Al Grito de Guerra: the Second Mexican Revolution

[Kermode]

I practically breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the infobox. You've done a superb job of building up to this point, letting it play out slowly while still ratcheting up the tensions and keeping it ever more engaging. This might be a climax in another work, but I'm excited to see what you have in mind now that the PRI is out.

 

[Deleted member 141906]

This is one of AH's best TL's!

 

[Questerr]

I love this story so much, but I have to wonder when the actual fighting part of this revolution will kick off?

 

[SealTheRealDeal]

I love this story so much, but I have to wonder when the actual fighting part of this revolution will kick off?

Maybe, just this once, Mexico gets a happy ending.

 

[Allochronian]

Here are some photographs of how (Presidente) Porfirio Muñoz Ledo would have looked like around 1994:

Left

Third person from the left

First person from the left

Second person from right

Sources:
https://www.milenio.com/politica/porfirio-munoz-ledo-biografia-busca-dirigir-morena

http://www.munozledo.org/es/diputado-porfirio-munoz-ledo.html

https://gruporeforma.reforma.com/graficohtml5/enfoque/porfirio/prd.html

https://confabulario.eluniversal.com.mx/unomasuno-y-sabado/

https://www.dossierpolitico.com/ver...=159365&relacion=dossierpolitico&criterio=cen

 

[Stalingrad]

This looks too nice to be real, haha.
Wondering when will the chaos start again, though I hope it doesn't.

One of the few TL's that caught all of my attention, the amount of research behind it shows off in the paragraphs.

 

[lord caedus]

Since 1992, the deluge of drugs flowing in from Mexico had scourged American cities and towns and ruined hundreds of thousands of Americans’ lives. And when the American people found out that Manuel Bartlett had not only failed to stop this avalanche, but in fact had exploited it for personal enrichment, they didn’t want measured, diplomatic retribution—they wanted revenge.

You know this is a fictional timeline, because usually whenever Americans feel wronged and seek revenge we kind of go overboard and lash out at the wrong people.

And, for once, the establishment agreed. Though a few Congressmen and senators bowed to pressure from corporations which did business in Mexico, [1] most politicians of both parties were soon racing to see who could come up with the most interesting adjectives with which to condemn Manuel Bartlett’s crimes. The lingering bad taste of the Gulf War meant that a full-scale military intervention was off the table, but everything short of that was fair game. For weeks, Congress debated every possible proposal, from cutting off diplomatic relations to a naval blockade of Mexican ports, until finally settling on something a bit more restrained: sanctions. On June 15, the MEXICO ROGUE STATES Act [2]—passed with near-unanimous support in Congress and signed by President Bush the same day—went into effect.[2]

That, of course, stands for Modeling EXtensive Instruments to COmbat Regimes Opposed to the Good of the UnitEd STates, its Allies, TErritories and Security. Eat your heart out, Patriot Act.

That is one of the most contrived, tortured and awful acronyms I've ever seen.

Which is why I'm now incredibly suspicious that you are, in fact, a federal legislator.

Inspired by the Anti-Apartheid Act of 1986, the MRSA imposed a harsh regime of tariffs and quotas on just about every Mexican import, banned the sale of arms and munitions to Mexico, froze Mexican government assets in the United States, and forbade companies whose boards of directors contained any active members of the PRI from being listed on U.S. stock exchanges. And while U.N. Ambassador Winston Lord could not quite convince the Security Council to do to Mexico what it had done to Iraq three years earlier, twenty-three countries across Europe and the Americas imposed sanctions of their own, both due to pressure from the State Department and sheer horror at Manuel Bartlett’s active role in abetting the drug trade.

Public support for the war was further sapped by various ignoble incidents, such as when the U.S.S. Tripoli and Vincennes were badly damaged by Iraqi mines, and the infamous “Highway of Death”, in which Coalition forces bulldozing through a six-lane highway destroyed thousands of civilian vehicles and killed many of their occupants.

Although Senator Henry Cisneros had been Manuel Bartlett’s most fierce and vocal critic in Washington for years, he criticized the international embargo on Mexico, arguing that it would hurt Mexico’s people more than its government. Nevertheless, he voted for the Rogue States Act when it was put before the Senate in May.

"This short-sighted policy will hurt the common people much more than the corrupt government...yes, I'm in favor. Why do you ask?"

Shocking and damning as this news was, pessimists the world over surmised that Bartlett would bluff, lie, cheat, deny, rig, cover-up, and suppress his way to untouchability, and that his regime founded on fraud and crime would long endure. But they missed one crucial factor—this time, Bartlett had pissed off the billionaires.

"The party may have destabilized the country with its ham-fisted authoritarianism and economic mismanagement, led it into a civil war and then openly turned it into a police state funded by drug traffickers, but we draw the line at causing other countries to no longer do business with us."- Mexico's billionaires, probably.

And so, on August 18, three days before the election, Bartlett took a step he had hoped he would never even need to imagine: with a voice of grave solemnity, he asked General Jesús Gutiérrez Rebollo, three-star general, hero of the Spring Campaign and the moral leader of the Army, to order his forces to take control of the country, impose martial law, postpone the election indefinitely, and save the people from themselves.

General Gutiérrez told Bartlett to go fuck his mother.

Beautiful.

By most accounts, Manuel Bartlett spent the next 72 hours secluded in his private residence, awaiting the inevitable. Over the preceding six years, under three separate administrations, Bartlett’s sole mission had been to preserve the domination of the PRI by any means necessary. His indefatigable drive had led him to silence almost all political rivals of stature, sell off every social program for which he could find a willing buyer, and turn Mexico into a police state. And yet, in the end, all he had done was destroy the party to which he had devoted his entire adult life.

Then the day finally arrived. Many observers had feared that election day would be pure chaos, but in fact the polling was relatively orderly and peaceful, mostly because the soldiers stationed outside polling places in most populous towns prevented any large-scale unrest from breaking out. And so, on August 21, under the faithful eye of Gil and Ovando’s poll-watching federation, 32 million Mexicans cast their votes as they saw fit. Enrique Krauze described the election of 1994 as “judgement day for the PRI and its sins; the rebirth of Mexico’s civic and political life”. Former Congressman Vicente Fox, ever the intellectual, declared in 2006 that “every chicken in Mexico was coming home to shit on Manuel Bartlett’s face”.

Vincente Fox must have succeeded General Gutiérrez as Mexico's poet laureate with that kind of flowery language.

In the end, it wasn’t a landslide. It was a disgrace. By a margin of 75 percentage points, Porfirio Muñoz Ledo was the next President of Mexico. Not one single state remained loyal to the PRI, and Elba Esther Gordillo had barely captured more than 10% of the vote (to this day, the PRI’s successors occasionally grumble that Gordillo’s total would have been larger if not for voter suppression on the part of the Army, a claim which has been substantiated to a certain degree).

This point (that part of the PRI vote was suppressed by a fed-up Army) of course would inspire multiple ATL AH.com discussion threads on "WI: the Mexican Army didn't suppress votes in 1994?" that would lead to veteran posters increasingly losing patience at having to explain every single time how fucked the PRI were by the day of the election.

But after looking under every desk, inside every closet and behind every curtain, the people were stunned to realized that Manuel Bartlett was nowhere to be found. The news quickly spread to the streets, where within hours, stories stories were circulating that Bartlett had been executed by the Army, had fled to Bermuda with a gold bar in each pocket, or had donned a fake beard and sunglasses and joined in the protests himself. These rumors were soon dispelled, however, when the world found out exactly where Bartlett was and what had happened to him.

Well, now we can add "sucked at hide and seek" to the list of accomplishments/crimes of the Bartlett administration.

 

[Noblesse Oblige]

And so, the PRI has fallen, and possibly likely to be gutted out and destroyed due to one man's stupid mistakes and multiple decades of corruption finally catching up with them. It's a shame that it couldn't have happened earlier but say what.

Seven decades though, have they really been doing this BS for 70+ years?

 

[Vinization]

And so, the PRI has fallen, and possibly likely to be gutted out and destroyed due to one man's stupid mistakes and multiple decades of corruption finally catching up with them. It's a shame that it couldn't have happened earlier but say what.

Seven decades though, have they really been doing this BS for 70+ years?

You can thank the Mexican Miracle for that.

 

[Questerr]

Maybe, just this once, Mexico gets a happy ending.

I mean the name of the timeline is "The Battle Cry", but I guess that could be metaphorical.

 

[Vinization]

I mean the name of the timeline is "The Battle Cry", but I guess that could be metaphorical.

The Zapatistas did that. And I hope that's the closest the country will get to a violent revolution...

 

[Questerr]

The Zapatistas did that. And I hope that's the closest the country will get to a violent revolution...

I’d like to see the Zapatistas win, even if only receiving real autonomy.

 

[AwesomeCarlos1]

As someone whose family came here from Mexico, this TL has my interest. Boy do my parents have creative names for the last 3 PRI presidents, Spanish does lend itself well to curse words. Anyway, great story.

 

[Ficboy]

I'm impressed at the research and detail put into this story. Every good alternate history timeline must have credible sources such as books for instance to tell it's story and choose the POD.

 

[Roberto El Rey]

Insert LET'S GOOO meme

Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man, oh, man...Suicide? Homicide (by the U.S./Mexican government)? We MUST know!

I have a question that's somewhat related to this: Did the 1992 L.A. Riots also occur ITTL?

Yes, although the circumstances were a bit different: they happened in September of 1991, in response to the LAPD's brutal and deadly infiltration of what they wrongly believed was a crack den in Watts, leading to the deaths of three unarmed black men.

1) Why was the 1994 election held on August 21st, instead of the usual month in July?

Watsonian: After the evidence of his corruption was published in May, Bartlett decided to move the election in hopes the outrage effect of the news would wear off. It did not.

Doylist: It was delayed to August 21st in OTL 1994, as were the Congressional elections in 1991. I honestly haven't been able to find out why they were moved but I kept it that way to be safe.

2) I thought Muñoz Ledo was the PAN candidate?

Nope. He runs and wins as an independent, although he receives significant support from the PAN because they themselves are barred from fielding their own candidate, and they see him as the best chance of getting the PRI out of power.

I'm surprised the United States fully sanctioned Mexico. Wouldn't that be a massive blow to the American economy, especially with a recession imminent already?

The recent disputes with China have taught me there is only so much American policymakers will tolerate.

Congress could tolerate a corrupt Mexico. They could not tolerate a man putting the drug dealers they despised into official positions of power. When you've loss a certain level of deniability, the powers that be will throw you out the door.

The recession has already passed for the most part, in fact the recovery is just picking up steam. The sanctions certainly aren't good for the U.S. economy, but since there is no NAFTA in this TL (and many U.S. firms have already divested from Mexico in the aftermath of the Alcoa bombings) the blow is softened enough that Washington and the American people at large are willing to swallow the pill. @Bookmark1995 hits it on the head—it isn't just a moral imperative to get Bartlett out of power, it's a practical one as well. If the President next door is actively involved in pumping drugs into your country, that is a pressing national security threat that needs to be dealt with yesterday, whatever the economic consequences.

I've mentioned him before but the only Mexican state ITTL I'll accept is a Superbarrio Gómez led government. The mask stays on in Congress.

Perhaps something like that could be arranged.

I can't help but think about Ledo as being in a situation somewhat like (to borrow an analogy from @Yes) post-Emergency India, where the coalition against PRI is incredibly shaky, dealing with the widespread nature of corruption and narcotics trafficking will be a tough nut to crack (particularly seeing as Ledo himself has some skeletons in his closet), and it's not hard to see the prospect of a government too divided against itself to get anything done. Hopefully the scale of Ledo's majority provides him some leeway (certainly the fact that PRI couldn't pull off twelve percent, and the fact that clientelism only works if you can actually deliver, indicates that the PRI isn't coming back anytime soon the way Indira did - though, on the other hand, it wouldn't be surprising to see former high officials who were always working behind the scenes for Mexico, don't you know? coming back to power), and the fact that the problem needs dealt with keeps things together enough that problems can actually be dealt with. But at the very least, Mexico and Ledo are in for interesting times.

Interesting times indeed. The outlook for PML's administration is actually a bit brighter than you might imagine—there is enough broad agreement in his coalition that the most important things on his to-do list (restoring order, making a fresh start with the outside world, establishing stronger civil liberties, prosecuting corrupt officials) shouldn't encounter much trouble at all. PML's more divisive policy goals, such as democratizing the labor sector, reestablishing social programs and reforming the welfare code, might be a bit tougher to effectuate, but the diverse mix of views in the next Congress (and the multi-party slurry that's sure to emerge after the 1997 elections) means he'll probably be able to get support for most of it, canny politician that he is.

Also, as for the skeletons in PML's closet, my personal favorite is the time he shattered a random New Yorker's windshield for slightly infringing on his reserved parking spot while he was serving as Mexico's U.N. Ambassador in 1985.

Infobox should have 1988 as prior election, not 1990.

In this timeline, there was actually an interim presidential election held in 1990 to permanently fill the void left by Carlos Salinas's assassination.

This is one of AH's best TL's!

Thank you! Feedback like this is what keeps me going, especially during my month-long bouts of writer's block.

I love this story so much, but I have to wonder when the actual fighting part of this revolution will kick off?

I guess this is a good enough time as any for this announcement: there isn't really a "fighting" part. Zapatistas aside, this Revolution is closer to Quebec's Quiet Revolution than the French or American Revolutions—the point is that the old system (the one created and dominated by the PRI) is utterly destroyed and an entirely new system is erected in its place. The sweeping changes which move this revolution forward are political rather than military. As for the title, I snatched it from the first line of Mexico's national anthem. When I first started writing the timeline, I had a more militarized direction in mind, which informed my choice of title. The story evolved in a different way, but I decided to keep the title because I think it's pretty snappy!

Which is why I'm now incredibly suspicious that you are, in fact, a federal legislator.

Re-elect Congressman Roberto my man.

Seven decades though, have they really been doing this BS for 70+ years?

I actually meant to type in six decades, thanks for helping me catch the mistake. The PRI hasn't been horrible for that entire time, but I'm dating it from the presidential election of 1934, which put Lázaro Cárdenas in power and paved the way for PRI domination.

As someone whose family came here from Mexico, this TL has my interest. Boy do my parents have creative names for the last 3 PRI presidents, Spanish does lend itself well to curse words. Anyway, great story.

Ooh, please share those nicknames!!!

 

[Planita13]

I guess this is a good enough time as any for this announcement: there isn't really a "fighting" part. Zapatistas aside, this Revolution is closer to Quebec's Quiet Revolution than the French or American Revolutions—the point is that the old system (the one created and dominated by the PRI) is utterly destroyed and an entirely new system is erected in its place. The sweeping changes which move this revolution forward are political rather than military. As for the title, I snatched it from the first line of Mexico's national anthem. When I first started writing the timeline, I had a more militarized direction in mind, which informed my choice of title. The story evolved in a different way, but I decided to keep the title because I think it's pretty snappy!

Ngl its very different from what I expected for this timeline but lets be honest; its better for everyone involved. Well except for Bartlett that is.

 

[Allochronian]

Yes, although the circumstances were a bit different: they happened in September of 1991, in response to the LAPD's brutal and deadly infiltration of what they wrongly believed was a crack den in Watts, leading to the deaths of three unarmed black men.

That’s very interesting. I’d love to read a detailed narrative interlude based on that. Makes me wonder if the murder of Latasha Harlins has any influence on TTL’s riot, compared to OTL and if the verdict is never changed by the tone-deaf judge.

I was curious to know about this riot’s existence in your timeline, Roberto El Rey, because I remember reading a comment about how OTL’s riot was a contributing factor to George H.W. Bush losing the 1992 Election due to his poor response to it.

Nope. He runs and wins as an independent, although he receives significant support from the PAN because they themselves are barred from fielding their own candidate, and they see him as the best chance of getting the PRI out of power.

I must have missed that in your story. I’ll try to find it when I re-read the timeline.

I guess this is a good enough time as any for this announcement: there isn't really a "fighting" part. Zapatistas aside, this Revolution is closer to Quebec's Quiet Revolution than the French or American Revolutions—the point is that the old system (the one created and dominated by the PRI) is utterly destroyed and an entirely new system is erected in its place. The sweeping changes which move this revolution forward are political rather than military. As for the title, I snatched it from the first line of Mexico's national anthem. When I first started writing the timeline, I had a more militarized direction in mind, which informed my choice of title. The story evolved in a different way, but I decided to keep the title because I think it's pretty snappy!

I had a feeling that the story was going toward that direction. I was hoping to read more about the violence and continued armed insurrection that would have occurred, given the nature of Mexico’s history.

 

[Roberto El Rey]

Santa Lucía Air Force Base
Zumpango, State of Mexico
August 22, 1994
6:14 PM​

“Right this way, Mr. President,” said the mustachioed sergeant, winking pointedly at the last two words.

Porfirio Muñoz Ledo grinned indulgently and gave a wry salute. He knew when his ass was being kissed, but goddammit if that title wasn’t a thing of beauty.

The sycophantic soldier returned the salute, then spun on his heel and started off down a wide, concrete corridor. Muñoz Ledo followed close behind, the staccato click of his hard, rubber soles on the linoleum floor providing a sharp refrain to the soldier’s heavy, thudding boots. After multiple twists and turns, the pair approached an out-of-the-way meeting room guarded by a pair of stone-faced, M16-wielding majors. With a precision that was too perfect not to have been rehearsed, upon sight of Muñoz Ledo and his escort, the two officers stiffened their backs, straightened out their rifles and smoothly stepped to either side, parting like a curtain to clear the way for the President-elect. Muñoz Ledo nodded in dignified admiration, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The meeting room was barely furnished: humming fluorescent lights, plastic table, folding chairs, empty coffee mugs stained to a dark, caramel brown by years’ worth of caffeination. The room’s main attraction was a giant map of Mexico, worn and faded after years of wear, which took up most of the back wall. Staring at this map was the room’s only occupant, the man who (for the next three months, at least) remained the rightful President of Mexico. Seated with his back to the door, Manuel Bartlett was so transfixed by the map that he didn’t hear his successor walk in.

“Manuel,” said Muñoz Ledo as the door swung shut.

Bartlett turned around in his chair. His eyes remained as flat and impenetrable as marble, but his lips managed a slight smile. “Hello, Porfirio,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

It had been, but Muñoz Ledo was not in a reminiscing mood.

“You need to leave, Manuel,” said the President-elect.

Bartlett’s smiled faded but his tone remained even. “Read the Constitution, Porfirio. My sexenio isn’t done yet.”

“You mean the Constitution you’ve been wiping your ass with since day one of your presidency?” Muñoz Ledo queried.

“I mean the Constitution you’ve been promising to uphold throughout your entire campaign,” Manuel shot back.

Muñoz Ledo bristled. It wasn’t a terrible point, but he wasn’t about to let Bartlett quibble his way out of judgement day. “It’s over, Manuel. You’re finished. The people don’t want you anymore. If you don’t get out now, they’re going make you pay for all the pain you’ve caused them.”

Bartlett could feel a calm, defensive rage welling up inside him. “What is your proposal?” he asked simply.

“My proposal is that you get lost,” replied Muñoz Ledo. “And I mean really lost. Like, shave-your-head-move-to-Bora-Bora-and-spend-the-rest-of-your-life-farming-coconuts lost. So lost that no one with a working pair of eyes will ever see you again."

Bartlett blinked. A warm tear sprung loose, turning cold as it rolled down his cheek. His anger bubbled just behind the surface as he glanced back up at Muñoz Ledo. “And if I refuse?” He asked through clenched teeth.

Muñoz Ledo let out a scornful sigh. “If you refuse, then we get rid of you—constitutionally,” he emphasized. Still standing, he rested his hands on the table and bent forward, leaning in closer to Bartlett’s face. “The minute the new Congress sits, it impeaches you and appoints me in your place. My Procurator-General throws the book at you—murder, conspiracy, corruption, treason, the works. Then, we try you, convict you, lock you up and melt the key.” Manuel could almost feel Muñoz Ledo’s breath on his face now.

“If you don’t leave now, Manuel, I’ll have no other choice. The people want justice, and frankly, after all the shit you’ve dragged them through, Manuel, they deserve it. Just by letting you escape, I’ll be hurting my own standing in the people's eyes.”

Bartlett could feel his rage deflating like a punctured balloon, leaving him only with a sad, impotent bitterness. He grimaced at the stern-faced senator. “Then why give me the option?” He muttered. “I sit here before you, vanquished, broken, and useless. Why not just shoot me dead right now?”

The President-elect took his hands off the table, straightened back up, and thought for a moment.

“For old times’ sake, I suppose.”

Bartlett’s grimace softened imperceptibly.

Muñoz Ledo went on. “The Army’s got a plane ready for you. All you have to do is decide where you want to go and you’ll be on your way.”

Six years' worth of pent-up exhaustion escaped from Manuel Bartlett’s lungs as he let out a long, solemn sigh.

“Would you give me a moment alone?” He asked of his victorious foe. “I would like to consider my options.”

Muñoz Ledo was amazed that Bartlett needed more than two seconds to consider those options, but decided this particular battle wasn’t worth fighting. After all, the man had just lost the love of his life (power), and he was probably still grappling with the denial phase. Turning towards the door, Muñoz Ledo pulled it open and walked out.

Alone now, Bartlett turned back to the map. As the irreverent hum of the fluorescent lights filled up his ears, the soon-to-be-ex-President gazed at the shape of Mexico. He ran his eyes up and down the map, taking his time as he admired the curvature of the Gulf coast and imagined the geological gymnastics which must have taken place to create the picturesque peninsula of Baja California. He examined the giant splodge of beige representing Mexico City and its metropolis, and the interwoven layers of orange, brown and white indicating the peaks and valleys of the Sierra Madre. He ran his gaze westward along the zig-zaggety line drawn at the edge of American avarice in 1848.

He also took note of the map’s faults. It was outdated, for one thing—the states of Baja California Sur and Quintana Roo, both created by presidential decree in 1974, were absent. Time had not been kind to the map; its edges were frayed, its ink was fading, and after decades of being stuck through by pin-wielding planners, had left it pockmarked by thousands of tiny holes. Its once-vibrant spectrum of colors had been reduced to a drab duopoly of brown and beige. In its heyday, this map had served as a vital reference for hundreds of military operations. Now, it was a forgotten piece of paper on a forgotten wall in a forgotten meeting room in a forgotten wing of an air force base.

His eyes still glued to the map, Bartlett reached down, untied his right shoe and wrestled it off his foot. Crinkling his nose as the fine aroma of calfskin leather was spoiled by a whiff of toenail fungus, Bartlett reached into the shoe, dug back the insole, and pulled out from a special little compartment a tiny ball of bundled-up cellophane.

As he started to unravel the plastic wrap, he looked back up at the map. Since he was a teenager, he thought to himself, all his worldly energies had been in put firmly in service of that shape. For forty years, as he worked his way up from a humble governor’s son all the way to the presidency, he had never had a higher ambition than to serve that horn-shaped mass of color which symbolized his homeland. The idea of Mexico, as represented by ink on paper, had always been Bartlett’s lodestar. As President, when he had made decisions that he knew caused pain to individual Mexicans, it had only been to protect the Mexico he saw in his mind’s eye. When he'd locked up political opponents and cut deals with drug lords, it had all been to preserve the Mexico he’d read about in his father’s history books—the Mexico that was an exemplar of prosperity and progress, a bulwark against demagogic extremism, a paragon of independence and stability in a Latin America full of civil wars, military dictatorships, CIA puppet states and failed Marxist experiments.

Still working his fingers around the tightly-packed ball of cellophane, Bartlett recalled that for his entire sexenio, he had thought he knew the Mexican people better than they knew themselves. He had thought he understood his country on such a profound and fundamental level that he could sense where it was headed before it started moving—and if he judged that the country was moving in a harmful direction, it was his duty to set it back on track. But, he reflected as he pulled off the last little bit of plastic wrap, he was no better than that map: an outdated, decaying representation of a country that had long since outgrown him. At fifty-eight years old, he was an old man. A relic. A useless reminder of a bygone era, and Mexico had long since outgrown him.

Bartlett looked down into his palm. There, freed of its plasticky constraints, was a tiny capsule filled with a fine, white powder. He opened his mouth, brought his palm to his lips, popped in the pill and swallowed it dry.

The President glanced back up at the map one last time. “I love you,” he mumbled, then floated off into a realm of darkness.

 

[Steve Brinson]

Oh no.
Every priísta and everyone skeptical of Muñoz Ledo is going to think he straight-up murdered Bartlett, aren’t they?

 

[AHE]

Excellent writing as always.