Generation Z of Cherán

EL PAÍS offers the América Futura section for its daily and global informative contribution on sustainable development.

Cherán is a Purépecha town of about 17,000 inhabitants in the Mexican state of Michoacán. Between 2011 and 2018 almost two and a half million trees were planted to reforest an area devastated by illegal loggers linked to organized crime. In November 2011, the Electoral Tribunal of the Judicial Power of Mexico determined that the people of Cherán had the right to elect their own authorities. In January 2012, the first Concejo Mayor was elected, the main governing body of the town, consisting of 12 people from the four neighborhoods.

In this municipality of Michoacán (Mexico), between 2011 and 2018 almost two and a half million trees were planted to reforest an area devastated by illegal loggers linked to organized crime.

“I think it’s one of the strongest scenes I’ve ever seen. There is a street that is perpendicular to the school and was full of people with hoods and long guns. And on the curve were parked pickup trucks. Many colleagues suffered nervous breakdowns.” A few hours before witnessing that scene, on the morning of April 15, 2011, Daniela Niniz heard the bells of the church of Calvary, very close to her home. He thought he was late. Normally, if she heard the chimes, it meant that she had fallen asleep, that her father could no longer take her to school and that she had to walk. So that day, he dressed and left the house as if it were a normal day in his life as a 16-year-old teenager. He didn’t know that this time the bells rang to call for fighting.

Daniela’s sister, Janneth, was 10 years old and had not yet left her room when she began to hear rockets and gunshots.

Thus began for them the uprising in their town, Cherán, a Purépecha town of about 17,000 inhabitants in the Mexican state of Michoacán. The objective was to expel the loggers linked to organized crime who had been destroying the forests of the place for years to take the wood, exerting violence on nature, the population and the local economy. According to researcher Víctor Manuel Santillán, between 2006 and 2011, more than “70% of the timber area” disappeared. Although in those years, far from being a situation of good and bad, “a series of connections” were woven between locals and foreigners “that oscillated between cooperation and conflict,” Santillán writes.

During that period, that part of the Purépecha plateau, in southwestern Mexico, became dangerous. “Shops were closed very early. There was extortion and kidnapping,” Daniela recalls.

Another researcher, Giovanna Gasparello, says that at that time in Cherán fifteen men were killed and six disappeared. According to Gasparello, the area was mainly controlled by groups linked to the La Familia Michoacana cartel and the Knights Templar cartel, whose main business was drugs. To that was added later illegal logging. In Cherán, the criminal organization was led by Mauricio Cuitlahuac, alias El Güero, who was found dead with gunshot wounds in 2012.

Months before El Güero’s death, tension erupted in Cherán when Daniela thought she was late for school and Janneth heard rockets and gunshots.

After about a year of struggle, they managed to expel the criminals and the uprising ended, although for the people of Cherán, the movement is a process that is still alive within a political and social project that they plan to shore up their bases well in a period of 30 years.

In November 2011, the Electoral Tribunal of the Judicial Power of Mexico determined that the people of Cherán had the right to elect their own authorities, in accordance with their uses and customs, always respecting human rights. In January 2012, the first Concejo Mayor was elected, the main governing body of the town, consisting of 12 people from the four neighborhoods of the town. That marked a historic victory for the indigenous struggle and set a precedent in Mexico. It was a sample of how an original people could achieve self-government, claiming full respect for their identity. And it paved the way for women to occupy positions of power.

Twelve years later, this project is still in force, and public policies for forest conservation are at the center of community life. In that sense, Cherán is quite different from the rest of Michoacán, known for avocado cultivation. What was happening in the Purépecha town from 2006 to 2011, the destruction and violence, also happened in other parts of the State and continued to evolve until today.

Mexican government data says that in the State of Michoacán, between 2001 and 2018, more than 260,000 hectares were deforested. 21% were forests converted to agricultural land. Some of this new agricultural land is being used to grow avocado and export it, to meet growing demand mainly in the United States. This demand has produced great economic benefits, drawing the attention of organized crime, which has disputed the territory and that business, killing and disappearing people. In 2022, in Michoacán, the Mexican government reported 101 crimes against the environment.

“Most of the forests that have been conserved are owned by ejidos and communities where there is cohesion and collective decisions are made. When they agree, they establish strong internal rules. There are already 30 communities that are receiving their budget directly. Cherán was a pioneer, and that is a process that is helping us,” says Alejandro Méndez, Michoacán’s Secretary of the Environment.

In Cherán, from the beginning of the movement until 2018, almost two and a half million trees have been planted in the area that illegal loggers destroyed. These are the data handled by the town’s communal nursery, managed by the Purépecha authorities and which works with the financial support of the National Forestry Commission, an agency of the Mexican Government. Four people work in this nursery throughout the year and in the rainy season, from June to August approximately, they hire about 20 more to carry out the plantation. The members of the nursery also say that part of the devastated area has been recovered thanks to nature itself.

Beyond reforestation, self-government has also promoted the recovery and revaluation of many of the Purépecha customs and traditions that unite them with their environment.

“They teach you from a young age that the forest is part of you, part of Cherán, which belongs to everyone. The trees, the plants, the water, they see it as a whole. Then they always teach you that you have to take care of it,” Janneth says. Although that runs in the family, Janneth recalls that after the beginning of the movement, the importance of the forest was somewhat more prominent. He remembers that at school they were taken to reforest and that made them value their environment more.

Daniela believes that, going a step further, it is key to think about that territory, “because there is also machismo, the land is more for men.” That is something that she and her sister are putting on the table, as young people and as part of several collectives that work for the memory of Cherán and for environmental awareness. They question that centralism in Mexico equates being indigenous with being stuck in time. “The more you have to do with your immovable traditions, the more original, and more Purépecha you are. And we think not. That we are people and we are dynamic, so thinking about technology also implies thinking about our autonomy, our rights,” says Daniela. Some of Janneth’s friends write or send audios by whatsapp in Purépecha. “You know what you are, the customs you have, but you can’t refuse current technologies,” says the little girl from the Niniz.

They, within the collective Fogata Kejtsitani, are setting up an intranet: a local network with all the files, interviews, audios, books and other documents that they have accumulated over the years. As Daniela defines it, it is an archive of knowledge taking advantage of technologies as a form of “strategic communication for the defense of the territory”.

To disseminate their content they also use social networks, such as Instagram, Facebook, and a newly opened Tik Tok. “The same thing that applies to technologies, applies to anything. Do not close yourself to any new ideology, any social change. What initially moved us to take care of the forest, not forget about it and adapt to the environment that comes, “says Janneth.

Alicia Fàbregas is a freelance writer and multimedia journalist from Barcelona, Spain. In Spain and some LATAM countries, she has covered migration, gender issues, human rights violations, environmental issues, and travel chronicles for Al Jazeera, VOGUE US, El País, VICE, eldiario.es, The Guardian, and El Salto Diario, among others. 

Social media

Instagram: @fabregasalicia

Twitter: @aliciafabregas