Antonio Navalón
Anyone who has not yet realized that the world has changed forever is simply not prepared—nor willing—to live in the times in which we live.
In Mexico, we have reached a critical point. This is not about a six-year term or a presidential period. It is something much more profound: we are witnessing a radical transformation in the way power is exercised, the state is organized, and democracy itself is understood.
The so-called “crisis of democracy” is, in reality, a crisis of governance. And it should be said clearly: much of this crisis has its origins in democratic governments themselves, which, far from strengthening the system, have emptied it of meaning. Today, we are astonished to see how, in much of the world—including countries that have been benchmarks for decades—the rule of law is no longer a solid reference point. It has evaporated, or at least lost its practical relevance.
The United States, for example, is facing an unprecedented situation: a Supreme Court ruling grants Donald Trump—and him alone—political immunity, removing the time limits that could curb his actions. Justice, once the guarantor of institutional balance, is reduced to the discretion of the Supreme Court, displacing the rest of the judicial powers. It is a silent but profound blow to the very notion of checks and balances.
And in Mexico, what can we argue? What is happening is exciting because of the unprecedented nature of the context. Since the dissolution of the functional state undertaken by Muammar Gaddafi in Libya—when he replaced the entire state structure with the Jamahiriya, a symbolic assembly that only validated his decisions while he shared camel milk under his tent—we have not seen anything like it. Today, Mexico seems to be following its own path, which is both bold and disconcerting.
Could it be that Mexico, once again, is destined to set the course for the world? It would not be the first time. Throughout its history, it has demonstrated an almost instinctive sensitivity for anticipating major global changes. The 1917 Constitution, for example, was so visionary that it enshrined social rights that would later inspire the constitutions of countries as diverse as the Soviet Union. It is said, with good reason, that Stalin based his own Magna Carta on it. Perhaps without realizing it, the constituents of Querétaro wrote a document that transcended borders and eras, marking a new way of governing.
But the great failure—here and everywhere—was another, since, in practice, the mandate of that Constitution was never really fulfilled. The gap between principles and their application was, and remains, abysmal.
“…in Mexico, the Law is just an annoying hindrance, and its compliance is not mandatory”. …” our leader does not allow himself to be trapped by that vulgarity for the weak, which means that the Law is the Law.”
Antonio Navalón
Meanwhile, the international scene is becoming increasingly surreal. When has a US president ever publicly rebuked the Israeli Supreme Court for shelving an investigation into Benjamin Netanyahu? It is ironic that Israel refuses to join the International Criminal Court because it “does not believe” in universal justice, yet it accepts that a foreign country can intervene in its internal judicial processes.
Don’t tell me it’s not disconcerting. You, like many, grew up with the notion—learned in books but also fed by social media such as Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok—that there are laws, institutions, and legal and judicial checks and balances. With the idea that there are consequences when rules are broken and that democracy, despite its own imperfection, at least has shared rules. Well, forget it.
All of that belongs to a world that no longer exists. It’s history. It’s part of a time when, for about two hundred years, democracies experienced what it meant to vote, to be free, and to have alternating governments. A time that was lost not because of dark conspiracies, but because of something simpler and sadder: the mediocrity of governments, the clumsiness of their leaders, the disconnect between education and civic culture.
Today, we live in a different era. One where it is possible—and this is no exaggeration—to see the president of the United States inaugurate not ordinary prisons, but prisons surrounded by crocodiles, pythons, and swarms of mosquitoes to lock up migrants with no criminal record—people whose only “crime” was to try to cross a border.
“Alligator Alcatraz,” a new Alcatraz—although now located in Florida—but in a Libyan version. And, as if the fact that a new migrant detention center is being created in the 21st century were not enough, Trump still dares to joke: “Snakes are fast, but alligators… we’re going to teach them how to escape from an alligator. If they escape from prison, don’t run in a straight line; run in a zigzag. Maybe then you’ll have a 1% chance of surviving.”
Ironic, especially when we remember that Trump himself comes from a family of migrants. But more than that, the opening of this center demonstrates the cruel and inhumane times we are living in—an abyss whose depths we cannot yet see.
The crises of justice and democracy, and the rise to power of characters who border on caricature, are not isolated anecdotes. They are symptoms. This is not the time to tremble with fear, but to think seriously about how to survive this new era. Because the only clear thing… is that the world we knew will simply never return.
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