The delinquency won't use lines associated with their name
In the name of public safety, Mexico's government has asked its citizens to surrender a piece of their identity—linking 144 million phone lines to a national registry before June 30. Yet the act of gathering such data carries its own dangers, and digital rights experts warn that the registry may not silence crime so much as redirect it, trading extortion rings for identity theft markets and SIM card black markets. The measure forces a timeless tension to the surface: the distance between a government's protective intentions and the lived vulnerability of the people it seeks to protect.
- With fewer than four weeks until the deadline, only one in three of Mexico's 144 million phone lines has been registered, exposing a deep well of public distrust that no government press conference has yet filled.
- A TikTok user's discovery that eleven lines had been fraudulently registered under his identity without his knowledge turned an abstract security debate into a concrete, personal alarm.
- Digital rights analysts cite global industry research showing phone registries do not reduce extortion or kidnapping—criminals simply migrate to unregistered SIM black markets, phone theft, and identity fraud, displacing rather than eliminating harm.
- Activists, journalists, and political dissidents face a particular threat: a registry that maps who holds which number is also a map of who can be found, monitored, or silenced.
- The government insists telecom companies bear responsibility for data protection and that authorities may only request records tied to a specific crime, but the law permits data sharing without user consent for broad security purposes.
- Experts are urging a postponement of the deadline, arguing that rushing millions of reluctant citizens into a system with known vulnerabilities risks creating the very crisis the registry was designed to prevent.
Mexico's government set a June 30 deadline for citizens to register their phone lines with the national identity database—linking each number to a CURP, the unique population registry code—as a tool to combat extortion, kidnapping, and fraud. But with the deadline approaching and only 48 million of 144.5 million lines registered, the slow uptake tells a story of something more than bureaucratic delay: it reflects genuine public fear about what happens to personal data once it is collected.
José Flores of the Network in Defense of Digital Rights argues the registry will not deliver on its promises. Research from GSMA, the global mobile industry association, has found no evidence that phone registration reduces extortion or kidnapping. What it does instead, Flores says, is displace crime—pushing criminals toward SIM card black markets on social media, phone theft, and identity fraud. Ordinary citizens lose their anonymity; criminals simply adapt. For journalists, activists, and political opponents, the risks are especially acute.
President Claudia Sheinbaum has pushed back, insisting the measure is about security, not surveillance. Telecom companies are responsible for protecting the data, she has said, and authorities may only request records in connection with a specific crime. Yet the registry's vulnerabilities have already surfaced: in April, a user discovered that eleven lines had been registered under his identity without his knowledge—ten through Movistar, one through AT&T—and urged others to check for unauthorized registrations.
Flores is calling for a postponement, arguing that public distrust is real and that the numbers prove it. Anyone who fails to register by June 30 will have their line suspended on July 1, a pressure the government is counting on to drive compliance. But the deeper question lingers: will Mexicans come to trust a system designed to protect them, or will they recognize in it a new source of the vulnerability it promised to end?
Mexico's government set a June 30 deadline for citizens to register their phone lines with the national identity database—a measure officials say will combat extortion, kidnapping, and fraud. But as the clock ticks down, digital rights experts are raising alarms that the registry could backfire, creating new criminal opportunities rather than closing old ones.
The Telecommunications Regulatory Commission reported that Mexico has 144.5 million active phone lines. Since the registration window opened in January, only 48 million—roughly one-third—have been linked to a citizen's CURP, the unique population registry number. The slow uptake reflects something deeper than bureaucratic friction: widespread public distrust about what happens to the data once it's collected.
José Flores, a digital rights analyst with the Network in Defense of Digital Rights, told El Universal that the registry won't deliver what the government promises. He pointed to research from GSMA, the global mobile industry association, which has found no evidence that phone registration reduces extortion or kidnapping. Instead, Flores explained, what happens is criminal displacement. Criminals stop using registered lines and move to other tactics: black markets for SIM cards on social media, phone theft, identity fraud. "The delinquency won't use lines associated with their name," he said. The registry, in his view, doesn't fight crime—it simply removes anonymity from ordinary people's communications. Activists, journalists, and political opponents face particular risk from a system that tells authorities where people are and what they're doing.
President Claudia Sheinbaum has dismissed these concerns. In a January press conference, she said the measure has nothing to do with surveillance. Telecom companies are responsible for protecting the information, she explained. Only when a crime occurs will authorities request data from the carrier, and only for that specific phone number. The system, she insisted, is about security, not tracking.
But the registry's implementation has already revealed vulnerabilities. In April, a TikTok user discovered that eleven phone lines had been registered under his CURP without his knowledge—ten through Movistar, one through AT&T. He urged others to check the CRT website for unauthorized registrations. Flores noted that the verification process, whether done in person at a store or online, relies on identity checks and AI-powered selfies. The burden falls on users to monitor their own accounts and report fraud.
With less than four weeks until the deadline, Flores is calling for a postponement. The public distrust is real, he said. People have doubts about which authorities will access the data and under what conditions. They're uncertain whether the measure will actually reduce crime. And the numbers show it: fewer than half of all phone lines have been registered. "Let's take this more slowly, listen to people, solve these problems before we continue," he urged.
If citizens don't register by June 30, their lines will be suspended on July 1. They won't be able to use any services tied to that number until they complete the registration with their CURP. Each person can register up to ten lines; companies face no limit. For minors, a parent or guardian must handle the registration. The law allows telecom companies to share data with authorities for security or justice purposes without consent, and violations can result in fines ranging from 23,000 to 37.5 million pesos. The government is betting the deadline will drive compliance. But as the date approaches, the question remains: will Mexicans trust a system designed to protect them, or will they see it as a tool that leaves them more vulnerable?
Citações Notáveis
The delinquency won't use lines associated with their name. Instead, black markets for SIM cards, phone theft, and identity fraud will emerge.— José Flores, Network in Defense of Digital Rights
This has nothing to do with surveillance. Only when a crime occurs will authorities request data from the carrier, and only for that specific phone number.— President Claudia Sheinbaum
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would a phone registry meant to stop extortion actually create more crime?
Because criminals adapt. If you register your line under your real name, you stop using it for illegal activity. So the extortionists and kidnappers move to unregistered lines, stolen phones, or fake SIM cards bought on the black market. The registry doesn't eliminate the demand—it just shifts where the crime happens.
But doesn't the government need to know who owns each phone to trace criminals?
That's the theory. But the research doesn't support it. GSMA, which represents telecom companies worldwide, has studied this for years and found no clear link between registration and reduced crime. Meanwhile, the data collection itself creates a new target. If you centralize everyone's phone information in one place, you've created something valuable for hackers, corrupt officials, or identity thieves.
What happened with that person who found eleven lines registered to him?
That's the real danger. Someone—maybe a store clerk, maybe a criminal with access to the system—registered those lines without his knowledge. He only found out when he tried to register his own line. If the verification process can fail that badly, how many other people have unauthorized lines out there in their name?
Can't the government just promise the data is safe?
They can promise, but the law itself allows data sharing with authorities without consent for security reasons. And there's no guarantee that future governments, or corrupt officials within this one, won't abuse access. For activists and journalists, that's not theoretical—it's a real threat.
So what does Flores think should happen?
Slow down. Postpone the deadline. Listen to why people don't trust this. Fix the security holes in the system before forcing 144 million people to hand over their phone information. Right now, only a third have registered, and that's telling you something about public confidence.
What happens if people don't register by June 30?
Their phones get shut off on July 1. No calls, no texts, no data. That's the pressure point. The government is betting people will comply rather than lose service. But it also means millions of people might be forced to register something they don't trust, just to keep their phones working.