Broken Masts and State Secrets: The Cuauhtémoc Tragedy
On May 17, a symbol of Mexican naval pride—the training vessel Cuauhtémoc—suddenly became a human tragedy as two young sailors died and over 20 others were injured, but also an international embarrassment. The ship collided with the Brooklyn Bridge as it attempted to leave Manhattan. Images of broken masts and sailors dangling midair quickly flooded the internet, turning a goodwill voyage into a grim spectacle of maritime misjudgment.
U.S. authorities said the Cuauhtémoc lost propulsion shortly after departing Pier 17. Tugboats accompanying the vessel reportedly issued three distress calls before the crash at 8:24 p.m., a moment under forensic scrutiny. The U.S. National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) is leading the investigation, though its officials have yet to board the vessel or interview the crew. They’re “still working to get access to the ship,” a delay that marks a departure from regular practice, and which speaks volumes about what happens when a technical investigation collides with sovereignty.
And sovereignty—in this case—has become the game’s name. President Sheinbaum reacted swiftly—not to demand accountability but to shield the Navy from criticism. Denouncing public outrage as “maliciousness”, she hailed the fallen cadets as heroes and invoked the Navy’s all-purpose civic role: disaster relief, emergency response, and, yes, even infrastructure construction. It was less a eulogy than a political firewall.
But the questions won’t simply float away. Why was a vessel carrying nearly 300 people, many of them young cadets, navigating a narrow, high-traffic waterway under questionable mechanical conditions? Was the tugboat released too soon? Was the command protocol followed—or ignored? Was the (American) maritime pilot apparently in charge of navigating the local waterway at fault, partly absolving Mexico’s Navy of responsibility?
The Sheinbaum administration has already announced that key elements of the investigation will be classified, citing national security concerns. This is a predictable move, perhaps, but one that might limit transparency just as U.S. investigators try to piece together what happened.
Witness for the Prosecution, Courtesy of the Cartel
Seventeen relatives of Ovidio Guzmán—son of “El Chapo” and now the poster boy for the U.S. fentanyl crisis—slipped quietly into California this month, escorted not by smugglers, but by the U.S. Department of Justice. The timing was hardly a coincidence. It came alongside sealed court filings suggesting that Ovidio is preparing to plead guilty in a New York federal court. Translation: he’s flipping, and Washington is clearing the chessboard for the next move.
Mexico’s Security Secretary, Omar García Harfuch, confirmed the crossing and diplomatically called it “a clear sign of negotiation.” None of the family members face charges in Mexico—an interesting detail, if not a convenient one. Still, the Sheinbaum administration was evidently left out of the loop and is, predictably, less than enthused. President Sheinbaum, never one to let a snub slide, pointedly remarked: “They say they don’t negotiate with terrorists. Then explain this.” A jab aimed straight at Washington’s willingness to make deals, a selective moral compass.
The whole episode reeks of déjà vu. Observers are comparing it to the 2014 deal with Vicente “El Vicentillo” Zambada—another high-ranking drug lord turned U.S. informant whose cooperation bought him and his family a new life and a lighter sentence. Ovidio’s deal seems to follow the same pattern: intelligence in exchange for leniency, protection, and a shot at revenge against cartel rivals—possibly including the Zambadas.
According to former DEA official Mike Vigil, this isn’t just a strategy—it’s personal. “This is revenge,” he said, suggesting that the Guzmán sons may now be lining up to do what others did to their father. Meanwhile, Mexico is left holding the bag. “It was our military that captured him, risking lives,” García Harfuch reminded reporters. “The DOJ owes us transparency.”
But transparency isn’t part of the deal, at least not quite yet. With Ovidio’s court date approaching in July, the outlines of this transnational bargain are coming into focus. And one thing is clear: when it comes to cartel politics, the U.S. plays its own game—and expects Mexico to keep up, preferably without asking too many questions.
As reported by the indispensable CrashOut Media substack, a video uploaded to social media just days ago made the stakes brutally clear. It showed nearly eighty camo-clad, rifle-toting men standing over two kneeling prisoners. Off-camera, a voice with a thick Sinaloa accent addressed viewers: “This video is for all those who flipped. What were you thinking? That this is over? You are wrong.” He then claimed what U.S. authorities suspected but hadn’t proven: an alliance between the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG) and Los Chapitos is now in place. Gunfire and shouts closed the clip. DEA sources and Mexican intelligence confirm: the civil war inside the Sinaloa Cartel is escalating again—only this time, with outside reinforcements.
Iván Archivaldo Guzmán, the de facto leader of the Chapitos, is under siege. After reportedly orchestrating the betrayal and capture of Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada, Iván sparked a civil war that’s left over 1,300 dead in Sinaloa since September. Facing defections, territorial losses, and near misses with capture—including a February raid he escaped via tunnel—Iván now turns to his former enemy, El Mencho, head of CJNG. Their new pact against the heirs of El Mayo offers mutual survival: firepower and logistics in exchange for territorial access. But make no mistake—El Mencho holds the upper hand.
The U.S. Strikes Back—Through Visas
Meanwhile, the Trump administration is escalating pressure on Mexico’s political elite through a blunter instrument: visa revocations. According to a bombshell ProPublica report, a list of over thirty Mexican political figures—including Morena party leaders, state governors, and former cabinet officials—is being quietly sanctioned. Some, like Baja California Governor Marina del Pilar Ávila and her husband, have already had their visas revoked, as reported last week. The Biden administration never went this far. But the Trump team, led by Stephen Miller and Homeland Security aides, is turning corruption into a foreign policy cudgel—denying entry to officials “reasonably believed” to aid traffickers and preparing to freeze their U.S. assets.
Whether this scorched-earth approach pressures the Sheinbaum administration or just pushes it toward nationalist defiance remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: the United States is no longer content with backroom cooperation. It is now publicly wielding sticks—and using cartel defectors as informants, witnesses, and weapons. In this evolving war, the DOJ, the DEA, and even the State Department are becoming active players on Mexico’s chessboard.
The Spy Who Came to Shake Hands: Trump’s Man Lands in Mexico
Ronald Johnson officially took up his post this week as the new U.S. ambassador to Mexico, presenting his credentials to President Sheinbaum at Palacio Nacional. His arrival comes at a moment of particularly high tension, right after the Cuauhtémoc accident and just days after Mexico learned, through press reports, that 17 relatives of Ovidio Guzmán had been allowed entry into the U.S.
Just minutes after presenting his credentials, Johnson, flanked by his wife, delivered the usual diplomatic platitudes in a polished video script: cooperation on security, migration, and the border. He emphasized that Mexico and the U.S. are not just partners but “friends and neighbors,” a familiar line. While the message leaned heavily on symbolism, it signaled Washington’s intent to keep channels open and cordial, at least on the surface, as both countries navigate a complex and often uneasy relationship.
Johnson is no traditional diplomat: a retired army Colonel, Special Forces veteran and former CIA officer. During Trump’s first term, his previous posting in El Salvador was marked by close coordination with President Nayib Bukele, who very much favored hardline security strategies. In Mexico, he enters a radically different landscape where every step is watched through the lens of sovereignty, justice reform, and regional balance.
Johnson’s CV and mandate reflect the Trump administration’s priorities: fentanyl, border control, and a reassertion of U.S. influence in the hemisphere. He assumes his post just as the U.S. Senate advances a controversial plan to tax remittances—another point of friction with Mexico. He must now walk a delicate line: projecting strength without undermining diplomacy.
If Johnson focuses too heavily on enforcement—pushing for certified units, expanded extradition lists, or unilateral designations—he risks alienating an already cautious Mexican government. But if he can leverage his security credentials into constructive cooperation, he may succeed where past envoys faltered. In Trump’s second term, this ambassadorship is more than ceremonial—it is a critical post in a contested bilateral agenda.
Earn Money, Pay Taxes; Send Money Home, Get Taxed Again
The proposed 5% tax on remittances sent by non-U.S. nationals from the U.S. is not just shortsighted—it’s universally seen as reckless. BBVA has warned that such a move could push migrants toward informal, unregulated channels to send money home. When financial flows go underground, criminal groups inevitably follow. So, instead of securing more revenue, this tax risks fueling money laundering and cartel involvement.
President Sheinbaum has pushed back, urging the U.S. Senate to honor a longstanding agreement prohibiting discriminatory or non-reciprocal taxes on migrants. “Let’s convince them it’s not a good idea,” she said during her morning press conference. She is right. The bill would hurt millions of families in Mexico who depend on every cent of those remittances, not to mention the U.S. economy that benefits from their relatives’ labor.
Policy analysts are warning that the proposed remittance tax could backfire. Instead of discouraging migration, it may do the opposite—by squeezing already vulnerable communities in Mexico and Central America that depend heavily on these funds. The harder it becomes to support their families from afar, the more likely people will be to head north in search of a better life.
Contact:
Laura Camacho
Executive Director Miranda Public Affairs
laura.camacho@miranda-partners.com
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