You could say it started with a fence. Or with a handshake that was never honored. But the truth is, the writing had been on the wall for a while. Tulum’s beaches, once free and open to all, are now behind paywalls. And for the people who live here, who’ve cleaned those sands, built businesses on their edges, raised their children under that Caribbean sun, it feels like a betrayal that was years in the making.
Now, the town is preparing to erupt.
A Promise Made, a Barrier Built
In 2022, the federal government, under President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, decreed a new Área Natural Protegida (ANP). The goal was conservation, specifically for the jaguar. On paper, it was ambitious: 2,249 hectares of protected land stretching across Tulum’s lush interior. But what emerged wasn’t just a reserve. It was a new kind of enclosure.
That decree laid the groundwork for Parque Jaguar, a project managed by the military-run Grupo Mundo Maya, operating under the umbrella of Sedena. And slowly, access to Tulum’s public beaches began to slip away from the very people who live beside them.
Now, to reach the sand or the ruins, you don’t just need a swimsuit or a guide. You need cash. And patience. You’ll be charged by Conanp, INAH, and Mundo Maya, even if you’re not visiting the Parque Jaguar at all.
And here’s the twist: not even Sundays, those sacred days of free access across Mexico’s archaeological zones, are respected in Tulum anymore.
The Silence That Followed
Mayor Diego Castañón Trejo had sounded the alarm before. Quietly at first. He met with Mundo Maya. His team sent documents. Agreements were supposedly in place. Residents of Tulum, he said, would be allowed in for free. All they had to do was show their ID.
But weeks passed. Then months.
And then the gates stayed shut.
“No one’s answering,” Castañón said at a recent press conference. “They don’t respond. It’s been ten days of silence. We held up our end. They didn’t.”
That silence, he added, speaks louder than any formal reply.
So the town is speaking back, with its feet, its voice, and its rage. On August 31 at 10:00 a.m., locals plan to block all four main entrances to the Tulum archaeological zone. The call is loud and clear: artisans, vendors, families, tour guides, and business owners are all being urged to join.
“The richness of our land should benefit everyone, not just a few.”
The Making of a Crisis
This was never just about beach access.
In Tulum, tourism is the engine. And when that engine stalls, when visitors are confused, overcharged, or turned away, entire communities feel the loss. Restaurant tables sit empty. Artisan markets slow to a crawl. Dive tours go unbooked. Locals who’ve spent decades building their livelihoods are watching the tide go out, and not come back.
It didn’t happen overnight. First came the changes to the ANP. Then the new fences. Then the new ticket booths. Then the layered bureaucracy, impossible to navigate unless you’re a tour operator or a lawyer.
One local said it best: “They built a jungle theme park on top of our history. And then they charged us to visit it.”
Even INAH Is Pushing Back
The opposition hasn’t come solely from the public. INAH workers themselves have raised concerns.
They argue that Mundo Maya, despite being a military-run tourism group, has overstepped. By managing ticket sales and enforcing access rules, they’re infringing on INAH’s jurisdiction and putting the archaeological site at risk.
INAH has acknowledged that a joint ticketing system now exists, bundling fees for the Parque Jaguar, the Tulum ruins, and the National Park. This change officially began on August 10, 2025, creating a three-tiered paywall that even affects casual visitors who just want a glimpse of the Caribbean.
If you’re Mexican and want to enjoy your legal right to free Sunday entry? You’ll still need to pay to get past the first two gates.
The People’s Beach No More
For generations, the beaches of Tulum were a sanctuary. A place where families gathered at sunrise. Where fishermen told stories under fading stars. Where children learned to swim before they could read. That memory still lingers, but now, it comes with a wristband and a receipt.
Mayor Castañón, visibly fed up, has taken the fight to Congress. He’s filed a proposal to amend the law governing Conanp’s fees, demanding that Sundays and holidays be completely free for all Mexicans, not just in theory, but in practice.
“If this passes Congress,” he said, “they won’t be able to say no anymore. A verbal agreement means more than a signed one. That’s how we were raised. That’s what we believe in.”
Tensions That Cut Across the Riviera
Tulum isn’t alone in this. In Playa del Carmen, similar issues have surfaced, private developers carving up beachfront, security guards enforcing invisible lines. In Cancún, luxury resorts block off long stretches of sand, even where Mexican law mandates open access.
But Tulum is different.
Here, it isn’t a developer. It’s the federal military apparatus. And that makes this fight uniquely charged. Because how do you protest an institution that doesn’t answer to you?
Yet protest they will.
The President Weighs In
On a visit to Chetumal, President Claudia Sheinbaum acknowledged what many had feared: the Conanp is blocking Sunday access to the ruins. She didn’t sidestep it. She promised change.
“There has to be a free day,” she said. “We’re reviewing when that starts. But yes, it has to happen.”
The question now is whether that review will turn into reform, or whether it’s just another well-phrased delay.
A Reckoning in the Jungle
Behind all the bureaucracy, beyond the politics, what’s really at stake here is something simple: trust. Tulum’s residents were promised something. And when that promise was broken, the silence from above only deepened the wound.
“The tourism comes for the ruins, the beaches, the magic of Tulum,” reads a citizen statement. “Not for the Parque Jaguar.”
In other words: don’t sell the illusion and forget the people who built it.
Tulum’s coastline isn’t just a destination. It’s a memory, a right, and, for those who live here, a lifeline.
And on August 31, that memory is marching to the gates.
We’d love to hear your thoughts. Join the conversation on The Tulum Times’ social media.
Should national parks and ruins be managed by the military or the people who live next to them?