{{Firstname|Good morning}}, this past week captured the full spectrum of where we are as a country. High-stakes decisions about supply chains and security unfolded alongside moments of cultural unity seen by more than 142 million people, a record-breaking audience drawn together by a message of love and belonging. From critical minerals and cross-border strategy, to a halftime show that briefly united the nation, to renewed attention on personal safety close to home, this edition asks a simple question: how do we lead with clarity, compassion, and confidence at the same time?.

First time reading? Join thousands of intellectually curious readers. Sign up here.

Recent announcements between the United States and Mexico on critical minerals cooperation reflect a meaningful shift. Both governments are now treating minerals as a strategic North American priority, tied directly to supply chain security, industrial competitiveness, and the upcoming USMCA review.

That alignment mirrors work I have been advancing since Mexico’s new administration took office. In meetings across government and industry, my focus has been consistent: Mexico’s opportunity in critical minerals is not limited to extraction. It lies in logistics, processing, and building trusted corridors that connect directly into U.S. manufacturing and energy ecosystems.

This is why our efforts have increasingly centered on Guaymas. Its port infrastructure, location, and connectivity position it as a natural gateway for minerals entering North America. Paired with Arizona’s industrial base, Guaymas can anchor a secure Guaymas–Arizona corridor that moves minerals efficiently while reducing exposure to unreliable or adversarial supply chains.

That corridor already has a destination. In Yuma, Arizona, the cobalt processing facility we are developing represents exactly what this strategy is meant to support: domestic processing capacity tied to clean energy, advanced manufacturing, and national security priorities. Ports, corridors, and plants must work together. Policy alone is not enough.

We are also looking ahead. As part of this work, we are exploring how polymetallic nodules from the Cook Islands, containing cobalt, nickel, and manganese, could eventually move through this same corridor. The strategic question is not whether these resources will enter global markets, but who builds the trusted systems to handle them responsibly.

The announcements signal alignment. Leadership now means executing before the window closes.

The noise leading into halftime was loud. The reactions after were louder, and overwhelmingly clear. Love won.

Across social media, the response was joy, pride, gratitude. People didn’t argue about politics. They talked about how the moment made them feel seen. How it brought families together. How it reminded them that joy, identity, and belonging still matter in this country.

That is what made the moment historic.

Bad Bunny, Benito, did not show up with anger. He showed up with love, unity, and compassion. In a country deeply divided and conditioned to fight over symbols, he offered something disarming. A reminder that strength does not require hate. That confidence does not require permission. That unity is not weakness.

That message resonated because it is real.

As a Mexican American, as someone who grew up navigating two countries, two cultures, and two expectations, I know what it means to be told implicitly and sometimes explicitly to stay quiet, to wait, to assimilate, to be grateful and not ask for more. My life and my work have taught me the opposite.

Progress does not come from silence. It comes from speaking up, showing up, and demanding better, first from ourselves, and then from the systems around us.

Latino voices are not emerging. They are already here. They are building businesses, powering industries, shaping culture, and defining the future of North America. But belief matters. If we do not believe in our own worth, no one else will do it for us.

Benito’s message was not political. It was human. Love. Dignity. Compassion. Unity. Those values are not radical. They are foundational. And they are exactly what this moment requires.

Healing does not mean retreating. It means standing taller. It means rejecting the idea that division is inevitable. It means choosing unity without surrendering our voice.

United, we are stronger. Heard, we are harder to ignore. And when we lead with love, we move forward together.

Recent reporting involving Savannah Guthrie’s mother, Nancy, has drawn intense national attention to a word many Americans never expect to associate with home: kidnapping. The case has resonated deeply, particularly in Arizona, where the story’s connection to Tucson has made it feel uncomfortably close.

First and foremost, my thoughts are with Nancy and her family. I hope for her safe return, and I wish her loved ones strength, privacy, and peace.

The reaction to this case reflects something broader. For many of us who grew up with ties to Mexico, kidnappings were not abstract headlines. They were warnings, family conversations, and stories that shaped how people moved, traveled, and protected one another. Even when rare, they were part of the collective awareness.

Mexico has historically experienced far higher kidnapping rates than the United States. The reasons are complex but familiar: organized crime, financially motivated abductions, corruption, and weaker investigative and judicial systems. Many cases are resolved quietly through negotiation or intermediaries, rather than swift arrests.

In contrast, kidnappings in the United States are rare, treated as extraordinary events, and typically met with immediate, large-scale law enforcement response. That difference is why cases like this feel so jarring. They disrupt assumptions about where danger exists and who is vulnerable.

The border has often been where Americans first hear about kidnappings, even when incidents occur elsewhere. Not because the border creates the problem, but because it connects two very different security realities.

As this story continues to unfold, it deserves clarity, context, and compassion. Above all, it deserves humanity.

For all the division we feel in this country, there are still moments when the playing field does what politics cannot. It brings people together, if only for a few hours.

This past week reminded us why sports matter beyond the scoreboard. The Super Bowl was not just a game. It was a shared experience. Families gathered. Strangers high-fived. Social media, usually a battleground, briefly became a place of collective joy.

That matters.

Sports work because they operate on simple truths. Effort matters. Teamwork matters. Respect matters. You cannot win alone, and you cannot fake unity for long. The same is true in communities, businesses, and countries.

Growing up around the border, sports were often the first place where differences disappeared. Language did not matter. Background did not matter. What mattered was showing up, playing hard, and having each other’s backs. Those lessons stay with you.

In moments like this, the playing field reminds us of something essential. Unity is not naïve. It is powerful. It is built through shared experiences, mutual respect, and belief in something bigger than ourselves.

We do not heal by retreating from one another. We heal by finding more spaces where we remember how to stand together.

Sometimes, the most important leadership lesson comes not from a podium, but from a field, a court, or a stadium full of people choosing connection over division.

Thanks for reading this edition of my newsletter! I'd love to hear from you. Share your thoughts about what you think are the most critical issues that need to be addressed. Email me at [email protected] or connect with me on social media using the hashtag #Intermestic.

Stay Informed, Stay Connected!

Let's keep the conversation going!