An experiment meant to democratize Mexico’s courts has stumbled out of the gate. Barely 13 percent of eligible voters showed up to choose new judges and magistrates, sidelining President Claudia Sheinbaum’s headline reform and raising uncomfortable questions about power, trust, and turnout.
The Silent Ballot Boxes
Sunday’s forecast promised crisp autumn skies—perfect voting weather. Yet polling stations stayed eerily quiet. Sealed ballot urns, designed to receive millions of slips, collected only tens of thousands. By dusk, the National Electoral Institute confirmed the shock: not even one in seven citizens had ventured out.
Many voters later admitted they had opened their sample ballots and felt dizzy. More than 3,400 names—few recognizable, most distinguished only by terse résumés—crowded the lists. “I could pick my doctor or my mayor,” sighed office worker Remedios Torres outside a Mexico City school. “But three Supreme Court seats and hundreds of local judges? I’m not a lawyer.”
Scholars weren’t surprised. Studies from other Latin American countries show that turnout collapses when reforms leap ahead of civic education. Elections become pop quizzes in constitutional law, and most people simply opt-out. Sheinbaum’s team had flooded social media with upbeat slogans—¡Elige tu justicia!—but campaign jingles could not replace months of workshops and neighborhood forums that never happened.
Sheinbaum’s High-Wire Act
Claudia Sheinbaum built her presidency on the promise of cleaning up Mexico’s justice system. In speech after speech, she painted the old courts as velvet clubs for dynastic families—judges appointing cousins, magistrates trading favors with political bosses or cartel emissaries. Her antidote: let the people decide.
Privately, aides warned her the gamble was risky. Directly electing judges is rare; doing it nationwide is unprecedented. Still, Sheinbaum charged ahead, declaring that even a 20 percent turnout would prove Mexicans were ready to seize the gavel. Sunday’s 13 percent, therefore, landed like a punch.
Opposition parties smelled blood. Conservative senator Xóchitl Galván derided the vote as “a photo of boredom,” adding, “If citizens don’t pick judges, perhaps they don’t trust the president’s design.” Civil society groups piled on, arguing that low participation creates a new vulnerability: narrowly mobilized interest blocs—regional power brokers, business people, or criminal networks—can swing obscure judicial races with a few thousand strategic votes.
Sheinbaum fired back on Livestream, her tone a mix of defiance and reassurance. “Nearly thirteen million voices were heard,” she declared. “That is thirteen million more than in the old system of back-room appointments.” Yet allies conceded the optics sting. An effort billed as a democratic fiesta now looks like a sparsely attended town hall.
Confusion, Suspicion, and Cartel Fears
Why did so many stay home? Interviews outside polling places reveal a cocktail of doubts. Some distrusted the candidates themselves: “Who vets them? How do I know a cartel didn’t bankroll their campaign?” asked Guadalajara shopkeeper Julián Soto, waving a pamphlet that listed no donor details. Others balked at the ballot’s length; one Puebla voter described sorting through names “like scanning a telephone directory.”
Meanwhile, social media churned out conspiracy fuel. Viral videos claimed certain would-be judges had ties to Sinaloa or Jalisco crime families. Fact-checkers debunked several clips, but the damage stuck—especially in states scarred by years of narco-violence. In Michoacán and Tamaulipas, turnout dipped below 8 percent.
The National Electoral Institute bristled at suggestions that the process was compromised, noting that every contender underwent background checks by the Senate. Yet INE officials concede they had no funds to mount the grassroots education blitz that might have demystified the ballot. Budget cuts approved last year, ironically championed by Sheinbaum’s party, left the institute short-staffed.
What Comes After a Whispered Mandate?
Within weeks, the winners—some backed by barely five-digit vote totals—will don robes and take the bench. Their first challenge is legitimacy. Can a judge elected by one percent of her district command respect when ruling on cartel prosecutions or billion-peso graft cases? Legal scholars predict a growing wave of appeals questioning judges’ popular mandates.
Inside the presidential palace, strategists debate the next moves. One camp urges a second education drive before the next judicial cycle in three years—town hall tours, televised debates, and even classroom curricula explaining how a magistrate’s decision can affect property rights, wages, and safety. Another faction whispers about tweaking the reform itself: perhaps a hybrid model where citizens choose from a shortlist vetted by an independent commission, narrowing the field and tamping down confusion.
For now, Sheinbaum walks a narrowing ridge. Retreat would look like defeat; pressing forward without adjustments risks more profound public apathy and potential infiltration of courts she vowed to cleanse.
Outside that high-stakes arena, everyday Mexicans return to their routines—commutes through traffic thick with smog, evenings punctuated by neighborhood fireworks and the occasional distant gunshot. Few discuss Sunday’s judicial ballot over tacos al pastor. Yet, the consequences will seep into daily life: corruption trials, land disputes, and environmental injunctions decided by judges elected in near silence.
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Whether the experiment matures into a sturdier democracy or withers as a cautionary tale depends on what the president and the people do next. Mexico has opened the courtroom doors to the electorate; whether the voters will step fully inside remains to be seen.