Can paradise remain for everyone? In Tulum, the answer is being drawn in the sand, pencil in hand, by the very people shaping its future.
The struggle over public access to beaches in Tulum has taken a pivotal turn. This week, Governor Mara Lezama sat down with General Adolfo Héctor Tonatiuh Velasco Bernal, head of Grupo Mundo Maya, for a high-stakes working meeting aimed at defending a simple yet increasingly fragile idea: that Tulum’s beaches belong to everyone.
This wasn’t just another bureaucratic pow-wow. It was a gathering with sharp stakes, and sharper intentions. Behind closed doors, surrounded by representatives from federal agencies like the INAH and CONANP, as well as local and state officials, the message was clear: the sands of Tulum are not for sale. Not in spirit, not in function.
And yet, if you’ve walked these beaches lately, you might’ve felt otherwise.
The Battle for Tulum’s Shores
Public access to beaches in Mexico is legally guaranteed. But in Tulum, fences and guards sometimes tell a different story. Tourists are surprised to find “private” signs. Locals are blocked from ancestral coastlines. It’s a quiet tension simmering beneath the surface of Riviera Maya’s tropical sheen.
Tulum isn’t Cancún. Nor is it Playa del Carmen. It’s wilder, more spiritual, closer to the roots. That’s part of why access matters so much here, not just for economic reasons, but cultural and environmental ones too.
The state government, led by Lezama, has made it a mission to push back against privatization creep and protect not just the beaches, but what they symbolize for Quintana Roo: shared heritage.
Coordinated Forces on Sacred Ground
General Velasco Bernal, representing Grupo Mundo Maya, wasn’t just a guest, he was a key player. His presence signaled how seriously the matter is being taken. The inclusion of figures like Elina and Margarito, both deeply involved in protecting local archaeological zones, underscores a broader commitment: this isn’t only about beaches, it’s about everything that surrounds them, the forests, ruins, and the living cultures they cradle.
In Governor Lezama’s own words, “We are working for the people of Tulum, for the people of Quintana Roo.” She called it a process of cocreación, of making decisions not from above, but with artisans, traditional cooks, and civil society at the table.
Her tone was measured but firm. “Yes, you should enjoy the beach,” she said. “But we must also protect the environment. That’s fundamental.”
It’s a balancing act, and one Lezama appears determined to get right.
A Protected Zone With a Fragile Future
One of the focal points of the discussion was El Parque del Jaguar, an extraordinary protected natural area home to diverse flora and fauna. Within its boundaries lie not only ecological wealth, but ancient Mayan painting sites and sacred ruins that date back centuries.
This park isn’t just a tourist attraction. It’s a spiritual and ecological lung. As tourism expands, so does the risk of degradation. What was once untouched becomes trampled. What was once communal becomes commodified.
And yet, amid this, hope remains, as long as the pencils keep moving.
The Human Element: A Local’s Frustration
Take Armando, a 52-year-old artisan from a village outside Tulum. He remembers when he could take his children straight to the sea, walk the mangroves, and set up his small stand near the shore. Today, he says, “You need a permit to breathe near the beach.”
He’s not alone. Stories like his echo through town. Locals wonder: if development keeps racing ahead, will there be any place left for them?
That’s part of what this initiative tries to answer.
Coordination, Not Control
This isn’t the first time the government has tried to rein in private interests along the coast. But what sets this effort apart is its inclusiveness. By bringing together environmentalists, military officials, cultural institutions, and community voices, Lezama’s administration hopes to avoid the top-down policies that have failed in the past.
Still, skepticism lingers. Promises have been made before. But the presence of groups like INAH and CONANP suggests that this time, enforcement, not just policy, might finally be on the agenda.
A government official summarized it quietly: “The idea is that the beach is not a business, but a right.”
What Comes Next?
A follow-up meeting is planned, this time involving civil society groups more directly. Traditional cooks, artisans, and local leaders will sit at the same table as government officials. The goal: to co-create agreements that safeguard both access and ecosystems.
There’s a long road ahead. Environmental regulations must be upheld. Tour operators will need to be retrained. Developers will push back. But a seed has been planted.
The Tulum Times will continue following this story as it unfolds.
What’s at stake is more than sand and sun. It’s the soul of Tulum, the idea that nature, culture, and community can coexist without walls. Whether this collaboration blossoms into real change or fades into more bureaucratic noise remains to be seen.
But this much is clear: when people gather to “drag the pencil” together, even the most drawn lines in the sand can start to shift.
We’d love to hear your thoughts. Join the conversation on The Tulum Times’ social media.
Do you think public beaches in Mexico can truly remain accessible, or is the tide already turning?