The Devil You Know
How Historical Trauma Perpetuates Mexico's Crisis of Corruption and Violence—Insights from the Work of Yuriria Maria Hernandez Rodriguez
“Did you really think you could call up the Devil and ask him to behave?”
As the world grapples with rising authoritarianism, democratic backsliding, and cycles of violence that seem impossible to break, Mexico presents a sobering case study of how unresolved collective trauma can trap entire nations in destructive patterns. Currently, global attention focuses primarily on the conflicts in Ukraine, Gaza, and other flashpoints throughout the world. Yet, largely absent from international headlines is Mexico's own crisis of violence, which has claimed nearly half a million lives in the past 18 years—a staggering toll that dwarfs that of many recognized wars (Vela, 2024).
Recent headlines from Mexico paint a grim picture: journalists murdered for investigating corruption, activists assassinated for defending indigenous rights, and an impunity rate approaching 99%—meaning virtually all crimes go unpunished ("El tamaño de la impunidad," n.d.). President Claudia Sheinbaum's new administration inherits a nation where organized crime operates with near-total freedom, where public hospitals have administered water instead of chemotherapy to children with cancer ("Duarte cambio," 2017), and where the line between state authority and criminal enterprise has blurred beyond recognition.
But beneath these immediate crises lies a deeper psychological wound that has festered for centuries, according to groundbreaking research that applies psychodynamic theory to understand Mexico's national identity. A new thesis by Yuriria Maria Hernandez Rodriguez (2024) offers a provocative framework for understanding why Latin America's second-largest economy remains trapped in cycles of corruption and violence despite its vast resources and educated population.
The Weight of 500 Years
Mexico's contemporary struggles cannot be understood without examining the psychological scars left by one of history's most devastating cultural collisions. The Spanish conquest of 1521 didn't just destroy the Aztec Empire—it shattered the worldview of millions of indigenous people and created what researchers now recognize as one of the earliest examples of collective intergenerational trauma on a massive scale.
The numbers are staggering: from a pre-Columbian population estimated at 60 million across the Americas, only 5-6 million survived the century following Columbus's arrival (Brierley & Maslin, 2019). In Mexico, where the largest indigenous civilizations flourished, this demographic catastrophe was accompanied by the systematic destruction of political, religious, and social structures that had defined life for millennia.
"Mexico was born from a traumatic experience," explains one participant in Hernandez Rodriguez's research, a high-level professional whose identity remains protected (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024). "The result is a country with both low self-esteem and high ego—we see ourselves simultaneously as the biggest powerhouses and the most corrupt."
This psychological duality extends far beyond abstract identity questions. It manifests in Mexico's relationship with its own history, where figures like La Malinche—the indigenous woman who served as translator for Hernán Cortés—remain deeply polarizing symbols. Some view her as the mother of Mexico's mixed-race identity; others as the ultimate traitor. This binary thinking, researchers argue, reflects a broader inability to integrate complex, contradictory truths about the nation's origins (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
The Splitting of the National Psyche
Drawing on the psychoanalytic theories of Melanie Klein (1946), the research identifies a pattern of psychological "splitting" that pervades Mexican society. This defense mechanism divides the world into absolute categories of good and evil, heroes and villains, leaving no room for the nuanced understanding necessary for mature political discourse.
This splitting manifests dramatically in Mexican politics, where leaders are either idealized as messiah-like saviors or demonized as irredeemable villains. The pattern repeats with each electoral cycle: a new leader promises to be the nation's salvation, only to be cast as another traitor when reality inevitably fails to match impossible expectations.
Former President Andrés Manuel López Obrador exemplified this dynamic. Campaign rallies featured supporters literally referring to him as Mexico's "messiah," while his administration simultaneously deepened many of the problems it promised to solve. When confronted with evidence of failure, his supporters doubled down on loyalty while opponents dismissed everything about his presidency as corrupt or incompetent (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
"Mexicans often appear to have short memory and superficial reasoning, favoring emotion and the intensity that comes with it," observes one interviewee (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024). "When it comes to politics, many seem to distance themselves from their role as citizens, refusing to acknowledge their responsibility in choosing political leaders."
This psychological splitting extends beyond politics to encompass Mexico's entire relationship with its complex racial heritage. Most Mexicans are mestizo—mixed indigenous and European ancestry—yet the society continues to grapple with internalized hierarchies that privilege European features while marginalizing indigenous identity. The colonial caste system, which created 19 different racial categories including some with names as derogatory as "I Don't Understand You," has evolved but not disappeared ("Castas de la Nueva España," n.d.).
Stories That Shape Destiny
Perhaps no factor has been more influential in perpetuating Mexico's psychological wounds than the stories Mexicans tell themselves about their history and identity. Unlike other nations that have constructed narratives emphasizing resilience, progress, or democratic values, Mexican national mythology remains fixated on themes of betrayal, victimhood, and loss.
"We're always telling stories of blood and disappointment, never of resilience or change," notes one research participant (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024). This observation points to a crucial difference between Mexico and other societies that have experienced severe historical trauma but managed to construct more empowering national narratives.
Consider the contrast with other post-colonial societies. While Ireland transformed its history of oppression into a story of cultural preservation and eventual liberation, and Israel framed Holocaust survival as a foundation for national strength, Mexico's dominant narratives remain trapped in cycles of resentment and victimization (Hirschberger, 2018).
The Catholic Church's influence has reinforced these patterns through teachings that valorize poverty and suffering while viewing material success with suspicion. Popular culture, from telenovelas to folk songs, consistently portrays the wealthy as villains and the poor as virtuous victims. This moral framework, while perhaps offering psychological comfort to the disadvantaged, also discourages the kind of ambition and civic engagement necessary for social progress (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
Even more damaging has been the weaponization of these narratives by political leaders. Former President López Obrador frequently employed historical symbolism to position himself as the heir to indigenous resistance while dismissing middle-class aspirations as corrupt "aspiracionismo" (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024). This rhetoric reinforced the idea that Mexicans should be content with their circumstances rather than demanding better governance or economic opportunities.
This sense of unworthiness is reinforced by centuries of Catholic teachings emphasizing the virtue of poverty, exemplified by passages like "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven" (Gospel of Matthew 19:24). Such messages have ingrained in many Mexicans an unconscious belief that they don't deserve success or prosperity, preventing them from imagining a better future or believing they're capable of building it.
The Paralysis of Learned Helplessness
The combination of historical trauma, psychological splitting, and disempowering narratives has produced what researchers identify as a profound sense of powerlessness among many Mexicans. This "learned helplessness" manifests as political cynicism, where citizens complain endlessly about problems but feel incapable of meaningful action to address them (Seligman & Maier, 1967).
"It feels like no matter what we do, nothing changes," explains one participant (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024). "This belief leads to cynicism and reluctance to engage in political or social movements." The pattern is reinforced by Mexico's experience with democratic alternation: after 70 years of single-party rule by the PRI, Mexicans elected opposition candidates in 2000 and 2006, only to see corruption and violence worsen. When the PRI returned to power in 2012, it seemed to confirm the futility of democratic choice.
This sense of powerlessness is not merely psychological—it reflects genuine structural challenges. In a country where 99% of crimes go unpunished ("El tamaño de la impunidad," n.d.), where journalists are routinely murdered, and where organized crime exercises territorial control, individual agency is severely constrained. Yet the research suggests that even when opportunities for positive change exist, many Mexicans fail to seize them due to deeply internalized beliefs about their own powerlessness.
The COVID-19 pandemic provided a stark example: while López Obrador's government demonstrably mismanaged the health crisis, leading to one of the world's highest death rates, his approval ratings remained relatively stable. Rather than demanding accountability, many supporters rationalized the failures or blamed external forces (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
The Price of Unhealed Wounds
The human cost of Mexico's unresolved psychological trauma extends far beyond abstract identity questions. The country's 476,742 violent deaths since 2006 represent more than just criminal statistics—they reflect a society where life has been systematically devalued through centuries of unprocessed collective trauma (Vela, 2024).
Recent scandals illustrate the depth of institutional decay: government hospitals substituting water for cancer medications ("Duarte cambio," 2017), the disappearance of 43 students with apparent state complicity (Goldman, 2016), and the routine assassination of journalists and activists. These aren't isolated incidents but symptoms of a deeper breakdown in the social contract between citizens and institutions.
The economic implications are equally severe. Despite ranking as the world's 12th largest economy (IMF Statistics), Mexico remains trapped in cycles of underdevelopment that correlate strongly with its governance failures. The country's vast oil reserves, strategic location, and educated population should provide the foundation for widespread prosperity, yet extreme inequality persists alongside weak institutions.
International implications are significant as well. Mexico's struggles with organized crime have contributed to drug trafficking throughout the Americas, while its governance failures have influenced migration patterns affecting the entire hemisphere. As authoritarianism rises globally, understanding how historical trauma can undermine democratic institutions becomes increasingly relevant beyond Mexico's borders.
Breaking the Chains
The research doesn't conclude with despair but rather points toward possibilities for transformation—though the path forward requires confronting uncomfortable truths about collective responsibility and the need for psychological as well as political change (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
Breaking free from these patterns would require what psychoanalysts call moving from the "paranoid-schizoid position" to the "depressive position"—abandoning black-and-white thinking in favor of accepting complexity, ambiguity, and personal responsibility (Klein, 1946). For Mexico, this would mean developing the capacity to see historical figures, political leaders, and even themselves as complex beings with both positive and negative qualities.
Such a transformation would also require new national narratives that emphasize agency, resilience, and the possibility of positive change while honestly acknowledging past traumas. Other societies have demonstrated this is possible: Germany's post-war reckoning with Nazi history, South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, or Rwanda's efforts to build national unity after genocide all offer models for confronting rather than perpetuating historical trauma (Alexander, 2012).
The path forward would involve multiple levels of intervention: therapeutic approaches to help individuals process inherited trauma, educational reforms that present more balanced historical narratives, cultural initiatives that celebrate Mexican creativity and resilience, and political movements that emphasize civic engagement rather than messianic leadership (Hernandez Rodriguez, 2024).
Crucially, this transformation cannot be imposed from above but must emerge from Mexican society itself. The country's rich cultural traditions, strong family networks, and demonstrated capacity for resilience in the face of adversity provide resources for renewal that external observers often overlook.
Global Lessons from Mexico's Struggle
As the world confronts rising polarization, democratic backsliding, and seemingly intractable conflicts, Mexico's experience offers sobering lessons about how unresolved collective trauma can trap entire societies in destructive patterns. The research demonstrates that political and economic reforms alone are insufficient when underlying psychological wounds remain unaddressed (Volkan, 2001).
The global implications extend beyond academic interest. In an era when authoritarian leaders worldwide exploit historical grievances and polarizing narratives to maintain power, understanding the psychological dynamics that make societies vulnerable to such manipulation becomes increasingly urgent.
Mexico's struggle is ultimately about more than corruption or violence—it's about whether societies can break free from the psychological chains forged by historical trauma and construct new narratives that empower rather than paralyze. The answer to that question may well determine not only Mexico's future but offer insights crucial for democratic societies everywhere facing their own reckonings with difficult histories.
The 130 million Mexicans living with the daily consequences of unhealed collective trauma deserve better than resignation to endless cycles of violence and corruption. More importantly, their struggle to break free from these patterns offers hope that even the deepest psychological wounds can heal when societies find the courage to confront their past honestly and imagine a different future. The question now is whether that courage can be summoned before the costs become even more devastating.
* The quote that opens this piece is from The X Files, from the Episode “The Hand That Feeds.” It was spoken by Agent Mudler to Mrs. Paddock.
References
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Vela, D. S. (2024, October 2). Termina el sexenio de AMLO con 199 mil 619 asesinatos, la cifra más alta en la historia reciente. El Financiero. Retrieved from https://www.elfinanciero.com.mx/nacional/2024/10/02/termina-el-sexenio-de-amlo-con-199-mil-619-asesinatos-la-cifra-mas-alta-en-la-historia-reciente/
Volkan, V. D. (2001). Transgenerational transmissions and chosen traumas: An aspect of large-group identity. Group Analysis, 34(1), 79-97. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/05333160122077730
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