On November 15, thousands of young people marched across the country without coercion, without political parties, and, above all, without fear. They demanded something essential: security, justice, and a future. The government's response was immediate and brutal: arbitrary detentions, intimidation, beatings, and tear gas. This government doesn't pursue those who carry weapons to commit crimes; it pursues those who raise their voices.
Because the government is not afraid of organized crime, it is part of it; it fears awakened citizens. It fears young people because it doesn't control them, doesn't move them, and can't silence them. Deep down, what truly unsettles the regime is not the marches: it is the truth it can no longer hide.
That truth is simple and painful: in vast regions, Mexico no longer has a government; it has a simulation. The repression of November 15 was not an isolated excess; it was confirmation that those in power prefer to intimidate their youth rather than face reality: the State has surrendered and ceded much of its territory.
The last straw was the murder of Carlos Manzo. His death triggered the accumulated outrage of people who saw in him a brave man determined not to surrender his community, his municipality, or his state to organized crime. From the National Palace, the reaction was to blame the past and ironically ask: "So what's your proposal?" as if they were not the government, or as if they had a valid excuse when today they control power at almost every level to confront (if they wanted to) the criminals.
The most serious aspect: Carlos Manzo was not killed by just any hitman, but by a minor. A 17-year-old teenager who saw in a weapon the possibility of having a future. A teenager who found more opportunities in crime than the State itself could offer. A lost and confused child in a country that lost its way long ago.
That contrast with what happened on November 15 is brutal. An ignored mayor who asked for help; young people demanding a future who were beaten. For this government, protesting is more dangerous than extorting; marching is more serious than recruiting minors. The message is perverse: civic protest deserves prison, while criminal violence receives hugs.
The ruling party presented the "Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice" as the great solution: three pillars, many words, zero structure. Meanwhile, the president spoke of peace and justice, her own deputies approved the 2026 Budget without allocating a single peso (0 pesos) to that plan. Peace without a budget is propaganda; justice without a State is simulation.
The document promises to strengthen federal forces, create a special prosecutor's office, and open "peace schools," but says nothing about criminal intelligence, financial intelligence, institutional coordination, territorial control, or effective justice. Nothing about how to recover regions where cartels collect protection money, control routes, kidnap, murder, or dictate justice. Michoacán, like much of the country, doesn't need promises: what it needs is government.
The infiltration of these groups into political and party structures is one of the main causes of impunity, which leads to the collusion of public officials with organized crime; the appointment of key positions with people close to the cartels; extortion in government actions and legislative agendas; and the appropriation of entire towns.
