Mexico's Gen Z Uprising: Youth Rage Against Cartels and the State

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Video originally published on November 19, 2025.

Tear gas drifted through the streets of Mexico City on November 15th as thousands of young Mexicans confronted riot police, wielding fire extinguishers against state power and hoisting flags from the anime series One Piece—an unlikely symbol of resistance. The clashes left more than 120 people injured, including 100 police officers, and resulted in 20 arrests. But the violence in the capital represented only the most visible eruption of a youth movement that had spread to more than 50 cities across Mexico, transforming localized grief into nationwide fury. At the heart of this mobilization lies a stark accusation from the country's youngest generation: that their government has become indistinguishable from the cartels it claims to fight. "This is one of the most corrupt governments we've ever had," declared Valentina Ramirez, a student protester interviewed by AFP. "It's a corrupt narco-government that wants to defend the corrupt and the cartels instead of the people." The protests, which began two weeks earlier in response to the assassination of a defiant mayor, have exposed the depth of disillusionment among Mexican youth—a generation that has known nothing but cartel violence, endemic corruption, and broken promises of security. As Mexico reels from this wave of demonstrations, the question is no longer whether President Claudia Sheinbaum's government will survive, but whether it can deliver meaningful change before the patience of an entire generation runs out.

Key Takeaways

The assassination of Uruapan mayor Carlos Manzo on November 1 ignited a nationwide Gen Z protest movement that spread to over 50 cities and culminated in violent clashes in Mexico City on November 15.
The movement’s symbolism—One Piece anime flags, Black Bloc anonymity, and white‑clad crowds—blends pop culture with radical tactics, signaling a new form of youth resistance.
Sheinbaum’s response included a high‑profile security drive, the Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice, deploying 10,000 troops and a $3.1 billion budget, but critics say militarization alone has not reduced violence.
Despite the unrest, Sheinbaum’s approval remains high (78 %), giving her political space to pursue reforms, yet the protests reveal deep public frustration with persistent cartel violence and state failure.
Analysts warn that if the government fails to translate popularity into tangible change, the movement could grow into a larger crisis threatening Mexico and the western hemisphere.
The protests also exposed potential external influence, with evidence of coordinated social‑media campaigns linked to right‑wing actors and the Salinas Pliego network, complicating the narrative of spontaneous grassroots anger.

The Assassination That Ignited a Movement

Carlos Manzo was not merely a critic of President Claudia Sheinbaum's government—he was a living rebuke to its entire security strategy. The mayor of Uruapan, the second-largest city in Michoacán state, Manzo had once belonged to Sheinbaum's Morena party. But after failing to secure the party's nomination for the 2024 municipal election, he ran as an independent and won in a landslide, a victory that reflected both his personal popularity and widespread frustration with the party establishment. Manzo's political identity centered on his fierce opposition to the government's "hugs not bullets" policy, which prioritized intelligence-led operations and social programs over direct military confrontation with criminal organizations. In a speech delivered in May, he issued a pointed challenge to the president: "If she thinks she's going to detain these criminals without a single shot fired and that they'll just turn themselves in, well, she should get it done. And believe me, if she manages to do that, I will immediately submit my resignation." Instead, Manzo favored confrontation. He encouraged local police to use lethal force against criminals who resisted arrest and purchased armored vehicles to protect his officers. This aggressive stance yielded results that burnished his reputation: in May, his government captured René Belmonte, the local head of the powerful Jalisco New Generation cartel. The success earned Manzo a nickname that resonated across Mexico—the Bukele of Mexico, a reference to El Salvador's president whose draconian anti-gang policies had transformed his country from the world's homicide capital to one of the safest nations in the Americas. Yet Manzo understood the price of defiance. In September, he told local press that he feared for his life. "We need greater determination from the president of Mexico," he said. "I do not want to be just another mayor on the list of those who have been executed and had their lives taken away from them. I am very afraid, but I must face it with courage." On November 1st, during Day of the Dead celebrations, those fears materialized. Seventeen-year-old Víctor Manuel Ubaldo shot and killed Manzo before being gunned down by security forces. The age of the assassin carried its own terrible significance: Ubaldo belonged to the same generation as the protesters who would soon take to the streets, a tragic embodiment of the crisis consuming Mexico's youth. According to a recent Reuters report, cartels have systematically recruited young Mexicans and transformed them into killers, exploiting poverty and lack of opportunity to build their ranks. Manzo became the sixth mayor killed in Mexico in 2024. His death came just days after the murder of Bernardo Bravo, a popular businessman and president of the lime growers association in Apatzingán, another major city in Michoacán located approximately 97 kilometers south of Uruapan. Bravo had been killed after repeatedly denouncing attempts by organized crime groups to extort lime growers. For many in Michoacán, these two assassinations represented a catastrophic failure of governance—proof that despite nearly two decades of federal intervention, the state remained unable to protect even its most prominent citizens from cartel violence. The history of that failure runs deep. Since at least 2006, when President Felipe Calderón ordered the deployment of thousands of military and federal police forces to Michoacán to combat organized crime, the state has remained one of Mexico's most dangerous regions. By 2013, according to Latin America political analyst Nathaniel Parish Flannery writing in Forbes, the situation had deteriorated so severely that residents formed armed vigilante groups to defend themselves against the cartels. While these vigilante forces eventually faded—with the government integrating some members into official rural police forces, disarming others, and pushing for formal policing rather than community militias—analysts speaking to the Wall Street Journal warned that the high-profile killings of Manzo and Bravo risked paving the way for their return. This was the volatile landscape on November 2nd when the first Gen Z protests erupted. Angry and convinced that the government had failed to protect two of their most respected leaders, young people in Michoacán took to the streets.

From Michoacán to the Nation: The Rapid Spread of Youth Protest

The initial mobilization began with social media posts circulating early on Sunday, November 2nd, urging people to gather at Plaza Jardín Morelos, a public square in Morelia, the capital of Michoacán state. According to local outlet Proceso, the posts instructed participants to dress in white. The plan was straightforward: a peaceful march along the main avenue calling for an end to the violence that had claimed Manzo and Bravo. By the time the protest began, approximately three thousand people had assembled. The march proceeded peacefully until the demonstrators reached the city center. There, individuals employing Black Bloc tactics—wearing black clothing to conceal their identities and create the appearance of a unified mass—mixed with the crowd and forced their way into the Government Palace building. Once inside, they destroyed whatever they found. The Black Bloc is not an organization but a tactic that has appeared in Mexican demonstrations since at least 2020, during feminist protests against gender violence. While Black Bloc formations are not inherently violent, the rage sparked by the assassinations pushed some protesters to exploit the anonymity the tactic provides, using it as cover to unleash their frustration against symbols of state power. David Mora, a senior Mexico analyst at the International Crisis Group, characterized the protests to CNN as "an honest reaction of the citizens of Michoacán who for many years have been living under a context of extreme insecurity and high violence." The demonstrations that began on November 2nd continued sporadically through November 7th, confined primarily to Uruapan and the broader Michoacán region. Then, on November 15th, the movement exploded beyond its regional origins. Protests erupted in more than 50 cities across Mexico, transforming what had been a localized expression of grief and anger into a nationwide youth uprising. The geographic expansion reflected both the resonance of the core grievances—cartel violence, government impotence, endemic corruption—and the effectiveness of social media in coordinating decentralized action. The most intense confrontations occurred in Mexico City, where the symbolic and practical stakes were highest. Hooded protesters from Black Bloc formations tore down fences surrounding the National Palace, Mexico's equivalent of the White House, and attacked police. According to Pablo Vazquez, Mexico City's public safety secretary, the clashes resulted in injuries to more than 120 people—100 police officers and 20 civilians—with 20 arrests for theft and assault. The speed and scale of the mobilization caught many observers off guard. What had begun as mourning for two murdered leaders in one state had metastasized into a broader indictment of the government's entire approach to security and governance. The protests demonstrated that the failures in Michoacán were not viewed as isolated incidents but as symptoms of a systemic rot that extended throughout the country. Young Mexicans in cities far from the cartel battlegrounds of Michoacán saw in Manzo's assassination a reflection of their own vulnerability, their own abandonment by a state that seemed either unwilling or unable to protect them.

Symbols of Resistance: Pop Culture, Anonymity, and Youth Tactics

Among the most striking images from the November 15th protests were flags bearing the insignia of One Piece, the globally popular anime series about pirates seeking freedom and treasure. The presence of these flags alongside traditional protest banners and Black Bloc formations illustrated the distinctive cultural vocabulary of Gen Z activism—a fusion of digital culture, global pop-culture references, and street-level confrontation. The One Piece flags were not random. The series centers on themes of resistance against corrupt authority, the pursuit of freedom against overwhelming odds, and loyalty to one's crew in the face of systemic injustice. For young protesters facing what they perceived as a narco-state, these narrative elements resonated deeply. The flags served as both a generational marker—identifying the protesters as part of a globally connected youth culture—and a symbolic statement about their struggle. The tactical repertoire extended beyond symbolism. Protesters wielded fire extinguishers, using them both as defensive tools against tear gas and as improvised weapons. The Black Bloc formations provided anonymity and collective identity, allowing individuals to participate in more confrontational actions while minimizing the risk of individual identification and reprisal. This combination of digital coordination, pop-culture symbolism, and street tactics reflected a generation that had grown up watching protest movements around the world through social media and had absorbed lessons about both mobilization and self-protection. The use of Black Bloc tactics, in particular, represented a calculated escalation. While the tactic had appeared in Mexican feminist protests against gender violence since 2020, its deployment in the context of anti-cartel, anti-government demonstrations carried different implications. The anonymity it provided was not merely about avoiding police identification but about protection from cartel retaliation—a recognition that challenging the nexus of organized crime and state power carried potentially lethal consequences. Yet the protests were not uniformly confrontational. The initial call for participants to dress in white during the November 2nd demonstration in Morelia reflected a desire for peaceful expression. The violence emerged when anger overwhelmed restraint, when the gap between the government's promises and its performance became too wide to bridge through peaceful appeals alone. The tactical diversity—from white-clad peaceful marchers to black-clad confrontational blocs—mirrored the movement's internal tensions between those seeking to pressure the government through moral witness and those convinced that only disruption would force change.

Accusations of Collusion: The 'Narco-Government' Charge

The core accusation leveled by Gen Z protesters went beyond claims of governmental incompetence. Student leaders and participants articulated a far more damning charge: that the Sheinbaum government had become a "corrupt narco-government" that prioritized defending cartels over protecting citizens. Valentina Ramirez, the student interviewed by AFP, crystallized this view: "This is one of the most corrupt governments we've ever had. It's a corrupt narco-government that wants to defend the corrupt and the cartels instead of the people." This was not a fringe position. The language of state-cartel collusion permeated protest chants, social media posts, and interviews with participants. The accusation rested on observable patterns. Despite decades of anti-cartel operations, despite the deployment of military forces, despite the "hugs not bullets" policy and its predecessors, cartel violence had not diminished—it had intensified. According to a report by the Institute for Economics and Peace, Mexico's national homicide rate had risen by 55 percent from 2015 to 2024, climbing from 15 to 23 deaths per 100,000 people. More than 300,000 people had been murdered during that period. For comparison, the United States—a country with nearly three times Mexico's population—had a homicide rate of 5.7 per 100,000 in 2015 that had dropped slightly to 5 by 2024. For young Mexicans who had grown up amid this violence, the persistence of cartel power despite massive state resources devoted to combating it suggested something more sinister than mere incompetence. The "hugs not bullets" policy, which Mayor Manzo had so vehemently opposed, appeared to many protesters as evidence of the government's unwillingness to genuinely confront organized crime. When a mayor who did confront the cartels was assassinated by a teenager, and when a businessman who denounced cartel extortion was murdered, the message seemed clear: those who challenged cartel power could not count on state protection. The demands articulated by protesters extended beyond immediate security concerns. Eighteen-year-old Jacobo Alejandro told the New York Times: "This movement represents no single thing; it's about everything: injustice, insecurity, the disappeared, the lack of education, the lack of employment. It's a discontent with how the country is being run." The breadth of grievances reflected a generation's comprehensive disillusionment—a sense that the failures in security were inseparable from failures in governance, economic opportunity, and social justice. Some protesters went further, demanding President Sheinbaum's resignation. While participants on the streets chanted for her ouster, others gathered on Discord servers to discuss potential alternative leaders. According to the New York Times, one Discord participant suggested a leadership position for Ricardo Salinas Pliego, a brash opposition voice who had become one of the loudest critics of Sheinbaum's government. The fact that such discussions were occurring—even if they remained largely aspirational—indicated that for at least some segment of the youth movement, the goal extended beyond policy reform to regime change. Yet even among the most radical protesters, there was recognition of the movement's limitations. Omar Cortez told the New York Times: "We're obviously not going to achieve her revocation, because that's too extreme. But it's about letting the government know that we're willing to go that far. Because when those at the bottom move, those at the top fall." This statement captured the movement's dual nature: simultaneously a genuine expression of rage and a tactical performance designed to shift the boundaries of political possibility.

The Government's Dilemma: Security Theater or Genuine Reform

President Sheinbaum faced an acute political challenge in the wake of Manzo's assassination and the initial protests. She needed to restore public confidence among a population that felt abandoned by the state and terrorized by cartels, while also maintaining her government's broader policy framework and political coalition. Her initial response emphasized symbolic condemnation and institutional action. She called Manzo's murder "vile," convened her security cabinet, and pledged "zero impunity and full justice." On November 9th, she unveiled the Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice, a comprehensive initiative that would deploy more than 10,000 members of Mexico's army, air force, and National Guard to conduct operations against criminal groups, combat extortion, and dismantle drug labs and training camps. The plan extended beyond military deployment. It included investments in welfare, agriculture, infrastructure, tourism, and employment, at a cost equivalent to 3.1 billion U.S. dollars. This dual approach reflected the government's broader strategy: to undercut cartel influence not merely through force but by addressing the poverty and desperation that feed their recruitment pipelines. Yet the plan faced immediate skepticism from security analysts. David Mora of the International Crisis Group told media outlets: "She's doubling down on things that we've seen are not necessarily working in other states, in other parts of Mexico. She's sending more troops in, and that's basically what they have been doing in Sinaloa for the past year. If you look at the homicide numbers and other crimes, there's not a direct connection between the presence of federal forces in the state and the lower numbers of murders and other crimes." Mora's critique reflected a broader concern among experts: that militarized responses to cartel violence had been tried repeatedly over the past two decades and had consistently failed to deliver lasting peace. While such deployments sometimes produced short-term tactical gains—the capture of a cartel leader, the disruption of a trafficking route—they rarely addressed the structural factors that allowed cartels to reconstitute and adapt. The government's response to the November 15th protests revealed additional tensions. In the days leading up to the demonstrations, President Sheinbaum accused right-wing parties of attempting to infiltrate the Gen Z movement and of using bots on social media to artificially inflate attendance. She specifically pointed to Ricardo Salinas Pliego, the opposition figure whose name had surfaced in Discord discussions among protesters. There was some evidence supporting claims of coordinated amplification. Dr. Carlos Augusto Jiménez, a professor at the Autonomous University of Nuevo León, analyzed hashtags used during the protests and found that international right-wing activists, the Salinas Pliego network, and foreign accounts were responsible for a large majority of social media engagement. Infodemia MX, a government-affiliated project created to monitor and counter misinformation, claimed that five million dollars had been spent to promote the protests. However, these findings came with significant caveats. Infodemia MX's government affiliation meant its data would naturally lean toward supporting the administration's narrative. Pliego himself denied involvement, demanding on X (formerly Twitter): "I demand that you present a single piece of evidence for the lies you are spreading." More fundamentally, the question of external coordination or amplification did not address the underlying grievances that brought young people into the streets. Even if opposition figures had promoted the protests, even if bots had inflated hashtag counts, the rage expressed by participants was demonstrably genuine. The government's focus on alleged manipulation risked appearing as an attempt to delegitimize authentic dissent—a move that could further alienate the very constituency it needed to win back. Six days after unveiling the Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice, the government faced protests in more than 50 cities. The timing suggested that the plan had failed to reassure the public, at least in the short term. Whether it would succeed over the longer term remained uncertain, particularly given the entrenched nature of cartel power in Michoacán and the history of failed interventions.

The Path Forward: Reform, Repression, or Rupture

Despite the scale and intensity of the protests, President Sheinbaum retains substantial political capital. A recent poll placed her approval rating at 78 percent, an extraordinarily high figure for any democratic leader. This popularity provides her with a buffer against the immediate political consequences of the protests. Barring a catastrophic escalation—something far more destabilizing than the assassination of a popular mayor—her government will survive. Even protesters acknowledge this reality. As Omar Cortez noted, achieving the president's removal is "too extreme" to be realistic. The movement's power lies not in its capacity to topple the government but in its ability to shift political pressure and redefine the boundaries of acceptable policy. The critical question, then, is whether Sheinbaum can translate her popularity into meaningful change before the patience of Mexico's youth runs out. The Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice represents her most concrete attempt to do so. According to Mexican political analyst Denise Dresser, writing in the independent outlet Americas Quarterly, Sheinbaum has a unique opportunity to use the plan as a vehicle for genuine institutional reform. Dresser argues that beyond deploying troops, the president must deliver transparent budgets, suppress extortion networks in agriculture, and provide empowered protection for local leaders. If Sheinbaum can demonstrate that the government can protect people like Carlos Manzo and Bernardo Bravo—rather than merely mourning them after they are killed—the Michoacán Plan could become a model for the rest of the country. Yet that outcome remains deeply uncertain. The structural challenges are immense. Corruption is endemic not only within the government and armed forces but throughout Mexican society. Cartels have embedded themselves in local economies, political structures, and social networks over decades. Dislodging them requires not just military operations but comprehensive institutional reform, sustained political will, and resources on a scale that dwarfs the 3.1 billion dollars allocated to the Michoacán plan. Moreover, the government faces a fundamental strategic tension. The "hugs not bullets" policy reflects a recognition that purely militarized approaches have failed. Yet the public demands visible action against cartels, and military deployments provide the most immediate and legible response. Balancing these imperatives—avoiding the failures of past militarization while satisfying demands for decisive action—requires a level of policy sophistication and political dexterity that few governments have managed. The alternative to successful reform is not necessarily regime change, at least not in the immediate term. Sheinbaum's high approval rating and the protesters' own acknowledgment that removing her is unrealistic suggest that the government can weather continued demonstrations. But the cost of failure extends beyond political survival. If the state cannot demonstrate meaningful progress in Michoacán, if cartel violence continues unabated, if young people continue to see their leaders assassinated and their futures foreclosed, the protests will likely intensify. More demonstrators will fill the streets, more One Piece flags will wave above the crowds, and the anger that currently seeks expression through protest may eventually seek other outlets. The specter of renewed vigilante groups looms over this scenario. As analysts told the Wall Street Journal, the assassinations of Manzo and Bravo risk paving the way for the return of the armed self-defense forces that emerged in Michoacán in 2013. If citizens conclude that the state cannot or will not protect them, they may once again take security into their own hands—a development that would represent a profound failure of governance and a dangerous fragmentation of the state's monopoly on legitimate violence. For the United States and other countries in the Western Hemisphere, Mexico's crisis carries direct implications. Cartel violence does not respect borders; it spills over into trafficking routes, migration patterns, and regional security dynamics. A Mexico where the state loses further legitimacy, where youth mobilization turns from protest to more radical forms of resistance, where vigilante justice replaces institutional authority, would pose challenges that extend far beyond Mexico's borders. The Gen Z protests that erupted in response to Carlos Manzo's assassination have exposed the depth of disillusionment among Mexico's youngest generation. They have demonstrated that this disillusionment can be rapidly mobilized and geographically dispersed through digital networks. They have shown that young Mexicans are willing to confront state power directly, even at significant personal risk. What remains to be seen is whether the Mexican state can respond with more than symbolic gestures and temporary deployments. The Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice represents a test case. If it succeeds—if it genuinely reduces violence, protects local leaders, and begins to rebuild trust between citizens and government—it could provide a template for addressing Mexico's security crisis more broadly. If it fails, the protests of November 2024 may be remembered not as an isolated episode but as the opening chapter of a more sustained and destabilizing confrontation between Mexico's youth and the institutions that have failed to protect them.

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FAQ

What triggered the Gen Z protests across Mexico in November 2023?

The assassination of Uruapan mayor Carlos Manzo, a critic of President Sheinbaum, sparked outrage among youth, leading to nationwide demonstrations demanding accountability and a shift in security policy.

How did the protests in Mexico City unfold on November 15?

Protesters, including Black Bloc participants, tore down fences around the National Palace, attacked riot police, used fire extinguishers and tear gas, and hoisted One Piece flags; over 120 people were injured and 20 arrested.

What is the Michoacán Plan for Peace and Justice and why is it controversial?

Launched by President Sheinbaum, it deploys 10,000 military and police forces, invests $3.1 billion in security and social programs, but critics argue that heavy militarization has historically failed to reduce homicide rates and may exacerbate tensions.

Are the protests purely spontaneous or is there evidence of external coordination?

Investigations found that right‑wing activists, the Salinas Pliego network, and foreign accounts drove much of the social‑media engagement, suggesting coordinated amplification rather than purely organic grassroots mobilization.

What are the broader implications if the protests continue to grow?

Continued unrest could erode public trust, pressure the government to resign, and potentially spark a larger crisis that destabilizes Mexico and threatens regional stability, especially if cartels gain more influence.

Sources

About the Author

Wilfred M. Waimiri

Wilfred M. Waimiri creates and presents analysis focused on military doctrine, strategic competition, and conflict dynamics.

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