By Ana Micaela Alterio
Mexico is preparing for an unprecedented judicial election. But far from empowering citizens or improving justice, this reform may erode the very foundations of democratic rule. Ana Micaela Alterio explores how a process framed as democratization could entrench power, undermine judicial independence, and usher in a new phase of autocratic legalism.
On June 1st, Mexico will hold its largest election in history to select the judiciary. But instead of advancing democracy, it may be ushering in its undoing. Originally proposed by former president Andrés Manuel López Obrador as part of a sweeping constitutional package, the judicial reform will be implemented by his successor, President Claudia Sheinbaum, who took office on October 1st, 2024.
While the rhetoric is one of renewal and legitimacy, the reality is far more complex—and troubling.
Framed as a democratizing initiative, the reform proposes to replace nearly all federal and state judges through popular vote.
While the rhetoric is one of renewal and legitimacy, the reality is far more complex—and troubling.
The Promise of Democratization
The Mexican judiciary has long been criticized for its inefficiency, elitism, and lack of accountability. Impunity rates remain high, corruption scandals recur, and access to justice is often denied to the most vulnerable. In this context, a reform that promises to “democratize” the judicial branch—making it more independent, efficient, legitimate, and less privileged—might sound like long-overdue progress.
But none of the reform’s core measures tackle the structural causes of these problems. The justice system in Mexico is not solely composed of judges. It includes prosecutor’s offices, investigative police, penitentiary institutions, and a tangle of procedural frameworks—all of which remain untouched. Instead, the reform is narrowly focused on transforming the method of access and permanence of judicial personnel, making them subject to the ballot box.
“… the reform is narrowly focused on transforming the method of access and permanence of judicial personnel, making them subject to the ballot box.”
This shift affects roughly 1,700 federal positions, plus the members of all 32 local judiciaries, in a two-phase electoral process. The first vote on June 1st will be unprecedented: 881 federal offices, more than 3,400 candidates, and hundreds of judicial posts in 19 states.
The Mechanics of Control
The reform reduces the Supreme Court from 11 to 9 justices, eliminates its chambers, and mandates plenary sessions only. Terms are shortened from 15 to 12 years, and reelection is explicitly prohibited. Justices will no longer be able to issue suspensions of legislation or rulings with general effects in amparo cases—severely weakening judicial review powers.
Even the presidency of the Court will be determined by popular vote: the Justice who obtains the most votes becomes Chief Justice for two years, followed by the runner-up.
But the so-called popular election is only a half true. Before reaching the ballot, candidates undergo a selection process filtered by three Evaluation Committees—one for each branch of government—whose members are appointed discretionally. There are no knowledge exams, no minimum age, and only five years of legal experience are required for Supreme Court aspirants. Applicants submit a three-page essay, five character references, and must have a minimum GPA of 8/10 in law school (9/10 in the subject matter relevant to the post).
In cases where the number of suitable applicants exceeds the available ballot slots, the final selection is made by lottery. Ultimately, each branch of government submits its nominees to the Electoral Institute. But for the June election, the Judiciary did not complete its part—allowing the Legislative Branch (under the control of Morena, the official party) to step in. This mechanism ensures that the ruling party effectively nominates two-thirds of future judges.
And the ballot? Citizens will choose among dozens of names for each vacancy—without financing for campaigns, with only sparse official bios, and no meaningful public debate. The Electoral Institute’s registry of candidacies alone runs 97 pages. The result is a simulacrum of choice: thousands of names, but no way to evaluate competence or independence.
Citizens will choose among dozens of names for each vacancy—without financing for campaigns, with only sparse official bios, and no meaningful public debate.
The Erosion of Democratic Guarantees
The reform introduces other concerning elements. A newly created Court of Judicial Discipline, also elected by popular vote, will oversee judicial conduct. Judges will serve nine-year terms and may be reelected—encouraging deference to political power. These measures place judges under electoral and partisan pressures, further compromising their independence.
In certain “high-risk” cases, the reform allows for the appointment of “faceless judges” to protect personal safety. But anonymity contradicts the principle of due process and democratic transparency. If citizens are to elect their judges, shouldn’t they at least know who they are?
Legal scholars have names for this kind of process. Abusive constitutionalism, as described by Rosalind Dixon and David Landau, refers to the use of formal constitutional change to entrench power and erode checks and balances. Autocratic legalism, in Kim Lane Scheppele’s terms, describes regimes that hollow out liberal institutions through legal means. Mexico’s reform fits both descriptions.
This is not a reform that empowers citizens. It empowers ruling coalitions and de facto powers capable of mobilizing votes or financing stealth campaigns. It sidelines expertise, erodes judicial autonomy, and breaks the balance of powers.
A Democratic Façade
Supporters argue that this reform brings long-awaited accountability to a distant and corrupt institution. But if accountability mechanisms are captured from the start, the result is only greater opacity. Rather than democratizing the judiciary, the reform retools it into a weapon of political consolidation.
Rather than democratizing the judiciary, the reform retools it into a weapon of political consolidation.
We are not witnessing an institutional update. We are watching a constitutional experiment with unpredictable consequences. The entire judiciary is being reset under the guise of popular sovereignty. Promises of gender parity and democratized legitimacy mask a design that may weaken the very notion of justice as impartial and autonomous.
Conclusion
Mexico’s judicial reform is not a democratic breakthrough—it is a democratic risk. It concentrates power, weakens the rule of law, and sacrifices legal expertise in the name of populism. While it promises legitimacy through the ballot, it may ultimately delegitimize one of the last autonomous branches of the Mexican state.
This is not the future of democratic justice. It is its undoing.
Ana Micaela Alterio is a Full-time Professor of Constitutional Law at ITAM (Instituto Tecnológico Autónomo de México), School of Law. She is Level 2 for the National System of Researchers (SNII- CONAHCYT- México).
