Not long ago, the beaches of Tulum drew global travelers like moths to a flame, pristine, spiritual, and untouched by the chaos found elsewhere. Now, at Boca Paila, that golden sand feels further away than ever. Why? Because even locals can’t reach it.
In a bold and unexpected statement, Pedro Pablo Elizondo, Bishop of the Cancún-Chetumal diocese, directly blamed the federal government for what he described as a self-inflicted tourism crisis in Tulum. His words cut through the noise like a warning bell: “If they close off access, if locals and tourists can’t reach the beaches… then people just stop coming.”
At the heart of the controversy lies the Parque del Jaguar, an Area Natural Protegida now under the control of the military-run Grupo Aeroportuario Ferroviario de Servicios Auxiliares Olmeca Maya Mexica (GAFASACOMM), a subsidiary of Mexico’s Defense Ministry (Sedena). The access restrictions imposed there have ignited outrage among religious figures, local leaders, and residents, all warning of a steep and dangerous decline in Tulum’s tourism-driven economy.
A spiritual vision on hold
For the bishop, the issue is not only economic, but also spiritual. Plans for a new chapel dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel have stalled because of restricted access to the land adjacent to the Jaguar Park. What was meant to be a space for reflection and sanctuary is now a symbol of red tape and lost opportunity.
According to Noticaribe, Bishop Elizondo denounced what he called illegal and abusive policies implemented by federal authorities, suggesting they are “trying to fix a mess they themselves created.”
And that’s the real sting. The perception that instead of protecting the environment or enhancing tourism, the policies now in place are strangling both.
A local cry for unity, and accountability
Not everyone is content to watch things unravel. Longtime Tulum resident and city councilor Jorge Portilla issued a public call to action reminiscent of post-disaster recovery efforts.
“We need unity, like after the earthquake of 1985 in Mexico City,” he said. “Everyone, federal, state, municipal governments, hoteliers, taxi drivers, residents, must join forces to rescue Tulum.”
Portilla, who’s lived in Tulum since 1972, didn’t sugarcoat the moment. “We’re going through a bad streak. I won’t say everything is perfect, but we must confront the issues that brought us here.”
His proposal? Go beyond the sun-and-sand model and diversify what Tulum offers. More cultural experiences. More citizen oversight. Less extortion and corruption by traffic officials. And a real cleanup of the public sector.
“Only with true citizen participation, not managed by the government, can we build transparency,” he emphasized.
Sedena’s grip on paradise
The Parque del Jaguar, touted by some as a triumph of conservation, is increasingly seen by locals as a fortress. Instead of serving as a gateway to nature, the park has become a barrier. Critics argue that what was once free and accessible has become militarized and commercialized.
And that contradiction, between the idea of eco-tourism and the reality of restricted access, is hitting the tourism sector hard.
According to informal accounts from business owners, bookings are down. Tour guides speak of cancellations. Locals say the beach feels like a rumor. Even Boca Paila, one of the most unique coastlines in Mexico, now seems off-limits.
One hotel manager, speaking under condition of anonymity, described the situation as “watching Tulum die by a thousand paper cuts.”
Fighting both perception and reality
Adding to the friction is a recent statement by Mayor Diego Castañón Trejo, who urged citizens, media, and business leaders not to “speak poorly” of Tulum in public. The comment raised eyebrows.
Can a destination survive on silence?
Portilla doesn’t think so. “We must listen to the complaints of both visitors and locals,” he insisted. “If we ignore criticism, we cannot improve.”
But the deeper issue isn’t just bad PR. It’s whether Tulum is becoming inaccessible, and unwelcoming. In comparison, neighboring Playa del Carmen and Cancún continue to thrive with open beaches, broader offerings, and fewer headlines about military control or beach closures.
What’s really at stake
Beyond the headlines and official statements lies a troubling question: who gets to enjoy Tulum?
If the answer is only a select few, the town’s identity could collapse under the weight of exclusivity. Once known for its openness, Tulum now finds itself navigating an identity crisis, part spiritual sanctuary, part over-policed resort town.
The Tulum Times will continue following this story closely, as tensions rise and residents grow more vocal.
After all, as one local put it, “If you block off the soul of the place, don’t be surprised when the heart stops beating.”
We’d love to hear your thoughts. Join the conversation on The Tulum Times’ social media.
How should Tulum balance protection, access, and identity in the face of rising pressure?