{"id":7600,"date":"2022-01-31T01:32:12","date_gmt":"2022-01-31T06:32:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/latinamericasecurityreport.com\/?p=7600"},"modified":"2022-01-31T01:32:12","modified_gmt":"2022-01-31T06:32:12","slug":"mexican-town-protects-forest-from-avocado-growers-cartels","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/latinamericasecurityreport.com\/?p=7600","title":{"rendered":"Mexican Town Protects Forest from Avocado Growers, Cartels"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Regular citizens have taken the fight against illegal logging into their own hands in the pine-covered mountains of western Mexico, where loggers clear entire hillsides for avocado plantations that drain local water supplies and draw drug cartels hungry for extortion money.<\/p>\n

In some places, like the Indigenous township of Cheran in Michoacan state , the fight against illegal logging and planting <\/a>has been so successful it\u2019s as if a line had been drawn across the mountains: avocados and cleared land on one side, pine forest on the other. But it has required a decade-long political revolt in which Cheran\u2019s townspeople declared themselves autonomous and formed their own government.<\/p>\n

Other towns, bullied by growers and drug cartel gunmen, struggle on but are often cowed by violence.<\/p>\n

David Ramos Guerrero, a member of the self-governing farmers board, says farmers here have agreed on a total ban on commercial avocado orchards, which he contends only bring \u201cviolence, bloodshed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople are allowed to have three, four or five, or at most 10 avocado plants to supply food, but commercial planting isn\u2019t allowed,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

The reason is clear. On a patrol, Ramos Guerrero looks out across an almost deforested valley in a neighboring township. Rows of young avocado trees stand in lines up the denuded slopes that once held pine and fir trees.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is an island, all around Cheran there has been an invasion of avocados,\u201d he notes.<\/p>\n

Anyone who has walked through the cool mountain forest of pine and fir trees in Michoacan knows that the pine canopy protects against heat and evaporation; the thick mat of fallen pine needles acts like a sponge, soaking up and storing humidity; the roots of the pines prevent water and soil from running off the slopes.<\/p>\n

But the first thing avocado growers do is dig retaining ponds to water their orchards, draining streams that once were used by people further down the mountain. And then drug cartels extort money from the avocado growers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have realized the only thing avocados do is soak up all the water that our forests produce,\u201d Ramos Guerrero said.<\/p>\n

Cheran, which began its experiment in self-rule in 2011 by blocking roads used by illegal loggers, now digs trenches across logging roads with backhoes. As far as avocados, Ramos Guerrero says: \u201cWe start in a friendly way, by talking (to farmers). If we don\u2019t reach an agreement, then we use force, we tear up or cut down the avocado trees.\u201d<\/p>\n

If farmers still don\u2019t agree to stop logging or planting avocados, that\u2019s when Cheran\u2019s forestry patrols swing into action.<\/p>\n

A volunteer member of a community patrol heats breakfast before a trek through the woods looking for illegal logging and avocado planting, on the outskirts of the Indigenous township of Cheran, Michoacan state, Mexico, Thursday, Jan. 20, 2022. (AP Photo\/Fernando Llano)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
David Ramos Guerrero, a member of the self-governing farmers board, gives instructions before the start of a community patrol through the woods looking for illegal logging and avocado planting, on the outskirts of the Indigenous township of Cheran, Michoacan state, Mexico, Thursday, Jan. 20, 2022. (AP Photo\/Fernando Llano)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
A sign with a hand painted message that reads in Spanish: “Warning to the community, avocado planting is prohibited,” stands at the entrance to the Indigenous township of Cheran, Michoacan state, Mexico, Thursday, Jan. 20, 2022. (AP Photo\/Fernando Llano)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
A communal police forest officer inspects a vehicle loaded with dried wood the driver had legally collected from the forest floor, on the outskirts of the Indigenous township of Cheran, Michoacan state, Mexico, Thursday, Jan. 20, 2022. (AP Photo\/Fernando Llano)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
Communal police forest officers walk on seized pine logs they found hidden in the brush along the road while on patrol, on the outskirts of the Indigenous township of Cheran, Michoacan state, Mexico, Thursday, Jan. 20, 2022. (AP Photo\/Fernando Llano)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Riding a pair of pickups through the woods, a community patrol of men armed with AR-15 rifles stop and seize an axe, and then a chainsaw from two men cutting up trees. The men will probably get them back with a caution to seek permission next time. The patrols find already cut pine logs hidden in the brush along the road and seize them, heaving them onto one of the trucks.<\/p>\n

Salvador \u00c1vila Maga\u00f1a, 65, remembers how it was before the Cheran uprising in 2011. He was scared off his land by threats from loggers, who then clear-cut his land.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe last threat was that if we showed up there (at his land) again, they were going to kidnap us, we were going to be found in bags,\u201d \u00c1vila Maga\u00f1a said. \u201cSeveral people were killed and they were found in pieces, burned.\u201d<\/p>\n