AMLO All Along

In

1917, in the wake of the Russian Revolution, Lenin was preoccupied with appointing the people that would run the government. The problem was that Lenin did not know much about what running the government meant. In a letter to Trotsky, Adolph Joffe, the Ambassador to Germany at the time, wrote, “The day after Leonid Krasin was named Transport Commissar…I was leaving Petrograd. I went to see Vladimir Ilych before I went. He asked me when I was leaving and told him I didn’t know exactly when the train was departing. ‘Call up Krasin’ he said. In his view the Transport Commissar was supposed to know the entire railway timetable… It was the same with everything else.” Lenin was certainly not the first, nor would he be the last, leader whose ambitions for transformation would be hindered by his own ignorance and hubris.

As Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador’s (AMLO) presidency drew to a close, attempts to define his legacy proliferated. Assessments of specific policies and programs have varied – from qualified praise on anti-poverty measures to sharp critiques of his militarization of public life – while writing on his effect on Mexican democracy remain tentative. Missing in these analyses is an overarching account of Obradorismo and where it fits, if anywhere, in an ever more polarized yet programmatically elastic ideological spectrum.

Obradorismo, as AMLO’s political ideology has been dubbed, has been variously characterized with terms like left-wing populism and progressive nationalisms. These definitions are reductive, conjuring associations with other leaders or regimes that ultimately do not apply. Moreover, because AMLO’s presidency did not have ideological or programmatic cohesion, it is better to think of Obradorismo as AMLO’s articulation of what Mexico as a country is and his role in it. Obradorismo is, at core, a vision of Mexico as a great nation derailed by plutocrats, bureaucrats, and cheats. AMLO positioned himself not merely as a president but as the architect of Mexico’s redemption, promising to right historical wrongs and champion the forgotten masses. In turn, Obradorismo was translated into an ideologically haphazard programmatic agenda that was cobbled together on by three principles: a belief that by Lopez Obrador becoming president the nation would be transformed (even cleansed),  a distrust and even open hostility to institutional democracy and expertise, and an ironclad commitment to austerity. These convictions aren’t neatly divided, in fact, they are mutually reinforcing.

Nothing better exemplifies AMLO’s mindset than him declaring his presidency to be the “Fourth Transformation” (4T), placing it alongside the war of Independence, the 19th century liberal reforms, and the Mexican Revolution. Critics derided this as hubris, but they missed its significance: By labeling his presidency the 4T before achieving anything concrete, AMLO was asserting that his mere presence in office constituted transformation. The label wasn’t an example of hubris but of absolute self-belief—a characteristic that would define his approach to governance.

These three traits—radical self-belief, institutional skepticism, and rigid austerity—might recall other populist leaders. Trump’s certainty in his personal judgment and Modi’s dismantling of democratic norms mirror aspects of AMLO’s approach. Yet, AMLO’s particular fusion of individual confidence, institutional distrust, and fiscal stringency took shape in a distinctly Mexican context, demanding its own analysis rather than facile comparisons.

This distinctive blend first manifested in a series of personal gestures. AMLO lowered his salary, abandoned the presidential plane for commercial flights, opened the presidential residence to the public, and maintained his modest wardrobe. While not truly ascetic, compared to the lavish lifestyles of recent Mexican presidents, AMLO lived like a monk. Some measures were codified into law, such as reducing public salaries across the board, but most were symbolic acts meant to redefine public service.

But personal example and symbolic gestures proved inadequate for the deep structural changes Mexico needed. In area after area, the combination of AMLO’s unwavering self-belief, hostility to expertise, and fiscal stringency produced policy failures that often achieved the opposite of his stated goals.

On corruption—the very issue that had carried him to power—AMLO’s approach proved particularly self-defeating. His decision to forgo prosecuting former officials showed some wisdom, given how Brazil’s Lava Jato scandal, which had originally seemed to be a promising anti-corruption probe against some of the highest ranking officials there eventually devolved into political persecution and instability. But AMLO went further, allowing the national anticorruption system—a new, and admittedly complex institutional framework— to wither, and ignoring corruption cases that emerged during his own term. He rejected tools available for fighting corruption such as strengthening prosecutor offices, creating whistleblower protections, or building institutional capacity. In his view, such investments were unnecessary—government officials would be honest simply because he was in charge.  As he mentioned in numerous of his morning press conferences, “there is no corruption…we’ve been cleaning the government like the stairs, from top to bottom.”

The notion that corruption can be eradicated simply by replacing leadership is both absurd and enduring. Corruption is an entrenched problem, woven into the fabric of institutions across the country. It becomes the expectation and therefore the norm, resistant to quick fixes or singular solutions. The process of “getting to Denmark”—achieving a high-functioning, low-corruption state—involves far more than changing individuals or groups; it requires comprehensive policy reform.

Throughout AMLO’s term, Mexican anti-corruption experts repeatedly voiced these warnings to no avail. In study after study from the Institute for Investigation Accountability and Corruption at the University of Guadalajara, for example, scholars warned that anti-corruption efforts were impeded by “the heads of political power in federal and state governments.” Consequently, after six years, Mexico finds itself no better off in terms of corruption. In fact, the situation may have worsened, not necessarily due to an increase in corrupt practices—a notoriously difficult phenomenon to measure—but because the political will to develop effective anti-corruption policies through state institutions has all but evaporated. This erosion of institutional capacity to combat corruption may prove to be one of the most lasting and damaging legacies of AMLO’s administration.

If AMLO’s response to corruption demonstrated the limitations of personal example, his embrace of the military revealed the dangers of prioritizing loyalty over institutions. AMLO went from campaigning on removing the military from public safety tasks to making the armed forces his preferred instrument of governance. 

Under AMLO’s leadership, the military’s role expanded dramatically: from dismantling the Federal police and creating a militarized National Guard, to managing infrastructure projects, small banks, tourist developments, border control, and environmental initiatives. This concentration of power wasn’t universally welcomed even within the armed forces—many officers recognized that such expanded responsibility made them more vulnerable to criticism and could weaken their standing with the Mexican public.

Yet AMLO persisted, convinced that both he and his chosen successors would maintain control over the military they had empowered. This faith—again based on personal conviction rather than institutional safeguards—ignored Mexico’s constitutional tradition and the historical lessons of military overreach in Latin America. Unlike many of its neighbors, Mexico has no history of military rule. Yet ironically, AMLO—a self-professed student of history—has made such a possibility more tangible than ever before. The military, with its hierarchical structure and emphasis on personal loyalty, proved far more amenable to AMLO’s vision than civilian institutions. But this preference came at a devastating cost to Mexican democracy.

The specter of military rule in Mexico, long kept at bay by constitutional safeguards, became dramatically more plausible in September 2024. Using a brief window of legislative control in a lame-duck session, AMLO pushed through a widely criticized constitutional reform that not only gave the military permanent authority over law enforcement but also enabled Congress to grant the army virtually any civil power. This dramatic expansion of military authority,passed without meaningful debate or safeguards, demolished a century-old constitutional firewall between civilian and military governance. For a country where the army stands credibly accused of repeated human rights violations, this concentration of power in military hands represents AMLO’s most dangerous legacy.

Health care offers the clearest example of how AMLO’s governing philosophy undermined his own stated goals. His promise of free, universal health care for a nation plagued by disparities seemed to embody his transformative vision. Yet the implementation revealed the fatal flaws in his approach.

Against all expert advice, AMLO dismantled the flawed but functional Seguro Popular and replaced it with the Institute of Health and Wellbeing (INSABI). His three characteristic tendencies converged disastrously: his self-belief led him to ignore warnings from health experts, his distrust of institutions made him eager to demolish existing structures, and his insistence on austerity meant the new system launched without adequate resources or planning. The results were predictably grim. The new system suffered from insufficient funding, medicine shortages plagued government facilities, and coverage shrank. Ironically, AMLO’s attempt to dismantle neoliberalism achieved the opposite: as state capacity crumbled, more Mexicans were forced to seek private healthcare, effectively negating the wage gains his administration had achieved elsewhere.

The tragedy of AMLO’s healthcare reform wasn’t in its aims, but in how his governance philosophy made those aims impossible to achieve.The antipathy towards administrative agencies and expertise combined with a commitment to austerity led AMLO down disastrous paths beyond healthcare.

An area often ignored in public commentary is electric energy. Ten years ago, the country had over 30% of excess capacity (i.e. reserves) of electricity. This administration halted renewable energy auctions in theory to stop the privatization of the energy sector. However, because of austerity, AMLO did not invest in the state-owned company such that it could upgrade or at least maintain infrastructure, nor develop new generation capacity. This agenda, combined with drought and heat, have created a situation where Mexican electricity capacity is at the brink of collapse. The country has already undergone rolling blackouts and there is no sign that this will change.

Again, experts warned that this would happen. Energy experts rightly pointed out that if the objective was to nationalize energy production, then the government would need to invest more to take over what the private sector was doing and would be doing in the future. But AMLO’s administration did not do that. They took steps towards nationalization without taking any measures towards improving state capacity. Is making access to energy more precarious what ending neoliberalism was about? Is it ending neoliberalism at all?

This pattern of refusing to accept a modicum of independence, ignoring experts, and insisting on austerity measures was replicated over and over again across different policy areas. However, rather than looking at how AMLO’s approach conditioned what he did, it is also worth noting how it drove what he did not do.

AMLO ignored the advice of even those friendly to his administration when it came to energy, law enforcement, and human rights, three areas of national priority. In energy, AMLO insisted on spending enormous resources building a refinery. It did not matter that this refinery would be expensive, inefficient, and wouldn’t serve to cheapen oil in Mexico. The obstinacy was ideological and unshakeable, it was about restoring Mexico’s greatness through one of its historical symbols of progress: oil, and ensuring “energy sovereignty.” Many pointed out that Mexico could achieve the latter by moving towards renewables. The president did not listen. And so, the country lost billions in investment on renewable energy, consolidating oil as the main driver of Mexican energy at a time when the effects of human made climate change are becoming ever more apparent.

Much of AMLO’s support at least among the Mexican intelligentsia was predicated on a human rights agenda that promised accountability for past State-crimes, a focus on attending root causes of crime (mainly poverty), and providing more dignity to migrants. This agenda was anathema to the military that AMLO chose as a partner in governance because the military has historically been a partner, if not a leader, in repressing Mexican citizens.

A “Truth Commission” set up to investigate Human Rights abuses from the Mexican State from 1965 to 1990, very quickly fell apart due to internecine disputes and political pressure. The end results were multiple reports that provided no clarity nor accountability for victims of Human Rights abuses. Adela Cedillo, a historian focused on human rights abuses in Mexico, argues, “in terms of truth, memory and justice, AMLO’s administration offered nothing more than speeches and performances to for the pain of the victims who had been waiting for justice for five decades.”

This farce was most visible when it came to the investigation of the 43 missing students from Ayotzinapa, this century’s largest human rights scandal in the country. Lopez Obrador  campaigned on a promise of total transparency and accountability for the abduction and disappearance of the students. However, the investigation he established once in power slowly but surely became mired in controversy and displayed incompetence. All of the initial arrests of both military officers and former public officials were eventually dismissed, and earlier this year victims’ parents formally abandoned their cooperation with the investigation. Ten years later we still do not really know what happened. 

A final abandoned promise was the one Lopez Obrador made to migrants. Although he campaigned on making Mexico a more welcoming country to migrants and also a provider of support for countries suffering from mass displacement, once in power he reneged on all of that. Now, it would be unfair to blame AMLO for not solving the crisis of forced displacement in the American continent. AMLO abandoned his policy because of real pressures from the U.S. government (under both Trump and Biden) that threatened to inflict economic pain in Mexico by applying tariffs to Mexican imports if AMLO did not vigorously enforce the Mexican southern border. Nevertheless, AMLO turned the keys of immigration enforcement to the military thereby guaranteeing ruthless enforcement. He did nothing to protect migrants from abuse and extortion while crossing the Mexican territory endangering migrants more than ever, he maintained the Mexican office for asylum and refugees underfunded, and expanded the use of immigration detention to levels previously unseen exposing people to very dangerous conditions in overcrowded and unsafe detention facilities.

All of this led to 40 migrants being burned to death in a fire at a migrant detention facility in 2023. Even after that incident nothing changed with regards to Mexican migration policy (or the lack thereof). By mixing austerity with reliance on the military, as well as ignoring all the warning signs many people pointed to, his administration compounded the tragedy of mass displacement.

It is true that under AMLO wages improved, poverty declined through expanded public programs and minimum wage increases, and public infrastructure saw new investment. These victories were achieved without fiscal reform but through expanded public debt. Yet even these achievements reveal the contradictions of his approach. The expansion of welfare support, for instance, proved regressive, benefiting some of Mexico’s wealthiest citizens. More importantly, these achievements, however real, pale beside the permanent damage done to institutions. Raising wages means little when healthcare has been privatized by default; infrastructure projects matter less when the military holds the keys to governance.

Moreover, whatever can be said of Lopez Obrador’s successes, his final move in power will imperil Mexican democracy and governance for years to come. Earlier this year, AMLO proposed 20 constitutional amendments. The most consequential amendment was the judicial reform, calling for popular election of all federal judges and magistrates—and mandating the same at the state level and ending judicial review of federal laws. This reform passed in the same lame-duck session that I previously mentioned. It is this reform that leaves a permanent stain on AMLO’s legacy and that threatens to worsen Mexico’s already weak democracy long-term.

Proponents of the judicial reform argued that electoral accountability would ensure only the most honest and competent judges remain on the bench and end abusive judicial review that curtailed the will of the people. The reality is far more troubling. The reform gives each branch of government the ability to nominate candidates for judgeships, but the executive and legislative branches—both controlled by AMLO’s party—have far more control over which names appear on the ballot than the judiciary does. The ballot itself will identify which branch is nominating candidates, weakening those candidates favored by the judicial branch, which AMLO has vilified incessantly. In the smallest states, voters will choose 25 judgeships from 200 candidates; in larger ones, between 100 and 150 judgeships from up to 1,200 candidates. This isn’t democratic accountability—it’s institutional capture dressed as popular sovereignty.

The reform’s elimination of judicial review presents equally serious concerns. While judicial review has been rightfully criticized in the United States for impeding progressive policies, and some advanced democracies like England function without it, applying these examples to Mexico ignores crucial political realities.

Judicial review in Mexico isn’t such a regressive force as elsewhere because the Constitutional text is amended constantly. Since 1921, the Mexican Constitution has been amended over 730 times. And so, when the court says that the Constitution doesn’t allow any given law, it is clearly possible for the legislature to simply change the constitution to allow such a law. True, a constitutional amendment requires more than a simple majority, but it is far from impossible to achieve this. From 2000 to 2018 the constitution was amended over 80 times. Moreover, judicial review is perhaps more desirable in a country where the legislature is subservient to the executive, and the executive governs with near total control.

This is not to say that powerful actors haven’t weaponized the judicial system to stop laws that were disfavorable to them. Lawfare is waged wherever courts exist. The point is that simply suggesting Mexico doesn’t need judicial review because England doesn’t have it, or because it gives too much power to the U.S. Supreme Court, betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Mexico’s political context.

A judicial reform was indeed needed. Perhaps Mexican courts should have more limited judicial review, or only certain federal courts should be given this power. Perhaps there should be electoral processes for certain judges, like Supreme Court Justices. And definitely the oversight mechanism of judges needed to be changed. But AMLO, by advancing a version of the reform without allowing the input of civil society or members of the judiciary and imposing an express timeline for approving his proposal, rejected such nuanced discussions. For him, it was black or white; in or out. In choosing “out,” his administration has left Mexico far worse off, replacing a meritocratic judiciary with one open to political capture.

Supporters of AMLO point to his popularity and Morena’s decisive electoral victories as evidence that critiques like these are either unfounded or elitist. If his presidency has been so damaging, they ask, why did his chosen successor and party win so decisively? Some critics, revealing their own intellectual bankruptcy, attribute AMLO’s success to voter ignorance. The reality is far more complex.

AMLO’s triumph lies not in policy, but in vision. Politics, at its core, is about crafting compelling national narratives, not just implementing technocratic solutions. Like Barack Obama in the US, whose incremental policies were overshadowed by his grand vision of moral progress, AMLO mastered the art of political storytelling. He created a narrative that transcends the nuts and bolts of governance. Through this lens, the institutional damage wrought by his administration becomes almost irrelevant. The erosion of democratic institutions, the de facto privatization of healthcare through disinvestment, the militarization of public safety, the environmental destruction—none of this matters because it exists outside the story Obradorismo tells about Mexico’s transformation. The power of AMLO’s vision renders these contradictions invisible to many Mexicans, at least for now.

Morena’s ascendancy isn’t just about the allure of its vision—it’s equally about the ideological vacuum left by its rivals. While AMLO’s party offers a compelling narrative, the opposition flounders in a sea of irrelevance. What does it mean to be a PANista or PRIista in 2024? Little more than a ticket to a government seat. These once-dominant parties have become hollow shells, bereft of identity or purpose. In a desperate bid for relevance, they’ve resorted to echoing Morena’s diagnosis of Mexico’s ills, promising vague solutions. But after three decades of unfulfilled promises, the electorate’s trust has run dry. The people, weary of recycled rhetoric, have turned to the only party offering a clear vision of Mexico’s future. In the marketplace of ideas, Morena stands alone, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s the only vendor with wares to sell.

However, the passage of the judicial reform began to disrobe the emperor. Morena needed one more vote to get their constitutional amendment. They secured it by luring a scion of a corrupt political family from the state of Veracruz away from the PAN by promising impunity and a prominent role in the Senate in exchange for his vote. They got their wish. A few well known AMLO-supporters called out their own party, arguing that “we promised to do things differently.” Immediately they were accused of being traitors and lackeys. The message was clear, critics – even friendly ones – would not be tolerated.

Many of AMLO’s critics to his left are (and were) not asking his followers to denounce his vision. In fact, the frustration grew precisely because we saw how his policy agenda departed from his vision and diagnosis. Defenders of the former president have accused this critical position as naïve. Perhaps, but it is principled.

What is left of Lopez Obrador’s rhetoric and vision after such blatant political graft? What is left of AMLO’s supposed tolerance for dissent when even his own supporters are ridiculed and vilified?  For many of AMLO’s critics, AMLO’s penchant for control and the emptiness of his narrative has been obvious for a long time. However, Morena’s electoral success suggests that it has not been obvious – and still is not – for most of the population. Nonetheless, should Morena continue down the path of unprincipled expediency, the emptiness of Obradorismo will become ever more apparent to all.