Uruapan

Political assassinations have long punctuated Mexico’s democratic trajectory, often surfacing at moments when institutional fragility becomes impossible to ignore. The murder of Uruapan’s mayor is therefore not an unprecedented shock but the latest manifestation of a recurring pattern in which local political authority collapses under the weight of criminal power. The country has witnessed similar moments in past electoral cycles, in rural municipalities, and along contested economic corridors. What is different today is the increasing regularity and visibility of these attacks, signalling not just isolated episodes of violence but a systemic erosion of governance. The killing of Carlos Manzo crystallises a truth that communities in Michoacán, Guerrero, Guanajuato, Sinaloa, Zacatecas and beyond have recognised for years: insecurity has metastasised into a political condition.

Michoacán has long been a barometer for national security. The state’s geography, agricultural wealth, and fragmented political networks have made it a battleground for groups competing for control. Yet the recent escalation in places like Uruapan signals a worrying transformation. Local reports of extortion, blockades, and increasingly public displays of force reflect criminal organisations behaving as de facto authorities. Entire communities have adapted to a logic of survival shaped by invisible borders, curfews, and negotiated coexistence with whoever wields power at any given moment. The assassination of public figures in such an environment is not simply a political act but a show of ownership over territory, demonstrating that the real lines of authority do not run through government offices but through armed structures with the capacity to enforce their will.

What is unfolding today is not an isolated deterioration but a worsening trend that has become more explicit during the last two federal administrations. The promise that security would be reimagined through social policy and a rejection of past militarised models never materialised into real control of territory or a coherent strategy for dismantling criminal governance. While the language changed, the underlying problem deepened. The country saw more regions where the state operates only partially or symbolically, where elections proceeded under intimidation, and where local authorities lacked the means or autonomy to resist the pressures around them. The result is an increasingly fragmented political geography in which criminal groups influence candidate selection, determine which campaigns can operate, and regulate economic flows at the community level.

Under Andrés Manuel López Obrador, the narrative of moral regeneration through social investment was presented as a long-term answer to entrenched violence. Yet the gap between discourse and reality widened every year. Homicides remained persistently high, disappearances continued to haunt families, and entire municipalities came under the shadow of armed groups. The federal government’s insistence that security indicators were improving often clashed with the everyday experience of citizens navigating threats, extortion, and territorial disputes. Even as official statistics were reinterpreted to show progress, the lived reality in regions such as Michoacán, Guerrero, Zacatecas, and Guanajuato suggested that criminal organisations had consolidated their presence more deeply than before.

It is against this backdrop that Claudia Sheinbaum assumed the presidency, carrying forward a security model that was already failing. Her early months in office reveal how far the government still is from containing the expanding insecurity. Despite official claims of reduced violence, these figures jar with how people actually experience their lives. A majority of citizens continue to feel unsafe, and communities in high-risk states report no perceptible change. Her reliance on social prevention ignores how firmly criminal networks have embedded themselves in local political and economic systems. In several regions, armed groups continue to operate openly, even during federal visits, reinforcing the perception that national security strategy is more rhetorical than practical. The dissonance between optimistic messaging and deteriorating public trust reveals a government that has yet to confront the structural nature of the problem. In doing so, it risks turning its security agenda into little more than political theatre rather than a meaningful plan to reassert state authority.

Federal responses, while immediate and visible, reveal a deep structural weakness. Large-scale deployments, announcements of multi-sector investment packages and public proclamations of institutional coordination have become the standard repertoire of crisis management. These interventions create the appearance of control but rarely alter the conditions that allow criminal groups to flourish. The persistent challenges of corruption, politicised policing, fragmented prosecutorial capacity and limited municipal autonomy remain largely unresolved. Without addressing these deficits, security operations risk becoming cyclical performances rather than durable solutions.

National security trends further complicate the picture. Although certain aggregate indicators suggest stabilisation or marginal declines, the broader trajectory reflects a shift towards diversified criminal governance. Extortion, territorial control, interference in municipal administration and the permeation of legitimate industries reflect forms of violence that escape simple statistical capture. Thus, a focus on homicide figures alone obscures the structural deterioration of Mexico’s security landscape. The issue is not merely how many people are killed or disappeared, but how violence shapes political participation, economic activity and civic behaviour.

The deterioration of security in Mexico is inseparable from the erosion of its democratic foundations. Criminal groups no longer just threaten individuals — they infiltrate political processes, influence elections, and shape economic life. Municipalities under their sway become more than battlegrounds; they become laboratories of parallel governance. Political pluralism suffers when competition is skewed by coercion; the meaningful choice of leaders erodes when citizens know that certain voices are too dangerous to raise. Freedom of expression, too, is undermined. Journalists, activists, and community leaders operate in climates where challenging criminal-political alliances can entail serious risks. Self-censorship becomes a survival strategy, and public debate narrows under the weight of unspoken fear. When participation becomes dangerous, political representation becomes illusory.

This is not how democratic life is supposed to function. Institutions — from city halls to courts — ought to guarantee protection, justice, and participation. Yet in many places, the real source of power lies outside constitutional structures, in the hands of groups that command both arms and economic influence. This isn’t a temporary crisis; it is a systemic breakdown: when violence is structural, the response must be institutional.

Civil society responses illustrate both the potential and the limits of civic resistance. The mobilisation of Generation Z represents an important shift: a young, digitally connected cohort demanding accountability, transparency and meaningful security reform. These demonstrations are grounded in lived experience. For many young people, insecurity is not an abstract policy concern but an organising principle of daily life. Their protests reflect a rejection of narratives that normalise violence, minimise institutional failure or reduce insecurity to political rhetoric. Yet their activism also highlights a worrying reality: younger generations increasingly turn to extra-institutional forms of political expression because formal channels appear unresponsive.

The erosion of freedom is not only visible in the public sphere but in private life. Decisions that should be routine — attending a festival, organising a community meeting, even taking certain roads — have become political acts shaped by calculations of risk. This gradual internalisation of fear constitutes a subtle but profound form of democratic regression. When citizens adapt their behaviour to avoid harm, the space for free expression, open debate and community participation contracts. Democracy loses not through abrupt authoritarian shifts but through the slow, everyday retreat of civic life.

Addressing this crisis requires an institutional response that moves beyond episodic militarisation. Prosecutorial structures must be capable of pursuing cases that reveal networks rather than producing symbolic arrests. Municipal police forces must be professionalised, insulated from political interference and equipped with oversight mechanisms. Transparency must also be central in any reform. Citizens need access to clear, verifiable information about investigations, budget allocations, and the performance of security institutions. Without this, trust will remain a casualty of rhetorical solutions. Economic regulation must prevent criminal control of supply chains, especially in high-value sectors. Without reform of these foundational elements, any security strategy will be short-lived and vulnerable to the next surge in criminal activity.

At the national level, political leadership must recognise that security, democracy and economic development are interdependent. Reducing violence without strengthening democratic institutions will merely shift the form that insecurity takes. Conversely, institutional reforms that ignore security realities will remain aspirational. The state must rebuild public trust not through proclamations but through transparent evidence of institutional effectiveness.

International cooperation can play a supporting role, particularly in intelligence and financial tracing, but it cannot substitute for domestic institution-building. Sovereignty requires the capacity to govern effectively; reliance on external actors to fill institutional gaps risks reinforcing perceptions of state weakness.

Mexico stands at a juncture where insecurity threatens more than physical safety. It challenges the very conditions that make democratic life possible. The murder of Uruapan’s mayor is therefore not simply another entry in a long record of violence but a sign of cumulative democratic decay. If unchecked, this trajectory will entrench parallel systems of governance in which criminal groups continue to expand their authority while formal institutions recede.

The country’s future depends on rejecting this drift. A more honest political narrative is needed — one that acknowledges institutional failure, confronts criminal power directly and recognises that democracy cannot coexist indefinitely with pervasive fear. The question is whether political leaders will choose the difficult path of structural reform or continue to rely on reactive measures that mask, rather than resolve, the crisis.

Mexico cannot allow political assassination to become an unremarkable feature of its democratic life. Public institutions must assert their authority not through spectacle but through competence. Reversing the current trajectory will require political courage, institutional reconstruction and a renewed commitment to pluralism and freedom. The alternative is stark: a political landscape where democracy is reduced to procedures while real power is negotiated through violence, and where the politics of fear become the politics of the state.