The American expats breaking up indigenous communities on the Mexican ‘Riviera’
As property developers edge closer to the home town of 5,000 Cocas, the community has appealed to the government for help
They’re heading out on a unique voyage – bringing the community together to discuss their tactics against displacement. The men and boys will spend the night huddled around ceremonial bonfires, telling stories about their heritage, before descending upon the sacred Isle of Mezcala the next morning to discuss with a larger group how to defend their land and way of life. Based in the western state of Jalisco, the Cocas go back more than 700 years and have had to fight off waves of invaders over the centuries.
The latest threat to their land? A wave of American retirees heading south – pretty ironic, given President Donald Trump’s demonisation of Mexican immigrants. Thousands of American and Canadian retirees have settled in the neighbouring towns on Chapala and Ajijic in recent decades to take advantage of the cheap living costs, year-round sunshine and stunning views of Mexico’s biggest lake.
Now known as the “Chapala Riviera”, the area is brimming with boutique hotels and gated communities. Foreigners are driving the growth, having spent more than twice as much as locals on housing and tourism in 2015. An estimated 7,000 expats live there all year round, with up to 10,000 “snowbirds” joining them each winter. Expat community leaders say their population could double within five years.
Property developers have long coveted nearby Mezcala, the home of 5,000 Coca people. With poorly paved roads and crumbling houses, it is noticeably less developed than Chapala and Ajijic. But after witnessing what happened to the original residents of those towns, the Cocas have reason to fear outsider-led development.
Santiago Bastos, an anthropologist who has spent eight years studying Mezcala, notes that (pdf) the arrival of foreign retirees and wealthy Mexicans from nearby Guadalajara saw indigenous residents ousted, often illegally, from prime plots of land, while prices shot up, making the lakeside area unaffordable for many locals.
“We’ve always had invasions by people who want to take control of our land,” says Manuel Jacobo, a 30-year-old activist with a punk-inspired appearance. “We inherited it from our forefathers who fought and gave their lives for it. Our grandfathers used to tell us the myths and legends. We don’t want future generations to lose [the land].”
“We’re not against progress,” adds Vicente Paredes, a Coca spokesperson. “But if there’s urbanisation then let it be carried out by our community, not outsiders. We’ve seen the problems that happened in Chapala and Ajijic, where the original inhabitants have been forced to move into the hills and live as third-class citizens.”
There have already been some unwelcome attempts to develop Mezcala’s 3,602 hectares (8,900 acres) of communal land, which were not only formally recognised as belonging to the Coca people under a 1971 presidential decree but also in viceregal deeds dating back to 1539.
Moreno, whose family owns a mining firm and has shares in exclusive housing developments along the Riviera, denies the accusations. His lawyer, José Soto, says he built the property in partnership with a local resident in a sustainable manner that “doesn’t affect the community in any way”. The locals are upset, Soto says, because “they’ve never wanted socioeconomic development”.
This is not true, the Cocas say. They want to see investment in health, education and communications infrastructure. Mezcala has “an infinite number of needs,” Paredes affirms, describing how they’d like funding for programmes to combat poverty and marginalisation. Mezcala residents have also had to begin patrolling their territory to defend their forests and water from illegal logging or pollution.