For decades, the beaches of Tulum and the surrounding coast of Quintana Roo were more than just stunning stretches of white sand. They were living spaces of community and freedom. Families picnicked under palm trees, tourists wandered barefoot along the shore, and locals swam at dawn before work. The sea belonged to everyone. No fences. No fees. No fine print.
Today, those same spaces are being reshaped by exclusion. Bit by bit, what once was a right is being sold off as a luxury.
The Legal Framework: Rights That Exist Only on Paper
According to the Mexican Constitution, beaches are federal property. Article 27 asserts that the nation owns all land and waters within its territory. The Ley General de Bienes Nacionales reinforces this by establishing that the first 20 meters from the high tide line, known as the federal maritime terrestrial zone, or ZOFEMAT, must remain free and accessible to all.
Yet reality paints a different picture. Concessions and private agreements have allowed hotel chains and beach clubs to take hold of what should be common ground. Entry is now often blocked, usage is restricted, and access comes with a price tag. Authorities, far from defending the law, have grown complicit, tolerating, and sometimes actively facilitating, this creeping privatization.
The Case of Jaguar Park
Few examples illustrate this betrayal of public trust more clearly than Jaguar Park. When the municipality of Tulum signed an agreement with the concessionaire GAFSACOMM, now Grupo Mundo Maya, the condition was crystal clear: residents would have free access with their official ID.
But the promise was broken. María, a lifelong Tulum resident, recalls the humiliation of being denied entry after walking two kilometers under the sun with her grandchildren. “They told me I had to pay like everyone else,” she said. “But this is where my father fished. This was our place.”
Mayor Diego Castañón Trejo recently admitted the failure to uphold the agreement. Meanwhile, both residents and national tourists continued to face fees to enter what was meant to be a protected public area.
In response, Governor Mara Lezama entered negotiations, and the issue reached Mexico’s national agenda. Senator Ricardo Monreal is now promoting a legislative initiative to guarantee free access to all federally protected natural areas. That such a law is needed only proves how far public policy has drifted from constitutional principle.
From Shared Spaces to Controlled Privileges
It wasn’t long ago that the beaches of Tulum were truly shared. Locals and travelers, backpackers and families, mingled freely on the same sand. Children built castles beside yogis, and fishermen greeted sun-seekers at dawn.
Today, fences rise where hammocks once swung. Armed guards enforce imaginary lines. Day passes and wristbands dictate who gets to enjoy the coast, and who gets turned away.
The transformation is painful. A place once defined by openness is now a mosaic of restrictions. And the irony could not be more bitter: while Mexico presents itself to the world as an open paradise, many of its own citizens are treated like intruders in their ancestral landscapes.
A Political Bargain with Nature
Instead of restoring the full right to access, the compromise offered has been to allow one free day a week for local residents. This might sound like progress, but it is nothing more than a political sleight of hand. When rights are reframed as favors, democracy becomes theater. What should be permanent is made temporary. What should be guaranteed is now conditional.
This is not simply about a park or a patch of coastline. It is about the larger political economy in which land, nature, and identity are commodified. Tourism and real estate speculation have not just built hotels, they have reshaped power. In Tulum, the line between public good and private gain has blurred into sand.
An Unspoken Global Pattern
Tulum is not alone. From the beaches of Ibiza to the coasts of Bali and Hawaii, communities across the globe are facing similar struggles. As paradise becomes marketable, access becomes exclusionary. The right to nature is being recast as a luxury amenity.
But while the battle may be international, the pain is local. Here in Quintana Roo, it’s felt every time a child is told they can’t step beyond a gate without a ticket. Every time an elder finds their old fishing spot behind a security booth.
Memory as Resistance
Tulum’s elders remember when none of this was fenced. When the ocean breeze carried only salt, not profit. Some still walk the coastline at dawn out of habit, whispering names of beaches that once welcomed everyone. In their memory lies a quiet form of resistance, a refusal to forget that this land was once shared, free, and sacred.
A Question of Dignity
Should residents feel thankful for one day of access to the beaches that define their home? Should a constitutional right be doled out like a weekly allowance?
The answer must be no. Public access to beaches and protected areas is not a gesture of generosity. It is not a seasonal favor. It is a right, enshrined in law and anchored in dignity. To accept less is to normalize injustice. To accept less is to forget who we are.
Guaranteeing permanent, unrestricted access is not an act of charity. It is the recognition that these coasts form part of Mexico’s cultural and natural heritage. They are not commodities. They are on common ground.
Until this principle is fully honored, each so-called “free day” will serve not as a gift but as a reminder. A reminder of what was taken. A reminder of what still must be reclaimed.
Perhaps one day, we will no longer need to plead for entry into our own paradise. Until then, we remember. We speak. And we resist, wave by wave.
And at The Tulum Times, we remain committed to documenting this struggle, not as a nostalgic lament, but as an urgent call for justice.
*AI-generated image.