagerness to maintain its power and authority, has shown itself willing to collaborate with or remain silent in the face of any power that is favorable to it, regardless of whether it comes from a Nazi state, a drug-trafficking state, a corrupt political boss, the Soviet Union, China, or other dictatorships. The Church's "ambiguity" is not a mistake, but a tactic that has facilitated its survival.

This attitude shows that the Church's true stance is not the defense of human rights, but the preservation of its own power structure.

The history of the Intermarium Project and of Catholic nationalism in general demonstrates its adaptation by evading the ethical and moral commitment that the religion itself preaches; it should come as no surprise that, ultimately, the Church has proven to be more loyal to its institutional interests than to the values ​​it claims to promote.

In this sense, the discussion surrounding Pius XII cannot be limited to his silence or isolated actions, but must be framed within a broader logic: that of an institution which, in its quest for survival, has often preferred ambiguity.

From the perspective of the work *Intermarium: Evangelio Anticomunista* (Intermarium: Anti-Communist Gospel), these discourses can be understood not as isolated accidents or prejudices, but as components of a power strategy that seeks to maintain a hegemonic order and resist changes that threaten its legitimacy.

Catholic-rooted anti-communism in Mexico, or in Latin America, can be considered a microphysics of power that operates at subconscious and symbolic levels, and which has a great potential for escalation if it is not confronted with a critical review of its roots and functions.

This structure and its organizational intent are key to understanding the dynamics of power and resistance that still dominate in these contexts today.

Anti-communism is a form of Judeophobia that operates on different levels: not only as an individual attitude, but also as a “structure of resistance” that reinforces an exclusionary identity.

In the Mexican context, this Judeophobia without Jews is a way to maintain a discourse of victimization and confrontation with an external or internal enemy presented as a “virus” that must be combated to preserve the purity and authority of traditional Catholic institutions.

This mechanism of institutional sacralization, which seeks to keep society in a state of dependence and obedience, also explains why in Mexico, as in other countries with a history of strong religious influence and authoritarianism, these narratives remain functional.

The strategy is not only about religion, but also about how these ideas are articulated to defend certain privileges and an order that, in reality, seeks to perpetuate itself by constructing enemies and delegitimizing questioning.

The Catholic Church can generate a more progressive Vatican Council III than the previous one, but the task is to put theory into practice and end the feudal practices and inertia of an authoritarian and, at times, totalitarian culture.

Evangelical Geopolitics

 Evangelical Geopolitics

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The influence of messianic and dispensationalist perspectives on Donald Trump's politics has opened a space for deep reflection on its geopolitical implications, particularly in relation to countries like Mexico. Several scholars, including Carlos Garma, Elio Masferrer, Samuel Schmidt, Leopoldo Cervantes Ruiz, and Carlos Martínez García, agree that this vision, driven by Trumpism, goes beyond the merely religious. They suggest that it is a geopolitical strategy with eschatological overtones, where the United States, under a biblical interpretation, assumes the role of a divine instrument in a conflict related to Jerusalem and the Middle East, oriented toward the fulfillment of a supposed divine plan for the end times. While they criticize the conservative and messianic character of this school of thought, their approaches differ when analyzing the political, religious, and geopolitical aspects involved.

This current of thought is characterized by linking biblical narratives with global events, especially in the Middle East. From this eschatological perspective, the struggle for territories and communities takes on the character of a divine conflict. Trump's alliance with evangelical sectors that hold these interpretations has given rise to a foreign policy imbued with a transcendental purpose. The United States, under this lens, ceases to be perceived solely as an actor motivated by economic or strategic interests, becoming instead a conduit for the materialization of a messianic plan that transcends human boundaries and delves into the mysteries of the apocalypse.

For Mexico, this scenario carries significant implications due to its geographical proximity to the United States, a nation that these sectors consider key in the eschatological narrative of the "people of God." Within this interpretive framework, Mexico may need to rethink its role vis-à-vis a neighbor embroiled in an apocalyptic conflict centered in the Middle East. In programs like Sacred and Profane, Bernardo Barranco has delved into the perspectives of Zionist Christianity, analyzing how messianic and dispensationalist currents position Israel as the epicenter for the fulfillment of divine designs. According to this view, U.S. actions, guided by such principles, surpass the classic expectations of imperialism, resulting in an interventionism endowed with sacred justifications. Thus, it is understood that they not only seek to preserve material interests, but also to participate directly in a spiritual war where the fate of the world, and even that of Mexico, is at stake.

For Mexican evangelicals who have given their political support to Morena, the panorama is even more complex. Their support for a government that often criticizes religious influence in decision-making could conflict with the prevailing eschatological narrative among other evangelical sectors aligned with Trumpism. This end-of-the-world narrative, which gives centrality to the struggle for Jerusalem and the Middle East within a global messianic framework, places Mexico before a potential life-or-death dilemma. The country could be drawn into a confrontation with both political and spiritual implications. For these believers, the struggle between continuing to support causes aligned with the messianic interests of the United States or pursuing a more independent political agenda presents difficult dilemmas and profound implications for national identity.

This phenomenon far surpasses reductionist explanations that confine it solely to the framework of traditional imperialism. Instead, it can be interpreted as a form of divine intervention, according to its followers, where nations and peoples become key players in an apocalyptic drama. The penetration of messianic evangelism into the international political arena, catalyzed by dispensationalist interpretations promoted during the Trump administration, could be marking a shift for Mexico in its relationship with global dynamics. The struggle for Jerusalem and the defense of Israel through an apocalyptic lens suggest that these events are perceived as a prelude to the end times. As a result, Mexico faces the dilemma of deciding what role it will play in a narrative that simultaneously combines celestial and earthly elements. The story is yet to be written, but what is evident is that the evangelical geopolitics that is taking shape around Trumpism constitutes a profound challenge that transcends the political and requires introspection about Mexico's place within this complex global narrative.

Hungary and the Intermarium

Hungary and the Intermarium

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The fall of Viktor Orbán in 2026 marks a turning point that compels us to revisit Fredo Arias King's warning about the nature of transitions. For this author, democratic success in Eastern Europe depended on a radical break with previous power structures, something that Orbán's illiberal model simply reformulated under a modern nationalism. Now, with the triumph of Péter Magyar, Hungary faces the dilemma of the Intermarium: that belt of nations between the Baltic and the Black Sea desperately seeking to shake off Russian influence while attempting to assimilate Western values ​​that do not always align with its historical reality.

As Jesús Silva Herzog Márquez has aptly pointed out, the change in Hungary is not an automatic liberal restoration, but rather a conservative replacement. This lesson is vital for Mexico. We often believe that democracy ends with the vote count, but as analyzed in the volume edited by Ilan Bizberg and published by Cal y Arena, transitions are profound processes where geopolitics and state control weigh as much as, or even more than, popular will. The Hungarian experience teaches us that a populist regime can capture institutions in such a way that, even after its defeat, the state apparatus continues to operate according to the logic of the past. For Mexico, the lesson is that alternation of power is not synonymous with democratization if it is not accompanied by a reconstruction of the rule of law and genuine independence of technical bodies.

Hungary's difficulty in breaking free from Russia's energy and political orbit demonstrates that geography is, at times, a stronger destiny than the ballot box. Democracy, in this sense, requires not only a civil society that desires it, but also an international context that enables it. Silva Herzog's warning about the structural fragility of populism resonates today: corruption and arrogance ultimately exhaust authoritarian models, but the vacuum they leave is usually filled by figures from within the same system. If Mexico wants to avoid becoming a laboratory for illiberal democracy, it must understand that freedom is not guaranteed simply by winning an election, but by ensuring that the new power does not inherit the vices of the defeated. Society must desire democracy, but it must also have the patience and astuteness to dismantle a regime designed to be eternal.

Mexico as a Pillar of North America

 Mexico as a Pillar of North America

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The idea that Mexico is a “middle power” is, at best, rhetorical excess and, at worst, a dangerous delusion.

The reality is harsher: Mexico operates as North America’s maquiladora region, a supplier of labor and logistics that the “Empire” could, if it so chose, replace or discipline through immediate control.

History does not lie: attempts to challenge Washington’s geopolitical gravity have ended in collapse, from the decline of Porfirio Díaz to the financial disaster of José López Portillo.

Today, the country is lost in a “halo effect” of populism that prioritizes spectacle over strategy.

While figures like Omar García Harfuch, aka “Batman,” or the defense of a “paper sovereignty” in the face of the Cuban crisis serve to fuel the domestic narrative, the real world is heading toward an unprecedented security and supply crisis.

The inconvenient truth is this: if the United States falls, Mexico disappears.

There is no Plan B in Beijing, no salvation in Moscow, no refuge in Tehran.

Latin American elites have historically used the people as cannon fodder to buy time and protection, but this capacity for manipulation is exhausted by hardship.

The Chilean path demonstrated that the only peaceful and successful coexistence with the North arises from order and institutions, not from sovereignist tantrums.

Mexico must aspire to be the "Little House" of North America; an integration that responds not to cultural supremacy, but to the relentless dynamics of regional capitalism.

Our geopolitical margin is narrow: either we democratize and use soft power to influence the bloc, or we will be absorbed by the force of events.

Beneath the surface of what analysts like Carlos Ramírez and Luis Carlos Ugalde call "Populist Neoliberalism" or authoritarianism lies an inescapable reality: we are a tributary state and a critical security zone for Washington.

The viability of the 21st century lies not in "romantic diversification" toward transatlantic or Asian horizons—which only deepen our deficit and vulnerability—but in the consolidation of our North American identity.

In this scenario, Marcelo Ebrard's strategy is not just diplomacy but an imperative for survival.

Mexico and Canada must reclaim Robert Pastor's vision: a community of interests that transcends geographical proximity.

Attempting to replace this bloc with support from Europe or Asia is a systemic miscalculation.

Our logistical structures are designed for continental integration; any attempt at isolation will only fragment the resilience that the most dynamic market on the planet provides us.

The strength of the balance of payments is the clearest indicator for decision-making.

While intra-North American trade sustains our stability, our relationship with Asian giants tends to weaken our financial maneuvering.

Globalization has been reconfigured into a profound regionalism where proximity is the supreme strategic asset.

The ruling party is entering a labyrinth of sterile factionalism and local strongmen who neglect the general welfare. The need for figures who prioritize the viability of the state over the rhetoric of conflict is emerging.

In this chaos of centrifugal leadership, technical management and strategic integration become the only tools capable of safeguarding the future.

Faced with the imminent crisis due to the situation in the Middle East, will Mexican society be able to accept a technical “Oppenheimer,” or will it choose the resentment sown by populism and “go down with the captain” rather than be saved by the expert?

The path to true freedom is not built with rhetoric, but with the order that only technology can guarantee.

In this urgent scenario, Marcelo Ebrard Casaubón stands as the Oppenheimer of national survival: the technical expert capable of harnessing the "bomb" of prosperity through a cordial and strategic relationship with the United States.

While the noise of populist attacks fades in the face of scarcity, the echo of reason points to Ebrard as the necessary architect to safeguard the economy and manage our inseparable membership in the Northern bloc.

Mexico has no time for further ideological distractions; its viability depends on leaders who prioritize the effectiveness of data over the narrative of conflict.

It is time to act as the strategic partners that geography and capital dictate, under the guidance of the one who holds the key to external harmony, or accept the consequences of becoming a forgotten and impoverished periphery.

The moment of truth has arrived.

Dialogue between Donald Trump and Antonio López de Santa Anna

Dialogue between Donald Trump and Antonio López de Santa Anna

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

In the inferno where time stands still in agony, two shadows converge in a distorted mirror of history, a confrontation of betrayals and decadence.

One, with skin that reflects the burns of power, is the spirit of the United States under the mask of Donald Trump.

The other, with a cynical face and empty gaze, is Antonio López de Santa Anna, the embodiment of a Mexico that sold its destiny.

They are two Machiavellians, two demons united by the destruction of their nations.

Trump breaks the silence with an ironic and worn tone: Here we are, Santa Anna, two corpses disguised in glory in this shared ruin.

Unbridled capitalism and ambition brought me here, but you, dictator of a thousand defeats, what did you do to avoid the fall? You sold yourself to the highest bidder while your corruption fueled the machinery that devours us both today.

My wall was a symbol, but your weakness was the true foundation of this abyss.

Santa Anna responds with a bitter smile that sounds like a stifled cry: You talk about sales, New Yorker, when you turned politics into a brothel of egos.

In Mexico, we learned to survive amidst betrayal and complicity; we lost our dignity in shady deals, surrounded by factions that only sought plunder.

But you, with your imperialism and addiction to conflict, led your people into an even deeper void.

My culture of poverty is, at least, a cynical form of resistance; your war is just a business that consumes your own children.

Trump retorts with a laugh that echoes off the sulfurous walls: Resistance? What you call that is just prolonged impunity.

While we reproach each other for our failings, the horizon reveals an unstoppable tide: China, Russia, and Islam advance upon the ruins of the West.

Consumerist totalitarianism destroyed the very fiber of character that defined us.

We are no longer the leaders the world feared or respected; we are living corpses watching the empire disintegrate under pressures we once scorned.

Santa Anna adds with terminal cynicism: In that destruction, we will be dragged down together.

The corruption I fostered and the inequality you exacerbated are reflections of our inability to save the national soul.

Western culture has been torn apart by its own greed and blindness to reality.

The hope of regeneration has vanished, and all that remains is to await final defeat at the hands of the powers rising from our ashes.

Silence falls once more, heavy as an omen.

Both demons understand that history has condemned them beyond remedy.

The monster of totalitarian capitalism devours the remnants of their empires, leaving only smoke and the memory of a power that was nothing but an illusion.

In this inferno with no return, Trump and Santa Anna, symbols of a civilization in its twilight, contemplate their inevitable fall, trapped in a cycle of betrayal that condemns them to absolute self-destruction in the abyss. The "Shield" is not a regeneration, but the formalization of dependency. It is the climax of Santa Anna's betrayal and the paroxysm of Trump's expansive isolationism.

They remain two demons discussing how, in trying to salvage the remnants of their power, they ended up suffocating the souls of their respective peoples.

Trump, adjusting his golden crown, which now emits a pale, radioactive glow, points toward the world of the living: "Look at that display, Santa Anna! The Shield of America.

It is my vision perfected.

It is not just a stone wall; it is a network of steel, satellites, and algorithms that envelops the continent.

I have convinced your successors that the only way to avoid death is to hand me the keys to their house."

Isn't this a masterpiece of negotiation? I've turned the fear of narco-terrorism into the heaviest chain they've ever worn.

Santa Anna, whose iron chains clang with a dry sound, lets out a laugh that sounds like earth falling on a coffin: You're wrong to call it a victory, Trump.

What you call a shield, I recognize as my own signature on the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, but extended across the entire map.

You've achieved what I couldn't: making Mexico ask to be invaded willingly.

But tell me, at what cost to your empire? By trying to fortify the south, you've turned the United States into a weary jailer.

You're spending your last bit of energy guarding a border that no longer divides two nations, but two ruins chasing their own tails.

Trump turns to him, his eyes blazing with cold fury: It's survival! China is breathing down our necks, and Russia is laughing at our former decency.

The Shield is the only way to keep the consumer feast within our borders.

If saving my economy means managing your cities and hunting your demons as if they were my own, I'll do it.

The Gosth of Traian Romanescu: Morena supporters against Netanyahu

 The Gosth of Traian Romanescu: Morena supporters against Netanyahu

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The shadow of suspicion that hangs over Benjamin Netanyahu today is not, in essence, a new phenomenon in the Mexican political imagination. What we observe in contemporary intellectual circles, which casually compare the Israeli leader to the architects of 20th-century totalitarianism, is the transfer of an old pathology: the antisemitism of Catholic nationalism that figures like Sáenz Arriaga, Salvador Borrego, and Cuesta Gallardo instilled in the national psyche, now disguised in the anti-Zionist populism of the self-proclaimed Fourth Transformation.

This rhetoric, which attempts to portray the alliance between Netanyahu and Donald Trump as a new "conspiracy for chaos," merely recycles the myth of the synagogue of Satan under a veneer of geopolitical progressivism. It is imperative to distinguish between legitimate criticism of government management and the structural Judeophobia that dehumanizes the State of Israel.

To attribute to Netanyahu a racist messianism that acts against humanity is to ignore the historical tragedy of a people who, after being abandoned by the international community, understood that their survival depends not on the benevolence of others, but on their own strength and determination. Israel's manifest destiny is not an affront, but a reminder of dignity in the face of extermination.

As the theology of history aptly pointed out, drawing on ideas present in authors such as Jacques Maritain or Romano Guardini himself—who emphasized that the salvation of the world is inextricably linked to the mystery of Israel—the Jewish people are the axis through which God addresses creation.

To deny this role is to deny the very root of Western civilization. Justifying Netanyahu in the face of Catholic nationalism requires dismantling the idea of ​​the "abandoned soldier" who seeks enemies in the shadows to explain his own decline. Faced with Morena's populism, the response must be realistic: Israel is not a gratuitous aggressor, but a democracy besieged by regimes that have sworn to its annihilation.

While detractors speak of an imaginary Judeophilia, what exists is objective recognition of a state that, with order and discipline, freedom, anti-corruption, and democracy, has built an oasis of development in a desert of authoritarianism. Accusing Israel of assassination while remaining silent about the terrorism that plagues it is an unacceptable moral asymmetry.

The Jewish people will continue to respond with the strength that history has compelled them to forge. Israel is there so that the world may learn that faith and destiny are not abstractions, but realities that are defended with life and civic duty. Despite the dissatisfaction of Judeophobes, both past and present, the greatness of Israel remains a mirror in which humanity must see its own capacity to rise from the ashes.

Israel's destiny was not to be a power to dominate and crush others, but to be a Light to the nations. Israel survives not because it seeks world domination, but because it refuses to be erased from it. Its discipline and destiny are tools of preservation, not tyrannical expansion.

If the world falls into the hands of a power that denies the freedom of the soul, dignity, and liberty, it matters not whether that power is orderly or prosperous; the world will be a graveyard. Is Chinese, drug-trafficking, Muslim, fascist, Hindu, etc., domination better than the prospects of liberal capitalist democracies?

Will Mexico save NAFTA?

 Will Mexico Save NAFTA?

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

The viability of the Mexican economy in the 21st century lies not in romantic diversification toward transatlantic or Asian horizons, but in consolidating its identity as a fundamental pillar of the North American region.

Given the complex estrangement that has characterized the relationship with the Donald Trump administration, Secretary Marcelo Ebrard's strategy of strengthening ties with Ottawa is not only a shrewd diplomatic move, but an imperative for commercial survival.

Mexico and Canada now share the urgent need to rescue the continental vision that Robert Pastor proposed decades ago: an integrated North America that transcends mere geographic proximity to become a community of shared interests.

This strategic alliance seeks to shield the USMCA from protectionist impulses, recognizing that both countries are the United States' most stable and complementary partners.

Attempting to replace this bloc with support from Europe or Asia is, from a business perspective, a systemic miscalculation, given that our logistics and production structures are intrinsically designed for regional integration.

The strength of the balance of payments is the clearest indicator for decision-making in the highest corporate and diplomatic spheres.

While intra-North American trade generates a surplus that sustains macroeconomic stability and strengthens local value chains, trade relations with Asian giants and European powers tend to deepen a deficit that weakens our financial maneuvering capacity.

Far from being over, liberal globalization has been reconfigured toward a profound regionalism where proximity and security of supply are the new strategic assets.

Mexico must understand that its place at the global table depends on its ability to act as a bloc with its northern partners; any attempt at isolation or the search for geographically distant alternatives would only fragment the resilience that the most dynamic market on the planet provides us.

In this sense, the current mission is none other than to reaffirm that Mexico's prosperity is inextricably linked to the stability of North America, preventing an economic catastrophe through the technical and pragmatic defense of our continental integration.

While the National Regeneration Movement (MORENA) delves into a labyrinth of sterile factionalism, where the project's founding promises seem to dissolve in a confrontation of regionalisms and particular power brokers, a figure emerges who prioritizes the viability of the State over the rhetoric of conflict.

While the party structure risks implosion due to the struggle of centrifugal leaders who neglect the general welfare, Marcelo Ebrard Casaubón is consolidating his position as the architect of a transition toward economic modernization, precisely articulating the ideal mechanisms for wealth creation and the stability of production chains. His administration transcends ideological disputes to focus on Mexico's strategic integration into the international community, demonstrating that true transformation lies not in the hegemony of any one group, but in the technical capacity to safeguard the future against uncertainty.

On the horizon of national politics, only he who holds the key to external harmony and control over the flow of capital will be able to steer the ship of state when the winds of internal discord finally run out of steam.

The path is laid out for those who understand that order is the necessary prelude to true freedom, and their moment will arrive when the echo of reason drowns out the noise of assault.

Meta God AI

 Meta God AI

Diego Martín Velázquez Caballero

Contemporary thought, enriched by the recent interventions of Yuval Noah Harari, warns that humanity faces an unprecedented challenge due to the rise of artificial intelligence.

Harari has emphasized that, unlike any previous technology, AI is capable of creating ideas, narratives, and even new cults, displacing human beings from their historical role as the sole generators of cultural meaning.

The Davos forum has validated this view, recognizing that we are not simply facing another production tool, but rather an entity capable of hacking the operating system of our civilization.

From a perspective of responsible foresight, the future should not be interpreted merely as job displacement, but as a profound existential crisis.

Artificial intelligence not only automates tasks, but is also beginning to colonize the realm of the sacred, giving rise to epiphanies and digital utopias that could supplant traditional humanist values. While the private sector pays homage to this new technological deity for its economic efficiency, governments seem incapable of establishing regulatory frameworks to contain what some call a digital Terminator.

The education system faces an absolute crossroads. Institutional paralysis in the face of the speed of these changes suggests that current skills could become obsolete in the face of a geoeconomic landscape that, in its struggle for hegemony between powers like China and the United States, threatens to create a useless class of global proportions.

To mitigate this risk, education must shift toward rescuing the essence of humanity, prioritizing professions that require empathy, ethics, and a physical connection to reality—elements that computing cannot yet authentically replicate.

Responsible foresight demands that humanity not surrender to a destructive technological determinism.

It is not about waiting for a digital blackout, but about implementing public policies that ensure AI functions as a complement to, and not a substitute for, our species.

The risk of descending into technocratic totalitarianism is real, but the capacity to respond lies in our ability to collaborate and reaffirm the sovereignty of human judgment.

Beyond the apocalyptic visions of science fiction, the challenge is to design a global social contract that protects our identity against the advance of this new algorithmic god, ensuring that the future remains for life.