President Trump’s latest territorial expansion threats are another chapter in a bizarre
saga that leaves many baffled. But if you think it’s harmless political theater—a
wrestling smackdown for the masses—you might want to reconsider. The threat of a
U.S. invasion of Mexico is nothing new. After losing half its territory in 1848, Mexico
endured decades of U.S. threats, aimed at keeping it underfoot. But these are different
times, and Mexico may have a surprising secret weapon to counter any attempts at a
Manifest Destiny redux: the chancla.
President Trump seems eager to resurrect ideas that harken back to a time when
Americans embraced perceived divine favor. For Trump, the “city on a hill” rhetoric is
rooted more in real estate rivalry with Putin than morality. It’s a distorted nod to a
bygone era—an inflated view of American greatness. Even worse, this Trumpian
geopolitical stance isn’t about strategy; it’s about ego. If Putin claims part of Ukraine,
Trump wants his slice of Mexico, Canada, Greenland, or even Panama. It’s not driven
by purpose but a competitive display of dominance.
The U.S.-Mexico relationship has always been complex. During the U.S.-Mexican War
(1846–48), the U.S. fabricated an excuse to invade Mexico, seize half its territory, and
claim moral superiority by “paying” for the land. Debates over slavery halted further
expansion, while other leaders viewed Mexico’s Indigenous population as a problem. If
19th-century leaders considered Mexicans—stigmatized as Indians, mongrels, and
vagabonds—a problem, Trump and his allies might need to rethink their assumptions.
Contrary to popular beliefs at the time, Mexicans did not fade into obscurity; instead,
they multiplied and thrived.
For over a century, the U.S. sought to dominate Mexico’s economic and political
development. It was done through both soft and hard diplomacy. For example, the U.S.
often backed Mexican elites trained in American institutions. These elites promised
American-style democracy while catering to U.S. economic interests. Mexico’s role was
clear: to provide cheap labor and assemble goods for U.S. export. Innovation or
economic competition from Mexico was neither expected nor encouraged.
At other times, direct American intervention was needed to correct Mexico’s “bad”
behavior. The Mexican Revolution, from an American standpoint, was “bad” for
business. The machinations of Ambassador Henry Lane Wilson aside, the direct use of
U.S. forces to kill or capture Francisco “Pancho” Villa, a one-time ally, is telling. The
mission should have been simple, until it wasn’t. In 1916, President Wilson sent General
Pershing and 6,000 troops into Mexico after Villa’s attack on Columbus, New Mexico.
To Americans, Villa was a bandit, but to Mexicans, he was a hero standing up to the
colossal north. Mexicans protected Villa, and Pershing’s troops chased shadows. Villa
survived because the population supported him.
Fast forward to today. While Mexico has endured violence from its drug wars, Trump’s
threats to send troops or missiles into Mexico ignore key realities. The fight against
fentanyl isn’t centralized. The DEA has found that fentanyl trafficking involves diverse
sources and routes, including China, India, and Canada. Even U.S. ports, FedEx, UPS,
the dark web, and social media are key points in its distribution. Indeed, U.S. financial
institutions facilitate the movement of funds for fentanyl networks. In normal times, a
multipronged approach—one that includes collaboration with allies, incentivizes
cooperative policies, and focuses on health and stability—might rise to the top as the
best course of action. But these aren’t normal times.
Fentanyl is a tragedy, devastating families and communities on both sides of the border.
However, sending troops into Mexico would be a dangerous misstep. While the U.S.
military might overwhelm that nation’s resistance, it would be a mistake to view this as a
win over Mexico. Mexico is the U.S.’s largest trading partner, with over $250 billion in
annual trade, supporting millions of U.S. jobs. Its economy is deeply intertwined with
global markets and trade networks, making its stability and prosperity vital to
international economic health. Ignoring this interconnectedness risks disrupting supply
chains, harming U.S. businesses, and undermining broader geopolitical relationships.
This is not to be ignored.
And yet, the elephant in the room—hiding in plain sight—remains ignored: guns.
Specifically, American-made guns. According to an ATF report, 74 percent of guns
seized in Mexico were smuggled through Southwest ports. The report concludes that if
the same enforcement used for domestic trafficking were applied at the border, illegal
firearms would decrease significantly. Mexico argues that such measures would
profoundly impact efforts to control violence. This concern led Mexico to take its case to
the U.S. Supreme Court in October 2024, where it is currently under review.
If history is any guide, Mexico will never agree to U.S. troops entering its territory. Such
action would force the U.S. into an occupation met with widespread resistance—not
from Mexico’s military, but from its people. Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum,
elected with 59 percent of the vote and enjoying 70 percent approval, commands
significant legitimacy. Her government could rally protests across cities, turning any
occupation into a public relations disaster for the U.S. In this scenario, Sheinbaum
wouldn’t need weapons—just metaphorical sandals (“chanclas”) to hurl at American
soldiers as a powerful symbol of defiance.
The lesson from history is clear: invasions rarely go as planned. And the lesson closer
to home isn’t too different: Actúa como un pendejo y cuídate porque ya viene el
chanclazo. In other words, act like a fool and watch out—the chanclazo is coming.
Mexicans gave General Pershing a resounding chanclazo, and the result was his retreat
with his tail between his legs. Our mothers’ chanclas were incredibly effective: they
taught us not to be pendejos.
Gabriel Buelna holds a PhD in Political Science from Claremont Graduate University and serves as
a faculty member in the Chicana/o Studies Department at California State University, Northridge. He
is also a practicing Family and Criminal Law attorney in California. Dr. Buelna is also a Trustee for
the Los Angeles Community College District and can be reached at gabriel@buelnalaw.com
Enrique M. Buelna is a faculty member in the History Department at Cabrillo College, specializing in
Chicano history with an emphasis on class, race, labor, radical activism, civil rights, immigration,
culture, and identity. He is the author of Chicano Communists and the Struggle for Social
Justice (2019). Dr. Buelna earned his doctorate in history from the University of California, Irvine,
and holds an M.A. in Public Administration from the University of Washington, Seattle. The author
can be reached at embuelna@gmail.com.
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