In the shadowed corners of Mexico’s political landscape, a disturbing alliance has taken root—one that binds the nation’s leftist leadership to the ruthless machinery of organized crime. This partnership isn’t a fleeting dalliance but a deep, symbiotic bond that thrives on mutual benefit, leaving ordinary citizens caught in a predatory web. Across Latin America, from the poppy fields of Guerrero to the streets of Caracas, this pattern repeats: leftist regimes and criminal empires prop each other up, creating a cycle of power that’s nearly impossible to break.
The deal is straightforward yet chilling. Cartels funnel cash and muscle into leftist political machines—resources that struggling campaigns and governments desperately need. In return, these regimes offer the cartels a shield: political protection, access to state-controlled assets, and a blind eye to their sprawling operations. It’s a quid pro quo that turns the state into a co-conspirator, blurring the lines between law and lawlessness. In Mexico, this dynamic has reached a fever pitch under the ruling MORENA party, where even the military—once a symbol of order—has become a player in the game.
Take Guerrero, a state where the land yields more than just crops. Here, the Mexican Army, known as SEDENA, doesn’t just fight cartels—it runs them. Beyond its traditional role, SEDENA has morphed into a cartel powerhouse, controlling everything from opium poppies to avocado orchards. Under MORENA’s watch, the army’s been handed lucrative stakes in public projects and criminal enterprises alike, tightening the knot between state and syndicate. This isn’t unique to Mexico—similar setups echo through Cuba, Venezuela, and even as far as North Korea—but it’s in Mexico where the stakes feel most immediate.
The consequences are stark. In Michoacán and Jalisco, cartel wars now feature land mines—crude but deadly tools likely sourced from SEDENA’s own stockpiles. These aren’t just gangland skirmishes; they’re state-enabled battles over territory and profit. Meanwhile, programs like Mexico Te Abraza, meant to aid deportees returned from the U.S., have turned into pipelines feeding human trafficking networks. The Guardia Nacional, overseen by SEDENA, hands vulnerable people straight to the cartels, who hold them like pawns for the next border surge.
This alliance doesn’t just trade in goods—it traffics in fear. Citizens whisper of a new kind of terror: state-sponsored hits ordered through cartel enforcers. One ex-politician shared a harrowing tale of being forced from his campaign. First came the cartel’s warning to back off. When he pressed on, they returned with a message from the state: his daughters would pay the price. The cartels, brutal as they are, seem to play by some unwritten code—public criticism might sting, but it rarely draws blood unless the state says otherwise. The government, though, has no such restraint. Dissent alone can mark you for death.
Some argue this is about more than drugs or migrants—legalizing either won’t dismantle the beast. Cartels don’t just profit from cocaine or border crossings; they’ve sunk claws into avocados, limes, and anything else that turns a peso. The state’s complicity ensures these empires grow, feeding off public resources while citizens foot the bill in blood and taxes. Fighting the cartels, then, isn’t just a matter of law enforcement—it’s a war against a corrupted state that’s lost any claim to legitimacy.
As Mexico grapples with this reality, the question looms: can a system so entwined with its own demons ever be untangled? For now, the left and the cartels hold each other in a grim embrace, leaving the nation to wonder who—if anyone—will break free first.
