Mexico's New System for Electing Judges

Well, folks, let me introduce you to something that might just make your head spin faster than a hyperactive hamster on an espresso binge. It’s a mind-numbing cocktail of bureaucracy, democracy, and—wait for it—more bureaucracy. Yes, I’m talking about Mexico’s shiny new plan to elect judges via direct vote. Oh, the joy!

Now, before you nod off and start dreaming about something infinitely more exciting, like watching paint dry or counting grains of sand on a beach, let me walk you through the spectacle. The Chamber of Deputies—essentially Mexico’s version of a giant committee that loves nothing more than to sit around debating while not really fixing anything—recently voted to approve some reforms to the General Law of Electoral Institutions and Procedures. And when I say "voted," I mean it in the way that people vote to decide where to have lunch, except here the stakes are judges, courts, and how the law actually functions in Mexico.

They got 336 votes in favor, 123 against, and exactly zero abstentions. So what we’re dealing with is the kind of monumental consensus normally reserved for free pizza. The goal? To overhaul how judges for Mexico’s Judicial Branch get their shiny new robes—by public vote. Yes, you heard me. Ordinary folks, with no legal expertise whatsoever, will now be electing judges. What could possibly go wrong?

Let's All Elect Judges!

So, the brain trust behind this reform has decided that judges—along with magistrates, ministers, and anyone else who can wave a gavel—are now going to be chosen by, drumroll, you, the lovely public. Yes, citizens will vote for these people just as they do for their mayors or that guy who promises to fix all the potholes and then disappears once elected.

It’s not just the big wigs at the Supreme Court who’ll be thrown into this electoral circus. Oh no, it’s everyone from District Court judges to the magistrates of Circuit Collegiate Courts. So if you thought judging the local chili cook-off was tough, just imagine how much fun it’ll be deciding who gets to rule on constitutional law. You’ve got a candidate list, and you’re picking from people you likely know as much about as you do about quantum physics.

This is all to be done through "universal, free, secret, and direct suffrage," which sounds noble enough, like some lofty promise from a 19th-century political manifesto. And in true bureaucratic fashion, there’s a whole book—yes, an actual book—devoted to explaining how this process will work. It’s called the Ninth Book. Sounds like something out of a dystopian novel, but I assure you it’s real. Every detail is laid out, from the voting process to how judges must meet constitutional requirements, right down to how many paper clips the election organizers can use.

Bring Popcorn on Election Day

Mark your calendars, people. The ordinary election for these legal luminaries will take place on the first Sunday of June, alongside all the other electoral fun and games when Mexico renews its Congress. It’s all hands on deck for the National Electoral Institute (INE) and the Local Public Bodies. They’ll be running around like mad chickens, making sure everything’s in place for this massive judicial reality show.

Let’s picture it: ballots in hand, you walk into the polling station on a bright Sunday morning to choose not just your representatives, but the legal brains of your country. No pressure. And of course, these elections won’t just happen in Mexico City. Oh no, they’ll happen at every level—national, regional, and local. Each level has its own designated territory and jurisdiction. You’ll need a map, a compass, and maybe a sherpa to figure out who you’re voting for and why.

But hold on to your hats. If you think this is just another day at the polls, wait until you hear the grand finale: judicial circuit elections. It’s not just a free-for-all, it’s a hyper-organized labyrinth where each judge is elected according to their circuit and constituency. It’s like trying to pick your favorite book in a library where the titles are all in code.

Now, you might think, “Surely, it can’t be that complicated.” But then again, you’ve never seen a bureaucrat in full flow. They’ve detailed everything, from election propaganda (so expect lots of glossy campaign ads where judges promise “swift justice and lower taxes” or something equally inspiring) to polling boards, ballots, and even time on the telly. Yes, these judges get airtime, meaning you’ll be able to watch their campaign promises sandwiched between soap opera commercials.

This isn’t just a walk in the park with your ballot paper. Oh no. The INE and their local equivalents have to keep track of surveys, polls, and something delightfully called “electoral observation.” Presumably, that’s when some poor souls get to sit in a room and watch the process unfold. Lucky them.

The Verdict? Bring a Stiff Drink

If you thought the actual election process was enough of a whirlwind, brace yourself for the build-up. The transitional provisions are a veritable to-do list on steroids.

Between October 16, 2024, and February 2025, there’s going to be a flurry of activity that would put a royal wedding to shame. The Senate gets involved, issuing calls and deadlines, while committees scuttle around evaluating candidates, ensuring they’re fit for office. And it’s not just a case of ticking boxes. These committees will dig deep into the candidates’ lives, presumably looking for any skeletons or unwashed laundry they forgot to mention. But fear not—there’s a timeline for everything, down to the day when the results are finally handed over to the Senate. They’ve thought of everything, it seems, except for who’s going to explain this all to the public in a way that doesn’t induce a coma.

If this feels like a bureaucratic maze, that’s because it is. What could be more thrilling than electing judges? And, oh joy, doing it alongside all the other political choices you have to make. But here’s the thing, folks: this is democracy in all its messy, glorious splendor. Sure, it’s going to be a chaotic, headache-inducing carnival of ballots, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll work. Or it could go horribly wrong and we’ll all sit around wondering why we thought it was a good idea to let ordinary folks elect people who interpret the constitution.

In the meantime, I suggest you stock up on coffee, patience, and maybe a stiff drink for election night. You’ll need it.