MEXICO: ‘The protests meant the public emergence of Gen Z as a force with a voice of its own’
CIVICUS discusses Mexico’s Gen Z-led November 2025 protests with Rafael Amézquita Castellanos, a lawyer and young activist from Guadalajara.
The protests marked Gen Z’s first major public emergence on the Mexican political scene. Organised via social media and without formal leadership, they highlighted the discontent of a generation that grew up amid the violence of organised crime. Clashes between police and hooded protesters left around 120 people injured, while dozens were arrested.
What was the context of the protests?
The context is that of a generation marked by violence. In Mexico, violence is not a distant news story. It defines how one grows up and plans one’s life. The city where I live, Guadalajara, capital of the state of Jalisco, was for a long time relatively safe, but the neighbouring state of Michoacán has been ravaged by organised crime since 2006, with murders and acts of public terror that feel too close. In places like that, venturing outside the city centre can mean kidnapping, extortion or death. The tension between the city, which is relatively protected, and the countryside, under criminal control, is a defining feature of this generation. On top of this, there’s collusion between the state and drug traffickers, which keeps any hope of change at bay.
In this context, Carlos Manzo had sparked an unusual sense of hope. He was elected mayor of Uruapan, in Michoacán, as an independent candidate, leading the Movimiento del Sombrero (‘Movement of the Hat’), a citizens’ collective he founded whose symbol was the palm-leaf hat he always wore. From the mayor’s office, he confronted organised crime directly and visibly, in a country where the dominant response is complicity or tolerance. His name came up in everyday conversations, something unusual given that we tend to avoid talking about politics. That the state and the cartels had the audacity to kill him in plain sight on 1 November 2025 was not only a shock. It gave the impression a new line had been crossed. From shock to anger, and from anger to the streets, were short steps.
Did the protests have economic or political motivations?
The distinction is not entirely useful, because economics and politics go hand in hand. What mobilised young people was not an ideology, but the impossibility of building a life plan, of having a stable job, starting a business without paying ‘protection money’ — the extortion criminal groups charge shopkeepers — or going out onto the streets with the certainty of returning. It was a political protest in the classical sense, motivated by concern for life in the community, but without the ideological and programmatic weight of previous mobilisations. Mexico’s Gen Z doesn’t have a defined political programme like millennials, nor does it seek certainty and tranquillity within the current system, like boomers. It feels an existential weariness in the face of conditions that don’t deliver what one expects from life.
The protests were not a response to a global economic crisis or a specific government programme, but rather to the accumulation of restrictions imposed by normalised violence. And the class dimension cannot be ignored. It was mainly young people from the middle and upper classes who took to the streets. Those hit hardest by insecurity, and those who historically drive electoral change, were largely absent, as is often the case in Mexican protests. Protest is not equally accessible to everyone.
How were protests organised and what were their demands?
The organisation was predominantly organic. The call to action circulated on Twitter/X and people joined through their networks of colleagues, friends and university mates. There was no need to know who was behind it or what the ultimate aims were. It was enough to feel it was worth turning up.
Two very different realities coexisted in the marches. On one side were young people with organic and authentic motivation; on the other, more structured groups — including conservative organisations and partisan opposition networks — sought to channel the outrage towards their own agendas and take the opportunity to recruit new members. In Guadalajara, these two worlds coexisted without converging.
Demands were vague. Unlike previous generations, who directed their demands at the state with relative precision, Gen Z expressed a generalised discontent to be resolved by whoever has the responsibility or capacity. There’s no firm trust in the state as a guarantor, but neither is there a clear alternative. The sense of the protest was more that of a public statement, along the lines of ‘here we are, we have a say too’, than of a dispute over a specific agenda.
A notable exception to this mistrust is feminist activist networks, which for many women remain a space of connection, sisterhood and trust.
What role did social media play?
Social media was indispensable. Without it, the protests wouldn’t have reached the scale they did, because mass visibility generated confidence. Twitter/X was the central platform, due to its highly political content and the possibility of interacting with unknown accounts. It was there that people realised something was happening, expectations were formed and the call to action became visible as a collective phenomenon.
Comrades who had never before shown political interest took part in spreading the word. Other platforms served different purposes. Facebook and Instagram reached other age groups and parts of society, while WhatsApp operated on a more personal level, among acquaintances. Their use was primarily communicative, not organisational. An event was announced and people decided whether or not to join. Structured coordination was minimal.
The symbols of the global Gen Z movement, including images associated with the One Piece anime, which also circulated in recent Gen Z-led protests in Indonesia, Nepal and the Philippines, appeared in Mexican calls to action, but were met with ambivalence. They made sense for some. For others, they were too artificial to truly mobilise people. The inspiration from Nepal was certainly present in discourse, along the lines of ‘if it was possible there, it can be here too’, but without a sense of belonging to a unified global movement.
What risks did protesters face?
The most widespread risks were political harassment and workplace pressure. Before the protests, some people received informal warnings at work or from political contacts, with hints they would be dismissed if they took part.
For those linked to party structures or working as state contractors, the consequences came later, with loss of contracts, marginalisation in their organisations and workplace difficulties. People in academia linked to the civil service or political consultancies were also directly affected.
The risk of direct police violence was present in the background, as with any protest, but it wasn’t the dominant feature of this round of protests.
What did the protests achieve, and what comes next?
The protests didn’t bring about structural changes, and to classify them as a social movement would be an exaggeration. What they did achieve was the public emergence of Gen Z as a force with a voice of its own, distinct from millennials who had dominated opposition discourse. This is no small feat in a country where political conversations are often monopolised by older generations.
Another achievement was to establish security as an unavoidable focus of public debate. The demand for certainty — being able to go out and return home, and to start a business without being extorted — became a criterion of legitimacy for any government agenda. The upcoming presidential election will be viewed through the prism of that demand.
For sporadic protests to become a movement, two things were missing: clarity on their aims and leaders capable of structuring demands and bearing the costs. Without a figure or group to step forward, organise and be held to account, mobilised energy found no outlet and people returned to their daily lives while awaiting a new call to action. Becoming a movement requires sustained commitment and a personal sacrifice of one’s life plans in an environment of uncertainty, and Mexican society has not yet reached the level of desperation that drives people to sacrifice themselves for a cause.
The current moment is one of reactive anticipation. People are watching what the government does and, if the situation warrants it, there will be a response. But for now, there’s no proactive agenda nor any structure to sustain it.
CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.