source: NACLA
After the murder of their leader, communities in the Aguán Valley have continued their fight against corruption, impunity, and the pollution of their lands.
May 7, 2025
HISTORICAL CONTEXT – thank you to Calan Institute for Transterritorial Justice (CATRA)
In the 1990’s, World Bank-led structural adjustment measures transformed the Bajo Aguán region of north-east Honduras from one of the nation’s primary sources of fruits, vegetables and basic grains into an African palm oil monoculture destined for export to insatiable Global North markets. Over the course of this process, thousands of campesinos were dispossessed of their farms to make way for massive palm plantations, owned by a handful of Honduran elite.
Since then, campesino cooperatives have engaged in a multi-decade struggle to recover their land, suffering violent repression by corporate and state entities as a result. The immediate post-coup period was especially brutal, taking the lives of approximately 150 small farmers by 2014. In recent years, many more have been murdered, disappeared, and criminalized. The vast majority of these crimes remain in impunity.
FULL ARTICLE
It's a blistering hot day in the town of Tocoa, Colón in northeastern Honduras, but that hasn't stopped thousands of people from flooding the streets to commemorate the six-month anniversary of the murder of climate activist Juan López. The crowd brandishes signs, flags, and t-shirts that read “Justicia Para Juan.” His name has quickly become iconic, referenced with reverence by everyone in the region as a climate martyr. "He was special, very quick and bright," says schoolteacher Ana Amaya. Her voice shakes and tears fill her eyes as she recounts how he used to visit the children in her class. "He truly cared about everyone in the community.”
A candidate for mayor of Tocoa, and a leading land defender, López was killed last September after masked men ambushed his car and shot him dead. At the time, he and his community were locked in a battle with a powerful corporation and the Honduran state over the defense of their land.
Though the community was devastated, they were not surprised. "Violence against climate defenders is nothing new in Honduras," says Pedro Landa, a Honduran human rights expert with the International Platform Against Impunity. Holding accountable those responsible for that violence is hard: "Corruption between government and extractive companies runs deep," says Landa.
This is especially true in the Aguán Valley, where López’s murder took place, and where communities have been engaged in an ongoing legal battle to protect the environment. The memory of López and the relentless despoiling of their land have given them strength in the face of death threats, corruption, and impunity.
Land Struggles in the Aguán Valley
More than 160 land defenders have been murdered in the valley since 2009. Once a virgin rainforest rich in water from the surrounding mountains, the region has been transformed into a monoculture of African palm, a crop whose production is dominated by large corporations, and which consumes massive amounts of water.
Beginning in the 1960s and accelerating in the 1970s, the government began to implement an agrarian reform law. The law, which came in response to years of struggles led by Honduran campesino movements, redistributed land and offered incentives to families who needed money to relocate to places like the Aguán Valley. Thousands of Hondurans made their homes there and started growing food.
Attracted by the massive profits to be found in African palm, companies like the Dinant Corporation began to set up shop in the Aguán Valley.But, in the early nineties a new crop started to gain global attention. Attracted by the massive profits to be found in African palm, companies like the Dinant Corporation began to set up shop in the Aguán Valley. The wealthy corporation, owned by the Facussé family and founded in 1960, was aided in its move to dominate the region by the government’s neoliberal reforms. In 1992, the government introduced the Law for Modernisation of Land, which jettisoned many of the original protections under agrarian reform. This created tremendous pressure on small farmers to sell their land to Dinant. In the decades that followed, African palm colonized the region, pushing farmers to either work the plantations, move, or fight to get their land back.
Around this time, Colombian drug trafficking groups began experimenting with coca production in the area, says Landa. As a result, cocaine operations started to pop up in the jungle, and so too did more militia.
“The Honduran government set up an army base to counter the criminal activity there," Landa says. "Many small farmers simply fighting for their land were then murdered under the pretext of narcotrafficking."
Despite the increasing levels of violence, the farmers continued their resistance. By 2009, then President Manuel Zelaya took up their cause, beginning the crucial work of reviewing property titles in the Aguán Valley. But, shortly after, the leftist leader was ousted in a US-backed coup.
After the coup, fed-up farmers occupied the palm plantations. The response from plantation owners was a spate of murders and disappearances that continue to this day.
To make matters worse, in 2013, the government sold off a central piece of the protected area, Carlos Escaleras National Park, located just south of Tocoa, to Inversiones Los Pinares Ecotek. The mining company is owned by prominent Honduran businessman Lenir Pérez and his wife Ana Isabel Facussé, of the same family who own Dinant.
"So now on the one side they are being pushed out by palm plantations and on the other an iron ore mine is being set to destroy a protected area, and nobody is doing anything to stop it,” says Landa. "This was when Juan really started speaking out."
The Fight Accelerates
In 2013, in response to the mine, various groups joined together to form the Committee for the Defense of Common and Public Goods of Tocoa (CMDBCP). López was an active member of the committee and became increasingly vocal about protecting the water in the Guapinol and San Pedro rivers, used by around 40,000 people living in communities near the mine.
Mario, who wished to use a pseudonym, a 36 year-old member of the Trambio community that lives near the Guapinol river, says the water now has a yellow hue. "The river is contaminated," he says. "Dead fish can be found along the shores. Anyone who bathes in it, ends up with lesions on their skin. Anyone who drinks it, ends up sick for days." He and his community now need to buy purified water for drinking, washing clothes, and bathing. This level of contamination was López's worst fear.
In 2018, after complaints to the company went unanswered, López and other members of the community set up a protest encampment to block access to the mine.In 2018, after complaints to the company went unanswered, López and other members of the community set up a protest encampment to block access to the mine. They named it the Guapinol Encampment in Defence of Water and Life. For 88 days, more than 400 members of the community held strong, maintaining the camp and blocking all vehicles from entering.
After Inversiones Pinares Ecotek began work on the access road near the encampment, the situation spiraled out of control. One protester was shot in the dispute that followed. Then, in quick succession, a judge ordered the eviction of the activists, the camp was dismantled, and the company brought charges against 32 people involved with the protests, including López. He and 11 others were imprisoned but were released after 12 days due to lack of evidence.
Having learned that the government would not help them, the committee then began the work of independently collecting evidence to prepare a legal case against Inversiones Pinares Ecotek. At the time of his death, López was working on building this legal case. He was also standing as a candidate for mayor of Tocoa with the Liberty and Refoundation Party (Libre), the party of current President Xiomara Castro. During the campaign, López repeatedly clashed with the current mayor, Adán Fúnez, over the environmental effects of the mine. Fúnez is believed by many to be directly implicated in his murder.
A Trial Unearths Corruption and Impunity
On the morning of March 28, a crowd of farmers and human rights defenders gathered outside a courthouse in Tegucigalpa. It was a pivotal moment in the fight for climate justice in Tocoa. Heavily armed policemen moved through the small crowd of people. Inside the courtroom, members of the Inversiones Pinares Ecotek group were being charged with carrying out illegal activities in Carlos Escaleras National Park, including the exploitation of natural resources and the use of heavy machinery to build roads. These actions have irreparably altered the biodiversity and river basins in the region. The judge presiding over the case has postponed a final decision until later in May.
The charges were only brought forward due to years of independent research done by the Committee for the Defense of Common and Public Goods of Tocoa (CMDBCP).
"We also have evidence to demonstrate that there were adulterated public documents in the municipality of Tocoa that served to benefit El Pinares Ecotek," says Adilia Navarrete, the current coordinator of the committee.
Navarrete has recently stepped up her involvement in the struggle since the murder of López. She acknowledges the work is dangerous but believes the community has no choice but to continue the fight for their land.
If we don't defend the earth, we will be left without one. Not just us here in Tocoa, but communities everywhere on the planet."We know the system in Honduras is corrupt,” she says. "There are many powerful groups with many interests who are able to manipulate the system, but we still believe the fight for justice is one we can't give up. If we don't defend the earth, we will be left without one. Not just us here in Tocoa, but communities everywhere on the planet."
Mario travelled all night with his friend Jorge to arrive at the courthouse. Jorge, who lives in a neighboring community, used to grow plantain on his land but says now there is not enough water due to the nearby palm plantations.
"The plantain reaches a certain point of growth now and then it just dies. It's a combination of not enough water and chemicals in the soil. I'm looking for a new piece of land somewhere further away but it's hard to find now," he says. Both Mario and Jorge agree that they are too scared to speak out about any of this in Tocoa.
"If you say anything against the companies you risk your life. They have cameras everywhere watching us. We live in constant fear," says Mario.
"Juan Didn't Die, He Multiplied"
After the commemoration walk in Tocoa, the community gathers in the church hall for a night of art and music. The emcee, a young woman in a pink suit, booms into the mic: “Juan no murió, se multiplicó!” (“Juan didn't die, he multiplied”). The crowd repeats the chant until it feels like the entire building is shaking. The air is as celebratory as it is militant, with grandmothers, children, priests, musicians, dancers, and writers all in attendance.
Activist and poet Héctor Efrén Flores stands in front of the crowd to read a poem he wrote for the occasion. Flores grew up in Tocoa, studied law, and worked as a human rights defender alongside López. "We were both drawn to writing," he says. "We believed art should be a priority in society, because where there is art and culture, there will naturally be a better commitment to human rights."
Amaya, the schoolteacher, is a testament to this. "We are looking at a line of martyrs at this point," she says. "We have lost faith in every institution. International leaders come here and talk and talk, but in the end, nothing happens. It's up to us to organize now."
Jaime Jacques is a freelance journalist based in Guatemala. She writes about human rights, migration, food, and culture. She is the author of Moon El Salvador. Find her at www.jaimejacques.com.
