Behind the glossy image of healthy eating promoted by avocados and berries lies a harrowing reality of violence, environmental ruin, and the dispossession of Indigenous communities in Mexico. The fruits, heavily exported to the United States and European markets including the UK, are at the centre of a brutal conflict in the state of Michoacán.
The Disappearing Lake and Stolen Land
Claudia Ignacio Álvarez, a Purépecha human rights defender from San Andrés Tziróndaro, describes a childhood shaped by the waters of Lake Pátzcuaro and traditional music. That life is now vanishing. Agribusiness companies rent land that is legally meant for communal food security, diverting vast quantities of water to avocado and berry plantations.
During a severe drought last year, Lake Pátzcuaro nearly dried up completely, destroying fish stocks and leaving a fishing community without its traditional food source. In the forests, avocado orchards, which consume enormous amounts of water, replace diverse ecosystems. Forest fires, often set deliberately, clear land for rapid conversion to plantations.
A Climate of Fear and Violence
Resistance to this extraction comes at a deadly cost. Communities are caught between corporate interests, organised crime, and a state that fails to protect them. The pattern extends beyond agriculture. In coastal Nahua communities, opposition to mining and steel projects has led to violence.
In San Juan Huitzontla, defender Eustacio Alcalá Díaz was murdered and environmental activist José Gabriel Pelayo was forcibly disappeared; both cases remain unresolved. According to Global Witness, at least 36 defenders were attacked in Mexico between 2023 and 2024, most of them Indigenous.
The political violence was starkly illustrated in November with the assassination of Carlos Manzo, the mayor of Uruapan—a city at the heart of the avocado export region. He had publicly confronted organised crime. His killing, during a public event, is part of a wave of terror; at least three mayors have been murdered this year in Michoacán alone.
International Complicity and the Call for Action
Responsibility does not end in Mexico. The United States is the primary destination for Michoacán's produce, but European and British markets are deeply implicated through imports, corporate finance, and trade deals that ignore local suffering.
For defenders like Álvarez, who now lives in forced displacement, protection comes not from the state but from community networks and international support. The violence is both physical and psychological, designed to fragment resistance.
If governments in importing nations are serious about human rights and the environment, they must enforce binding human rights and environmental due diligence across supply chains. This requires respecting Indigenous consultation, communal land and water rights, and protecting defenders.
Defending the land, Álvarez concludes, is not an abstract cause. It is about memory, survival, and dignity. As long as the international community enjoys the benefits of extraction while ignoring its brutal costs, the violence in places like Michoacán will continue—simply remaining out of sight for distant consumers.
