From words to deeds, there is a lurking threat: a Memorandum of Understanding, private blackmail, and covert operations.
Troops at the border, memorandums on paper, and veiled threats dressed in diplomacy.
By: Ghaleb Krame
The Sheinbaum–Rubio meeting was dressed up in sovereignty and cooperation, but beneath the surface it revealed pressure, veiled threats, and the certainty of Realpolitik operating in stealth.
Claudia Sheinbaum came to the meeting with Marco Rubio armed with a carefully chosen shield: Article 40 of the Mexican Constitution, invoked like a mantra —“Mexico will not accept foreign interference”— as a way to project firmness toward Washington. The message was powerful symbolically, but ambiguous in practice. More than a reminder to the northern neighbor, it was a political antidote for domestic consumption: a preemptive move to neutralize inevitable accusations of subordination for hosting the U.S. Secretary of State at the National Palace.
The contrast is stark. To speak of absolute sovereignty in front of a country that absorbs 80% of Mexico’s exports, controls its energy supply, and has ten thousand troops stationed along the border is like proclaiming independence at the edge of a cliff while extending your hand to ask for oxygen. The rhetoric sounds patriotic; the reality is structural dependency.
The question lingers: was invoking Article 40 an authentic act of defending sovereignty, or a rhetorical shield to justify what came next —an uncomfortable balancing act between practical concessions and resistant discourse? Mexican political tradition provides the answer: the “non-intervention” of the 20th century and today’s “cooperation without subordination” are just different labels for the same script. Declare independence in public, negotiate concessions in private.
The backdrop, then, is not an immovable constitutional principle, but a staged performance—a narrative of dignity meant to mask the fact that the negotiating table tilted, once again, toward Washington.
THE AGREEMENT THAT NEVER WAS
The official narrative was blunt: Mexico and the United States had reached a “historic security agreement.” Claudia Sheinbaum presented it as proof that her government can negotiate firmly without ceding sovereignty. But a closer look at the communiqués and fine print shatters the illusion. There was no such agreement signed. What was inked at the National Palace was a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU), a non-binding diplomatic instrument. Plainly put: expectations inflated in Mexico, deflated in Washington.
And the difference is no technicality. A bilateral agreement is legally binding; a memorandum only expresses goodwill. The shift in form was, in reality, a diplomatic downgrade. Washington pushed for verifiable commitments: expedited extraditions, monitoring of politicians with criminal ties, and expanded access to Mexican intelligence. The Mexican delegation, aware of the domestic political costs, retreated to a more flexible device. The result: something that could be sold as a triumph at home without legally tying Mexico to U.S. demands.
Here lies the paradox. While Sheinbaum spoke of “cooperation without subordination,” the mere downgrading from a formal agreement to a memorandum is proof that there was pressure —and resistance. The joint press conference, with smiles and measured phrases, stood in contrast to the reality of asymmetry. A country with ten thousand soldiers on the border, a looming 30% tariff threat, and the capacity to label Mexican cartels as terrorist organizations doesn’t need a signed treaty: its power lies in latent threats.
For Washington, the memorandum sufficed: a temporary bridge to legitimize ongoing operations and intelligence cooperation. For Mexico, it was a rhetorical escape hatch: a way to present a “historic agreement” that, in truth, is more disguise than diplomatic achievement.
The result: a document weak in legal force but strong in symbolism. The most accurate snapshot of contemporary Mexican foreign policy—grand talk of sovereignty, little actual room for maneuver against Washington.
THE CLIMAX OF THE MEETING
If anything defined Marco Rubio’s visit to the National Palace, it was not the signing of a memorandum nor the solemn recital of bilateral principles. The real breaking point came during the press conference, when a reporter asked the blunt question: Will there be joint military operations?
Foreign Minister Juan Ramón de la Fuente tried to step in first, hoping to frame the answer within the safe margins of diplomacy. But Rubio cut him off with a short, devastating line: “Joint operations have always existed.”
The camera caught De la Fuente’s reaction: a grimace of unease, almost worry, that betrayed the tension of the moment. The carefully rehearsed script had been broken. What was supposed to be a controlled ending —wrapped in the language of sovereignty and respectful cooperation— became a public admission of an uncomfortable reality that the Mexican government prefers to keep in the shadows.
That phrase stripped bare what the diplomatic framework was meant to conceal. While Sheinbaum repeated the formula of “cooperation without subordination,” Rubio laid the cards on the table: military cooperation not only exists, it has deepened under Donald Trump. The communiqués, the smiles, the solemn stagecraft of the National Palace —mere choreography. Realpolitik emerged, not so subtle, but carefully veiled.
The weight of that declaration was undeniable. It confirmed what has long been suspected: behind the numbers of extraditions and arrests lies a network of covert joint operations, involving special forces and intelligence agencies that will never appear in an official bulletin. Training, technology transfers, real-time intelligence sharing, even direct intervention on the ground —all part of a parallel agenda.
Rubio did not improvise. His message had two audiences. To Washington, he signaled that cooperation with Mexico is alive and effective, even if disguised in sovereignty rhetoric. To Mexico, he reminded that the narrative of independence has limits: operational ties are far stronger than the discourse admits.
The true climax was not the creation of a high-level group or the list of joint priorities. It was the confirmation that, despite Sheinbaum’s rhetoric, Mexico’s national security is entangled with U.S. military strategy. Diplomacy dressed the stage, but reality bled through: the line between cooperation and subordination is increasingly blurred.
THE PUBLIC NARRATIVE
The official script that emerged from the National Palace after Marco Rubio’s visit was carefully crafted. It spoke of guiding principles: reciprocity, respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity, shared responsibility, and mutual trust. The melody was the same as always: two countries facing common challenges, shoulder to shoulder, without impositions, under the framework of respect.
The joint communiqué listed “concrete” commitments: stop the flow of fentanyl precursors, reduce arms trafficking from the U.S., dismantle illicit financial networks, launch public health campaigns against addiction, and create a high-level group for follow-up. All wrapped in the sober, predictable language of diplomacy.
But the public narrative hides two uncomfortable truths. First: none of these commitments are new. From the Mérida Initiative to the failed Bicentennial Framework, bilateral communiqués have always listed the same issues: drugs, arms, borders, illicit finance. The recycling of formulas is proof that beyond rhetoric, problems are not solved by communiqués but by power and execution.
Second: the narrative itself is a defensive wall. For Sheinbaum, it was vital to display an “agreement” under the flag of sovereignty: cooperation, yes; subordination, no. For Rubio, the diplomatic script was useful to show that Washington does not corner Mexico, but “invites” it to collaborate as an equal. The result was a text designed to calm public opinion on both sides of the border —but one that does not reflect the real asymmetry of the relationship.
Because behind the measured language lies a harsher reality: ten thousand U.S. troops on the border, a 30% tariff threat hanging overhead, cartels designated as terrorists, financial sanctions against Mexican banks, and joint operations openly acknowledged by Rubio.
On stage, Sheinbaum spoke of dignity and reciprocity. Behind the curtain, Rubio revealed the obvious: cooperation exists, but the score is written in Washington.
THE REAL CONTEXT OF PRESSURE
The joint press conference projected serenity and solemn principles, but the negotiation did not occur in a vacuum. It unfolded under maximum pressure from Washington, perhaps the strongest seen in recent bilateral history.
The most visible signal was the deployment of ten thousand U.S. troops along the border. This was no routine maneuver: it was an explicit reminder that the muscle is ready if Mexico fails to cooperate on U.S. terms. Added to this was the looming threat of a 30% tariff under the guise of “national security”—a sword of Damocles hanging over the Mexican economy.
Pressure was also applied on multiple other fronts:
The designation of six Mexican cartels as foreign terrorist organizations, opening the door to unilateral U.S. military action.
The revocation of visas for Mexican officials linked —or suspected of being linked— to criminal networks, a direct message to the political elite.
The overflight of U.S. intelligence aircraft into Mexican airspace, a practical challenge to sovereignty.
Financial sanctions by FinCEN against Mexican banks accused of laundering money, undermining confidence in the country’s financial system.
Meanwhile, Mexico was delivering results that speak volumes: 55 cartel leaders extradited extrajudicially in just eight months, and over 30,000 organized crime arrests —three times the total under López Obrador’s entire six-year term. These numbers do not reflect autonomy, but rather compliance under pressure.
The memorandum invokes mutual trust, but the context makes clear that what really operates is an imbalance of power. Washington doesn’t need a signed treaty to impose its agenda; it only needs to flash its cards: military, economic, intelligence, and financial power.
On this chessboard, sovereignty is not an unshakable principle —it is a rhetorical resource, one that quickly dissolves when Washington deploys its arsenal of pressure.
WHAT WASN’T SAID (BUT WAS IMPLIED)
The meeting between Marco Rubio and Claudia Sheinbaum produced a public script full of solemnity: guiding principles, predictable commitments, diplomacy at its most generic. But in international politics, the most important things are almost never said into microphones. The decisive negotiations happen behind closed doors. And in this case, what wasn’t said was more revealing than the official communiqués.
First, selective extraditions. Publicly, the line is “judicial cooperation.” Privately, Washington presses for the extradition of carefully chosen capos and financial operators. It is no coincidence that in just eight months Sheinbaum’s government has extradited 55 criminal leaders: the figure corresponds to a list designed north of the Rio Grande. Each extradition carries not only judicial value, but also political weight: proof to Washington that Mexico is complying.
Second, surveillance of Mexican politicians with suspected cartel ties. No communiqué will mention it, but it is an open secret that U.S. agencies have compiled dossiers on ex-governors, legislators, and even current officials. Sheinbaum’s red line is clear: that door must remain shut. Yet the very fact that such dossiers have leaked into the press shows that the pressure exists, and could easily become a condition of continued cooperation.
Third, access to sensitive intelligence. The memorandum speaks of mutual trust, but in practice it means opening the gates to strategic information: communications, financial movements, even live military operations. Mexico accepts this in the name of “collaboration,” but in doing so weakens its ability to control what happens within its own borders.
Finally, migration. Officially, the rhetoric is about addressing “irregular migration flows.” In practice, Mexico reinforces its role as the United States’ buffer zone, militarizing its southern border with the National Guard and assuming responsibilities Washington refuses to take on its own soil.
The meeting, then, had three layers: the public (memorandum, principles), the hidden (extradition lists, intelligence sharing), and the veiled (political dossiers). The true language was not in the communiqués but in the silences. And in this case, silence spoke louder than diplomacy.
THE RED LINE
In every negotiation shaped by asymmetry of power, there exists a tacit limit—an invisible frontier no one dares to cross because doing so would blow up domestic stability. For Claudia Sheinbaum, that frontier is clear: she may hand over cartel bosses, ramp up arrests, allow joint training, and sign a memorandum crafted in Washington. But she will not prosecute Mexican politicians tied to organized crime. That is her red line.
The reason is simple and brutal. To acknowledge narco infiltration within the political elite would be to detonate the legitimacy of much of the system itself. It is not merely Sheinbaum’s personal calculation, but the survival of the entire political regime. When Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada, in a New York courtroom, confessed to having corrupted police, military, and politicians, Mexico’s response was silence. A silence louder than any communiqué.
This is where Mexican logic collides with Washington’s. Marco Rubio already warned: “cooperation is undermined by the dangerous levels of corruption that penetrate Mexico’s judicial apparatus.” For the U.S., leaked operations, last-minute escapes of cartel leaders, and institutional complicity are not isolated errors—they are symptoms of a state compromised. Looking the other way is no longer an option. For Sheinbaum, on the other hand, exposing politicians linked to cartels would open a Pandora’s box threatening not only her administration but the entire edifice of Mexico’s political class.
That is why this red line becomes the true battlefield of the bilateral relationship. Drugs, arms, migration, finance—those can all be negotiated. Politics is untouchable. Here, sovereignty ceases to be rhetoric and becomes a shield. It is not about national dignity; it is about political survival.
This is the deepest crack in the narrative of “cooperation without subordination.” Mexico may hand over cartel bosses and post record numbers of arrests, but as long as politicians remain off-limits, Washington will see Mexico not as a reliable ally, but as a functional partner. That contradiction will be the Achilles’ heel of the entire six-year term.
CONCLUSION: REALPOLITIK IN STEALTH
In the end, what lingered in the air were not the diplomatic principles or the sovereignty phrases repeated ad nauseam. What truly marked the meeting was Rubio’s offhand remark, delivered almost like a technical aside:
“The detainees will talk, and their testimonies will be used for intelligence.”
Seemingly innocuous, the phrase cuts like a blade. It is a reminder that Washington does not rely solely on agencies, drones, or satellites, but also on the confessions of extradited capos who, in exchange for reduced sentences, spill detailed accounts of corruption networks, operators’ names, and uncomfortable ties with Mexican authorities.
Was it just a technical observation? Hardly. In the context of a watered-down memorandum, tensions over corruption, and Sheinbaum’s refusal to touch politicians, the phrase reads for what it is: a veiled threat. The dossiers exist. The testimonies pile up. And Washington holds the power to activate them whenever it sees fit.
Thus, beyond the official narrative, the conclusion is unavoidable: Realpolitik has gone stealth—camouflaged under the mantle of diplomacy and cooperative rhetoric. The reality is that we will see joint military operations, many covert, involving special forces and intelligence built on those very confessions. Most will never reach public light.
Sheinbaum clings to the formula of “cooperation without subordination.” Rubio made clear that the score is still written in Washington. Between sovereignty speeches and uneasy silences, the line between patriotic defense and structural dependency is no longer a boundary but a blurred shadow.
In the end, what remains are not communiqués. What remains are facts: troops at the border, memorandums on paper, and veiled threats dressed in diplomacy.