Tourism, development, and injustice in Chacahua, Mexico

Lesson from the Lagoon

There is something paradoxical about the 21st-century tourist experience. Rising incomes and modern transport have allowed many more people to travel widely, democratising the gift of discovery and intercultural exchange. However, social and natural spaces are fragile. Visitors might arrive to find the magic they hoped for has been spoiled by relentless commercial expansion.

Tourism provides livelihoods for many people worldwide, and many suffered greatly (especially in the Global South) when it came to a halt during the Covid-19 pandemic. However, the UN World Tourism Organisation expects numbers to return to pre-pandemic levels by the end of the year. It is pushing for “tourism that takes full account of its current and future economic, social and environmental impacts, addressing the needs of visitors, the industry, the environment and host communities.”

It’s not hard to imagine that the needs of these groups might sometimes conflict. So-called eco-tourism aims to embed environmental protection, support local communities, and educate visitors about both - but it needs a favourable context to work. Andrea Sáenz-Arroyo, a researcher in ecosystems and environmental history at ECOSUR in Mexico and author of Un Mar de Esperanza (‘A Sea of Hope’), told me that driving development without the right governance structures in place will simply “replicate the model of extraction, for the gain of a few people who already have capital and assets.”

Las Lagunas de Chacahua

I found some of these tensions at work on the coast of Oaxaca, the state in southern Mexico which is popular among Western travellers. Las Lagunas de Chacahua - a pair of lagoons interlaced with mangrove forests - are a haven for over 800 species of flora and fauna. Mangroves also regulate the climate by storing carbon even more effectively than rainforest and providing nearby regions with natural resilience against storms. The area was declared a national park in 1937 for its ecological sensitivity.

A long, thin island separates the sea from the mangroves, about half a kilometre across of little more than sand, stones, palm trees and undergrowth. Chacahua, the town, sits at the island’s westernmost point, where the lagoon’s crystal-clear waters deepen into the rich blue of the Pacific Ocean. A single track connects the town with a jetty at the eastern end, and most supplies and visitors arrive via a regular colectivo service of trucks and boats. Fresh water is extremely scarce and salt water is often used for washing.

Chacahua draws travellers looking for natural beauty and great surf, and is swept up in the growth of tourism across Oaxaca. Most visitors travel from Puerto Escondido, a regional hub with hotels, bars and clubs which has developed increasingly rapidly since its airport first opened in the 1980s. The journey to the lagoon takes a few hours and involves several stages, but is easy enough with clear instructions. Since the pandemic, remote workers - myself included - have swelled the numbers. Several of the wooden cabins available to rent had signs outside promising good wifi.

I was taken aback to see half-built concrete blocks near the beach, a little way down the shore from the town, and to hear people talk about the spike in visitors, buildings, and cars on the island in the past three years. One shopowner in the town told me that the community don’t want to see hotels being developed. At the end of March 2023, the community council agreed to place a limit on construction: no more than two stories, and no pools. Developers who violate this will be fined.

Crucially, land ownership is communal but divided between families and individuals in the town on the basis of “custom and habit”. In keeping with the ejido system used across Mexico, foreigners cannot purchase land in these areas directly, but they can do so in effect by partnering with a Mexican citizen.

The accommodation that I stayed in, Pora, didn’t appear to be owned by locals since the only people working onsite were European volunteers. When I contacted the Pora team, they clarified that they are Mexican, from Guadalajara, and rent the land from a local friend. However, the area is attracting foreign investment. I heard in the town that several European associates in a nearby development were invited to the council’s meetings but have shown no interest in engaging.

In practice, a municipal agency holds the right to the land on behalf of the community and so would be responsible for enforcing fines. So ultimate control rests with political authorities. As Sáenz-Arroyo pointed out, “the federal government could find out that there is a fabulous mine there and sell that underneath the rights of the Chacahuan people.”

Sediment of injustice

The forces affecting Chacahua have uglier roots. People in this primarily Afromexican community trace their heritage to enslaved people originally brought to Oaxaca’s coastal region by the Spanish to work on plantations, but who gained their freedom through Mexico’s years of independence. Afromexicans have long been marginalised by the Mexican state and their existence has only recently been officially recognised in the census.

In a fascinating essay, Jayson Maurice Porter & Meztli Yoalli Rodríguez Aguilera explain how “historical cycles of oil-related and tourist development came at the expense of environmental health and justice in the region.” Oil-crop industries, themeselves descendents of those plantations from five centuries ago, have “accelerated deforestation, erosion, and agrochemical runoff”. Government officials have interfered with waterways and the coastal landscape to attract tourists. These actions have degraded the lagoon and deprived the local people of fresh water, fish, and their livelihoods.

Now, the wave of post-Covid tourism brings another change in their prospects. Las Lagunas are among areas across Oaxaca targeted by policy initiatives supporting ecotourism: signs in the town advertise a partnership involving the national government and the Global Environment Facility. Pora’s owners, for instance, claim to have a good relationship with the townspeople and offer “an ecologically sound experience” on their website.

However, since the community’s interests have been disregarded so often before, I wonder whether they are really front and centre this time. Are schemes which support greater footfall on the island cautious enough to protect the lagoon and its nearby waterways? Will officials back the community in its fight against rampant development? “Governance is the joke at the party that everyone laughs at but nobody understands,” said Sáenz-Arroyo. Development programmes often fail to send funds to the right people and activities.

Chacahuans have sensory, emotional connections to the lagoon, as Rodríguez Aguilera’s academic research elaborates. Women have come together in mutual support initiatives to care for - and grive for - their land. Their practice contrasts sharply with the market and political forces that have done them injustice. Without better institutions, injustice will continue. Yet the right institutions must mix commerce with respect and create space to honour those ties.

I am grateful to have visited Chacahua, but am still uneasy about what it means that I did. If you decide to travel there, know its history and let that guide your choices. Don’t stay anywhere with a pool. Do what you can to support the local people and their cause. That might be the best kind of eco-tourism we have.