Afro-Indigenous harvests: Cultivating participatory agroecologies in Guerrero, Mexico

In the diverse terrains of Guerrero, Mexico, encompassing the regions of Costa Chica, La Montaña, and Acapulco (see Figure 1), a multifaceted tapestry unfurls, depicting Afro-Indigenous geographies steeped in complexity. These regions’ ancestral domains, characterized by rich ecological lifescapes woven through rough and treacherous topographies, tell stories of critical resilience, intricate adaptability, and profound cosmological ties binding agriculture to the living world. Resounding through these landscapes are the enduring echoes of the hacienda system, whose historical tendrils continue to contour both contemporary agricultural practices and sociocultural structures. In this article, we examine the entangled relations between the hacienda system’s historical legacy and the nurturing of participatory agroecologies within “Afro-Indigenous communities”—a term deployed not to re-racialize, but to critically engage with the imprints of slavery and colonialism as economic constructs shaping ecological landscapes and sociocultural ethnoscapes.

We use this phrase (“Afro-Indigenous communities”) with deliberate care, initially employing quotation marks to underscore our commitment to examining legacies rather than reasserting racial categorizations. We emphasize the racialized essence of these geographies, traversing the layers of racialized subjectivities within their multifarious expressions. Our understanding of ethnoracial categories and “community” is mindful and reflexive. We recognize that geographical contiguity does not automatically constitute a “community.” Instead, we employ “community” to signify an evolving, fluid entity—akin to the transitions within agroecology. This conceptualization acknowledges that, much like agroecology, the term “community” is in a constant state of flux, continually shaped by interplays and negations, and existing within a dynamic, negative space. Through this lens, we embark on a rich exploration of the historical, ecological, and social landscapes that inform Afro-Indigenous geographies in Guerrero, Mexico.

Our central thesis contends that the legacies of the hacienda system and the subsequent ethnoracial dynamics have a profound influence on contemporary agricultural practices, power relations, and social structures within Afro-Indigenous geographies. The “afterlives” of the hacienda system continue to shape land stewardship, power hierarchies, leadership, and gender roles. Notably, ethnoracial identities are not monolithic or uniformly embraced but serve as a backdrop that is both historical and dynamic. The historical encounter between Black and Indigenous peoples led to the development of unique ecosystems interwoven with agroecological lifeworlds, and the power structures emanating from these encounters continue to shape contemporary experiences. However, this is not a tale of triumph but rather a critical examination of the precariousness and fragility of collaborative or participatory projects in the pursuit of agroecological practices. The structural challenges posed by contemporary neoliberal racial capitalism, a result of the historical echoes of the hacienda system, create a landscape where fostering sustainable agroecological practices is fraught with difficulty.

We recognize that our argument is fringe. Thus, it is imperative that we firmly anchor it within the geographical context. Our definition of agroecological practices encompasses the diverse fabric of Indigenous knowledge systems, rooted in centuries of precolonial wisdom. These ancestral practices, resilient in the face of colonization, industrialization, and the Green Revolution, were nonetheless subjected to various forms of displacement. It’s here that our argument treads into the realm of the marginalized. This marginalization is evident in 2 significant ways: First, it involves acknowledging agroecology beyond the confines of formal movements within our region. Second, it involves asserting the inherently racialized nature of agroecology. This assertion arises from the intricate interactions between Black and Indigenous communities, a narrative often met with discomfort and denial. In Mexico, where anti-Black sentiments manifest in various forms, merely recognizing Black communities is a contentious issue. Further claiming that agroecology itself is racially stratified invites skepticism or outright resistance. Hence, our argument isn’t just an academic pursuit but a battle against entrenched narratives and systems that seek to silence voices like ours.

In delving into this multifaceted narrative, we employed a blend of historical–geographical analysis, ethnography, and participatory methods. These methodologies enabled us to explore the complex terrain of the region’s history, ethnoracial identities, agricultural practices, and social dynamics, while actively engaging with the people living in these geographies. Through this engagement, we navigated the sensitive balance between understanding and critiquing ecological issues, honoring the socioeconomic realities of the community, and acknowledging the potential threats to educational and ecological efforts from underlying extralegal activities. To capture the richness and diversity of experiences within these geographies, our article adopts mixed styles and voices. This choice is both intentional and necessary. The use of mixed styles allows us to embrace the heterogeneity of the groups and the multiplicity of influences at play. It is a reflection of the diverse tapestry of life, perspectives, and histories within Afro-Indigenous geographies. Traditional academic styles may not fully encompass the nuances and lived experiences of these communities, hence, the blending of styles serves as an avenue for honoring their voices. Furthermore, this approach provides a more comprehensive and faithful representation of the dynamic interplay between history, ethnoracial identities, agriculture, and social dynamics.

Our journey begins with an exploration through Guerrero’s history and geography to contextualize the Afro-Indigenous communities. Charged with this backdrop, we then unpack the theoretical framework, focusing on hacienda and plantation systems, before detailing our research design and methods in the methodology section. This methodology includes our approach to participatory agroecology, which we understand to mean a collaborative approach to agricultural practices that actively involves local communities in the design, implementation, and management of sustainable farming systems, thereby integrating ecological principles, local knowledge, and social equity to foster resilient food systems. The crux of our article lies in the regional and thematic analysis, where we traverse through power dynamics, generational roles, gender, and the impact of external events. We integrate stories and analytical insights, reflecting our commitment to a narrative enriched by a blend of styles. We then draw comparisons across cases and synthesize findings, followed by a personal reflection and the unveiling of unexpected insights. The article concludes with pragmatic reflections about the challenges in employing participatory methods in efforts for agroecological transitions. Overall, this article seeks to negotiate between offering both a panoramic view and an in-depth analysis of Guerrero’s Afro-Indigenous mosaic.

In stepping into Guerrero’s history, we recognize our role as both guardians and inheritors of intertwined tales. Our exploration of Afro-Indigenous communities is a purposeful exercise in piecing together fragments of our own heritage (Moreno Tabarez, 2020). We confront ethnoracial categories, sifting through layers of time, and through this reflective exercise, we approach the construction of these social histories as an active deconstruction and resignification of mainstream narratives that have long shaped intra and inter perceptions of self. Cradled by the Pacific Ocean, Guerrero’s rugged mountains, coastal plains, and rebellious cities have hosted lives from 4 continents and archipelagic realms. Yet, its heart beats primarily to the rhythms of Indigenous and African diasporic heritages (García de León, 2016). This mingling of histories and identities forms a complex backdrop against which we critically examine Guerrero’s evolving tapestry. As we navigate this landscape, we are mindful that we are not merely observers but are intimately woven into the fabric of these geographies. We are also insiders, carrying both the violence and love, the lifeblood of our ancestors, deeply embedded in the histories and futures we explore. Our approach is therefore one of engagement, critical reflection, and, ultimately, self-discovery.

Incorporating a historical dimension to our understanding of Guerrero’s agroecology, we draw upon the concept of “Historical Agroecology” as proposed by Rivera-Núñez et al. (2020). This perspective emphasizes the critical importance of recognizing the temporal and spatial contexts in which agroecological practices are embedded. Historical Agroecology argues for an interdisciplinary approach that intertwines cultural geography, historical ecology, and ecological anthropology, enabling a deeper understanding of how past human–environment interactions shape current agricultural practices and landscapes. By understanding these landscapes as palimpsests—layers of historical human impacts—we can uncover the nuanced ways in which Indigenous and African diasporic heritage have shaped the agroecological practices in Guerrero. This approach not only enriches our understanding of the region’s complex agricultural history but also helps in critiquing the notion of “agroecologies without history” by documenting and analyzing the long-term ecological and cultural transformations that have contributed to current agroecological configurations. Through this lens, we can appreciate the historical depth of local agroecological knowledge, recognizing it as a product of centuries of adaptation, resilience, and interaction between diverse communities and their environments.

Before the Spanish set foot in Guerrero, the region was a dynamic mosaic of cultures, inhabited by groups now known as Amuzgo, Cuitlateca, Nahua, Tlapaneco, and Yope peoples. The Mexica had exerted control over much of the area, but the Yope remained resilient in what is modern-day Acapulco and parts of Costa Chica. The Balsas River, a historic artery weaving through the mountains, is believed to be where corn was first cultivated some 10,000 years ago (Ranere et al., 2009). When the Spanish arrived in the early 16th century, they usurped Mexica’s structures of power over specific territories and introduced the hacienda system, which originated in Andalusia (Melville, 1994). This system evolved into large-scale agricultural estates and was predominant in colonial Latin America (Tutino, 2018). In what is now Guerrero, haciendas were not just monocultures; they were heterogeneous and multifaceted, engaging in sugar production, silver mining, and cattle ranching (Wolf and Mintz, 1957). Notably, the silver mined in Guerrero was so highly valued that it became a world’s standard currency, underscoring the region’s global economic significance (Irigoin, 2018). The introduction of haciendas led to the birth of a colonial hybrid system that interlaced the hacienda model with Indigenous power structures, drastically transforming what is now Guerrero’s socioeconomic fabric (Lockhart, 1969).

With the establishment of haciendas and the consequential reshaping of socioeconomic structures, the Spanish colonial administration necessitated an influx of labor to meet the demands of these sprawling agricultural and mining estates. Consequently, the colonizers, who had already engaged with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, introduced enslaved Africans into the region from the late 16th century onward (García de León, 2020). By the dawn of the 17th century, what is now Guerrero became a prominent enclave of the African population within New Spain (Aguirre Beltrán, 1946). This forced transplantation of African peoples led to the emergence of Afro-Indigenous communities within the hacienda domains, a result of sociobiological convergence and cultural interactions between the enslaved Africans and the Indigenous inhabitant groups (Cope, 1994).

The geography of Guerrero played a pivotal role in the ensuing dynamics and the evolution of these Afro-Indigenous communities. The diverse landscapes, from the rugged terrains of La Montaña to the fertile coastal expanses of Costa Chica, offered a variety of lived experiences for these groups (Aguirre Beltrán, 1973). La Montaña, with its challenging terrain and isolation, served as a sanctuary for Indigenous groups and Afrodescendants who sought to escape the harsh conditions of the haciendas (Vinson, 2009). Within these refuges, the communities could uphold their agricultural practices, cultural expressions, and social structures with a variant though mostly limited degree of autonomy (Aguirre Beltran, 1973; Carroll, 2009). Meanwhile, the fertile lands of Costa Chica, blessed with abundant terrestrial and marine resources, fostered an alternative agroecological system. Here, Afro-Indigenous communities nurtured a deep connection with the land, incorporating and amalgamating African and Indigenous agricultural knowledge and practices (Moedano Navarro, 1986; Lewis, 2012). Evidence of their specialized agricultural knowledges is still visible in rituals related to the rain cycles, crucial for crop cultivation, yet increasingly disrupted by climate change. Other tangible practices include terracing, polyculture, and the use of traditional pest control methods, which demonstrate a sustainable integration of ecological understanding into farming techniques.

Building on Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán’s foundational work in Medicina y magia: El proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial (1963), we propose an impactful expansion to the domain of agricultural practices with the introduction of the concept of Afro-Indigenous crops. Our premise is straightforward: crops cultivated, nurtured, and utilized by Indigenous and Afrodescendant communities for culinary and medicinal purposes over centuries constitute Afro-Indigenous crops. This concept embodies a form of cultural syncretism akin to what Beltrán documented for Black and Indigenous medicinal practices under colonialism. Although the scale of agricultural blending might appear modest, its implications are profound. By emphasizing these practices, we not only broaden academic understanding but also advocate for a political agenda that recognizes and values the intricate knowledge systems of Afro-Indigenous communities. These crops are more than biological entities; they symbolize the enduring strength and creativity of these communities in overcoming oppressive socioeconomic conditions. This nuanced extension of Beltrán’s analysis deepens our understanding of sustainable agricultural practices, crucial for addressing contemporary ecological challenges.

The dawn of the 19th century brought significant political upheavals to Mexico, including the War of Independence (1810–1821) and the abolition of slavery in 1829. However, the vestiges of the hacienda system, particularly the disparities in land ownership, continued to linger (Katz, 1974). The land remained concentrated in the hands of a privileged few, reinforcing socioeconomic inequalities (Boltvinik, 2016). The Mexican Revolution in the 20th century aimed to redress these land disparities through agrarian reforms. Yet, these efforts often overlooked Afro-Indigenous communities, denying them recognition in land rights allocation (Gonzales, 2002). It is important to note, current sources make this argument explicit about Indigenous groups; we extend this observation to Afrodescendant groups with the caveat that these ethnoracial politics are more complex in “interethnic” (Indigenous and Afrodescendant) interactions. This period also witnessed a substantial shift in demographics as populations migrated from rural to urban settings, presenting challenges to the maintenance of traditional agricultural practices and communal unity (Simon, 1997).

As we move into the present, we see an increasing recognition of the Afrodescendant communities of Guerrero, especially regarding their cultural contributions and the unique social challenges they face (Vinson and Vaughn, 2004; Solis Téllez, 2023). However, these communities find themselves navigating a landscape complicated by neoliberal policies, drug-related violence, and environmental changes (Maldonado Aranda, 2012). In sum, the Afro-Indigenous communities in Guerrero stand as a testament to centuries of colonialism, cultural exchange, and adaptation. Their story is interwoven with the legacies of the hacienda system and a rich cultural heritage that continues to shape their agricultural practices, social structures, and daily experiences. This narrative underscores the resilience and complexity that defines Guerrero, a region deeply rooted in the intricate relationship between its people and the land.

As we delve into the complexities of agroecological transitions within communities in Guerrero, it is crucial to contextualize these shifts within the intricate tapestry of the region’s socioeconomic and cultural history, particularly the experiences of its Black and Indigenous populations during the colonial era. These groups, central to the labor systems of plantations and haciendas, played pivotal roles that have shaped the developmental trajectory of the region. Understanding this historical context is vital, not merely for academic completeness but to fully grasp the array of challenges these communities face today. By acknowledging these historical dynamics, we can better understand the specific agroecological needs of these communities and the persistent obstacles they encounter due to their historical and ongoing marginalization. This approach guides our discussion back to the present agroecological transitions, underscoring the necessity of addressing these historical legacies to achieve truly sustainable and equitable agricultural practices.

This discussion works with the concept of Afro-Indigeneity, not to apply contemporary racial categories retrospectively but to acknowledge the deep historical roots and political dimensions of these identities. We are aware of the debates within historical studies regarding imperial systems of categorization, particularly how “calidad”—a system based on a complex matrix of honor, race, ancestry, social conduct, and economic status—rather than “race” or “caste” was predominantly used to categorize subjects in colonial societies (Velázquez Gutiérrez, 2018; Delgadillo Núñez, 2019). While “calidad” may have offered certain avenues for social mobility not seen in rigid racial categorizations like those in the United States, it is important to note that those categorized within this system were still largely subaltern subjects (Boyer, 1997; Rappaport, 2014). Their labor was essential to the operation of haciendas and plantations. Thus, we use these present-day racial categories for Afrodescendant and Indigenous peoples, who might have been otherwise categorized, to highlight their historical role as predominantly subaltern working subjects in the context of the colonies. This acknowledgment does not aim to simplify or rewrite historical nuances but rather to ensure that the critical contributions and experiences of these groups are not overlooked in our understanding of historical and contemporary agroecological transitions.

By integrating this historical–theoretical perspective into our broader framework of participatory agroecology, we aim not just to address technical or procedural aspects but to foster community-building efforts that leverage our unique geohistorical insights. Participatory agroecology involves using participatory or collaborative methods to engage in agroecological practices, emphasizing the active involvement of community members in the creation and application of ecological knowledge. This approach encourages a reflective exploration of how past injustices, particularly those rooted in the socioeconomic structures of plantations and haciendas, can inform and inspire transformative ecological practices today. Recognizing the plantation as a site of both historical oppression and resistance, as theorized by Sylvia Wynter, enriches our understanding of these injustices. This deeper awareness paves the way for a more holistic view of agroecological transitions, emphasizing the need to address not only environmental but also socioeconomic and racial inequalities. This approach seeks to dismantle the remnants of colonial exploitation and aims for more equitable and sustainable futures, thereby challenging contemporary ecological crises and the underlying systemic issues as critiqued in recent scholarly debates.

The concept of the plantation, by way of Sylvia Wynter (1971, 1995), as a complex historical site of both resistance and oppression, is compelling for its mobility in terms of geographical applicability and theoretical versatility. These insights serve as a foundation for subsequent interpretations and critiques in the field. For example, building upon Wynter’s work, Davis et al. (2019) have challenged newer classifications like the Plantationocene, a term that emerged from similar theorizations as the Anthropocene. Critiques of these concepts bring into sharp focus the geographical nature of capitalist overconsumption, failures in waste management, and an unsustainable paradigm of infinite growth, as Moore (2015) articulates. Furthermore, such critiques argue that these classifications, including the Anthropocene, fail to grapple with the racialized dimension of geological epochs (Yusoff, 2018), thereby necessitating a more profound rethinking of ecological transitions that extends beyond ecological and environmental justice, toward a robust challenge to the systems of knowledge production that perpetuate these harmful conditions.

Nonetheless, the discourse surrounding these complex issues is often marked by unexplored territory and simplifications. For instance, renowned academics, such as those in Haraway et al. (2016), suggest that plantations merely represent a form of plant enslavement. This perspective, provocative for all the wrong reasons, tends to overly emphasize ecological elements and falls short in adequately acknowledging the historical violence inflicted on Black and Indigenous populations at the site of the plantation. Such a perspective risks oversimplifying agroecological transitions and attempts to erase the complexity and brutality of human history in these landscapes.

The plantation, a recurring motif in anglophone literature, has often been theorized as a site for the articulation of Black grief and oppression (Hartman, 1997). However, as Wynter proposes, the plantation may also serve as a site of resistance, extending its metaphorical influence to various spatialities with their specific historical characteristics. Still, caution is required when stretching this metaphor. Our useful pivot for this problem is to refocus on the hacienda system—a less expansive yet historically rich spatiality when compared to the grand narrative of plantations. While plantations do offer nuanced perspectives of racial, cultural, and ecological intersections, the hacienda system in Latin America presents a heterogeneous and geographically specific array of arrangements. This regional specificity underscores why spatial considerations are crucial in understanding the nuanced interplays at work (Edelman, 2018). These narratives are often drowned out in the noisy arena of academic sensationalism, where complex ideas are reduced to digestible buzzwords, ultimately perpetuating structures of White supremacy in academia. Thinking alongside Edelman (2018), we can propose a geographically specific theorization that centers Afro-Indigenous critique within discussions of agroecological transitions and participatory methods.

Reconsidering the history of Mexican agriculture through an Afro-Indigenous lens involves acknowledging the narratives shaped by slavery, colonialism, and the complex intersectionality of racial capitalist political economies. While mainstream histories often overlook the encounters between Black and Indigenous peoples, these interactions—characterized by both violence and love—led to the formation of Afro-mestizo communities. Aguirre Beltrán (1946) documents these not always harmonious encounters, highlighting the distinctly Afrodescendant agricultural lifeways shaped within these communities in regions like coastal southern Guerrero and northern Oaxaca. In coastal Guerrero, the hacienda systems, often operating with less scrutiny and greater autonomy from colonial powers, played a pivotal role in these communities. Historical accounts, like those from Hernández Jaimes (2001), indicate that after the Nao de China fair each year, the local mulatto population would switch from serving as porters for merchants to cultivating crops such as maize, cacao, and cotton, or engaging in modest trade to subsist. This cyclical shift in economic activities underscores the deep-rooted agricultural practices that have persisted through Guerrero’s various historical epochs, including independence, the Porfiriato, and the Revolution of 1910, and their integration into global commercial tourism. These historical evolutions are crucial in understanding the current agroecological transitions, particularly those related to sustainable development, which reflect an amalgamation of historical shifts and showcase the resilience and adaptability of local agricultural systems.

As these traditional practices faced various challenges across the decades, a pivotal shift occurred during the early to mid-20th century with the rise of the eugenicist movement in Mexico. This period, marked by efforts to modernize and centralize agricultural policies postrevolution, saw eugenic ideas subtly infiltrating the agricultural sector. Promoting Western methods as superior and more scientific, these policies often undermined the traditional agronomic practices of Black and Indigenous communities (Moreno Figuroa and Saldívar, 2015; Manrique, 2016). From the 1920s onward, the push for “improvement” through monocultures and high-yield varieties intensified, peaking with the Green Revolution, which not only further eroded biodiversity but also displaced millennia old, sustainable practices integral to the local ecology and cultural identity (Navarrete, 2016). These historical interventions, driven by eugenicist ideologies, disrupted the ecological balance and eroded cultural heritage, reshaping the landscape in ways that are still felt today and necessitating a reevaluation and revival of traditional agronomic knowledge that honors both the land and its ancestral stewards.

The Green Revolution, spanning from the 1940s to the late 1960s, brought profound ecological and technological transformations to agriculture, significantly altering traditional farming systems. As analyzed by Moore (2015), these changes were driven by international economic imperatives that aimed to maximize productivity by commodifying nature and labor, embedding these shifts within broader capitalist structures. For Afro-Indigenous communities, deeply intertwined with their ancestral lands and reliant on agroecological practices such as intercropping, agroforestry, and traditional knowledge systems, this era represented a dramatic disruption. Unlike earlier transitions, which were characterized by social and structural changes within local community hierarchies and land use, the Green Revolution intensified the existing hacienda system’s focus on monocropping and expansive cattle ranching, further detaching the agricultural practices from their social contexts. The mechanized and modern agricultural techniques promoted by the Green Revolution clashed with their sustainable methods, which prioritized ecological balance and biodiversity. This period of agricultural transformation not only threatened their ecological and cultural heritage but also highlighted the resilience and adaptability of their traditional agricultural practices in the face of global economic pressures. The enduring impact of these historical shifts underscores the need to integrate Indigenous knowledge and practices into contemporary discussions on sustainable development, ensuring that these communities are recognized not merely as subjects to be modernized but as vital contributors with valuable insights into sustainable agricultural practices.

Agroecology, arguably an ancient system, was largely sidelined by the Green Revolution’s push for supposed territorial development through the colonization of ancestral knowledge, or its westernization. This is notably similar to the experiences of Afro-Indigenous ethnic groups, which have been stigmatized, made vulnerable, and racialized, leading to identity loss in some territories. Nevertheless, this has sparked collective action movements for the recognition of their identities and everything that involves being part of an Afro-Indigenous ethnicity. However, it is important to maintain a critical analysis of these movements as they can work in favor of megaprojects that actively displace peoples in Afro-Indigenous geographies, such as in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec (Rodríguez Wallenius, 2020).

Beginning in the late 1980s and continuing today, Mexico’s neoliberal era catalyzed significant shifts in agricultural and land policies, reshaping the socioeconomic landscape for Afro-Indigenous communities. The transformation was notably marked by the 1992 amendment to Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution under President Carlos Salinas, which altered the ejido system that had provided communal land use rights. This reform allowed for the privatization and sale of ejido lands, transitioning from a system meant to protect communal landholders to one favoring private and commercial interests (Schumacher et al., 2019). This shift facilitated the entry of large-scale agribusinesses, placing small-scale and communal farmers at a disadvantage, often exacerbating existing inequalities among historically marginalized groups (Binder, 2015).

Concurrently, the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), enacted in 1994, integrated Mexico more deeply into the global economy. By reducing tariffs and opening markets, NAFTA exposed local farmers to fierce competition from heavily subsidized agricultural imports from the United States and Canada. This economic onslaught proved unsustainable for many local producers, undermining traditional agricultural practices and precipitating widespread socioeconomic displacement (White et al., 2003). The resultant shift not only transformed agricultural landscapes but also propelled significant rural-to-urban migration, as traditional farmers sought alternative livelihoods in urban centers (Simmons et al., 2023).

The ramifications of these neoliberal policies extended beyond economic impacts to influence socio-political dynamics within rural communities. As ejido lands fragmented and privatized, the rural social fabric unraveled, leading to increased socioeconomic disparities (Binder, 2015). This restructuring of land ownership also reflected in the political arena, where shifts in property rights under the Procede program correlated with a conservative tilt in federal congress elections (Perramond, 2008). These changes underscored a broader trend where the expansion of market-oriented reforms has consistently marginalized Afrodescendant and Indigenous communities, leaving them vulnerable in a rapidly changing national context.

The current government administration’s (2018–2024) ongoing agenda, popularly known as the “Cuarta Transformación,” characterized by policies addressing sustainability and rural poverty, needs to carefully consider the voices and experiences of Afro-Indigenous groups in all of their historical complexities. This is particularly crucial when evaluating the impacts of environmental policies such as the administration’s flagship program, Sembrando Vida. Despite its goals of reforestation and rural development, critiques highlight significant issues: paradoxical increases in deforestation where land is cleared to meet program qualifications, operational flaws leading to corruption and mismanagement, and the problematic introduction of non-native species that fail to thrive, undermining biodiversity goals (Egelhoff, 2021; Santiago, 2021). These critiques underscore the need to scrutinize current policies to assess whether they acknowledge the specific challenges faced by Afro-Indigenous geographies and if they offer solutions robust enough to address these systemic issues, especially in light of megaprojects like the interoceanic corridor in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, which threaten to disrupt entire ecosystems for global market demands (Matías, 2022). It is essential to continually challenge mainstream narratives and elevate marginalized perspectives, provoking a rethinking of the dominant narrative on agroecological transitions, ensuring a comprehensive understanding that acknowledges the complexities of historical injustices and seeks to redress them.

The wealth of literature on agroecology underlines its transformative power as both a social movement and a sustainable production system. We focus on contemporary work in the Latin American context and we sifted through literature that actively included Indigenous and Afrodescendant peoples, noting and lamenting, yet actively working to issue correctives to the casual and usual separation of these subjectivities. This set of literature presents different facets of agroecology as alternatives to the prevailing agro-industrial model, which is often characterized by the intensive exploitation of land, people, and resources (Val and Rosset, 2022). The concept of emancipatory agroecology is underscored, pointing out its political nature and its aim toward radical transformation of economic, political, and social systems. It is not simply a shift in production technologies but a fundamental reframing of agricultural relationships aiming to restore ecological balance, regenerate damaged soils, and improve people’s living conditions (Val, 2021; Val and Rosset, 2022).

In this context, it is important to underscore the historical significance of agriculture, particularly for rural communities and the role of women as catalysts of agriculture. Agroecology is seen as a means to strengthen collective perspectives and challenge individualistic capitalist models (Tardin, 2012; Val et al., 2019). Agroecology goes beyond a transition in production models; Escobar (2010, 2018) argues that it signifies a transformation in thinking and living, redefining the relationship with and inhabitation of territories that have long been subjected to colonial exploitation and socio-environmental transformation.

We emphasize the potential of agroecology to challenge the advance of neoliberal extractivism and provide spaces for the reemergence and expression of Indigenous and peasant knowledge (Mallon, 1995). This allows for the reclaiming of identities and knowledges that have been marginalized and suppressed (Barkin, 1998; Barkin et al., 2020; López Valentín et al., 2020). Agroecology is a means to reterritorialize the world and transform human consciousness, allowing the revalorization of Black and Indigenous and peasant knowledges and life-forms. It seeks to challenge the ontological divisions imposed by modernity-coloniality (Quijano, 1993; Blaser, 2013)—we would adamantly add slavery to this equation underscoring different sets of economic and ecological relations. This literature also discusses the intersectionality of agroecology with other social movements such as peasant and popular feminism, LGBTQ+ movements, and the Zapatista movement. Barkin and Sánchez (2019) highlight the importance of dialogue and collaboration among these movements, contributing to the emergence of new narratives and transformative actions.

Lastly, we also wish to underscore the spiritual and socio-affective dimensions of agroecology. These contribute to the construction of an agroecological way of life and worldview, deeply rooted in the ontological and spiritual relationship between Black, Indigenous, and peasant communities and “Mother Earth” (Escobar, 2010, 2018). In this vein, we highlight how agroecology not only restores productive and ecological relationships but also has the potential to heal the symbolic fabric of human–nature relationships, offering a new understanding based on mutual respect, responsibility, and reciprocity (Quijano, 1993; Escobar, 2018; Val, 2021). We want to be clear that while we support the ideological set of ideas that agroecology is purported to provide, we realize through our own practice that, in practice, it is ever more complicated, particularly when using participatory methods, which are at the core of our methodologies.

There are important abstract and theoretical considerations rooted in practices not only about Participatory Action Research (PAR) but also encompassing a broader spectrum of participatory and collaborative methods, which are interrelated yet distinctly applied (Cornish et al., 2023). To highlight these considerations, we surveyed literature that stemmed out of the Latin American context so as to stay geographically relevant. This influential branch of critical interventions circulates in our geographies, significantly shaped by development politics. In this context, “development politics” refers to the critique and rejection of traditional, top-down models of development that have historically been imposed by external powers, often aligning with neoliberal agendas (Bogo, 2008). This resistance is embodied in the concept of postdevelopment, which advocates for alternative forms of development that are participatory, rooted in local cultures and knowledge systems, and aligned with the specific needs and aspirations of local communities. Giraldo (2018) extends this critique by illustrating how agroecology offers a transformative framework that resists capitalist accumulation models, emphasizes ecological and community well-being, and redefines development practices to align with local and Indigenous values. His analysis further helps us clarify the context of postdevelopment, positioning agroecology not just as an alternative agricultural practice but as a fundamental shift in developmental philosophy.

These ideas are particularly poignant in regions like Colombia, where peasant communities have often intersected their struggles for land and rights with broader political and armed conflicts (Fals Borda, 1968; 1991; 2001; Escobar, 2010). Reflecting on Illich’s critique in “Disabling Professions,” we recognize that professionalized agroecology can inadvertently lead to disempowerment, creating dependencies by imposing external expertise over local knowledge (Illich, 2016). In the realm of agroecology, it is crucial to avoid these pitfalls by promoting processes that are radically transformative, emphasizing autonomy and resisting cooptation (Giraldo and Rosset, 2023). PAR plays a pivotal role here as it empowers farmers and local communities, situating them at the core of the transformation process, and encourages a holistic appraisal of the situation that captures both the nuances of individual farms and the broader societal context (Guzmán Casado and Alonso Mielgo, 2007). By promoting an empowering and participatory approach, De Grammont (2006) argues that PAR ensures the assimilation of the realities, needs, aspirations, and beliefs of the beneficiaries into the (post)development processes, thereby empowering these beneficiaries to transition from passive recipients to active contributors endowed with more dynamic tools to negotiate their agency and autonomy.

Moreover, PAR stimulates social changes and fosters strategies for sustainable transition at various levels—from single farms to entire communities (Castillo and Vazquez, 2003). Its iterative process involves distinct stages: participant observation, participative research, participative action, and evaluation, each necessitating a high level of interaction with social actors, the formation of working groups, and the execution of actions and strategies (Cárdenas Grajales, 2009). PAR accentuates the importance of networking and collaboration, fostering an environment where groups with similar interests can share information, support each other, and collaborate on joint actions (Méndez and Gliessman, 2002). Through the process of continuous evaluation and learning, PAR tracks indicators to assess the effectiveness of implemented actions and changes, providing not just a measure of success but insights for required adjustments (Guzmán Casado and Alonso Mielgo, 2007).

PAR provides a more comprehensive and multilevel approach to agroecological transitions (Masera et al., 1999; Astier and Holland, 2005). It addresses the knowledge gap in conventional research methods by acknowledging the local population’s rich experiential knowledge, resulting in solutions that are more context specific, culturally sensitive, and applicable (Freire, 1997). Breaking away from the top-down approach of traditional agricultural models, PAR decentralizes hierarchical relationships and encourages a democratic and collaborative environment (Fals Borda, 1991; 2001). This allows all stakeholders to contribute equally to the problem-solving process, leading to more effective and inclusive solutions. Additionally, PAR may enhance the resilience and adaptability of agroecosystems, equipping communities to better respond to changes and challenges, such as climate change or market shifts.

Beyond its technical and ecological implications, PAR also serves as a tool for sociopolitical empowerment, stimulating marginalized communities to take control of their situations, enhance their capacities, and challenge preexisting power structures (Fals Borda, 2001). However, the practice of agroecology and its implementation through PAR, as in any socially embedded process, are fraught with complications. PAR is a messy, nonuniversal, and nonlinear process, contrary to some portrayals in the literature that paint an overly simplistic picture of success stories (Chari, 2021). Often, the iterative nature of PAR means circling back to earlier stages of the process, leapfrogging over others, and then returning to them later. This ebb and flow, while inherent to the PAR process, can lead to missteps, conflicts, and at times, even collapse of the initiative. There’s always a risk of the “too many cooks in the kitchen” scenario, with a multitude of views and interests potentially leading to a lack of consensus or direction.

Despite these challenges, it’s crucial to remember that the strength of PAR lies precisely in its adaptive and iterative nature. Its nonlinear progression is not a flaw, but rather a reflection of the complex realities of agroecology and the dynamics within “communities,” or local groups working toward community building efforts. Indeed, the tensions and struggles are often an integral part of the journey toward more equitable and sustainable agroecosystems. However, it’s essential to recognize and address these challenges in the implementation of PAR. Current literature often showcases an idealized version of this process, with a focus on successful stories of solidarity and community cohesion. While these stories are undoubtedly inspiring and important, they can sometimes create an unrealistic expectation of PAR as a smooth, linear process. In reality, the application of PAR is far more complex, demanding both perseverance and flexibility from all involved parties. We need more honest, critical assessments of PAR, emphasizing its challenges, complexities, and the nonlinear trajectories of many projects. By doing so, we can codevelop a more nuanced understanding of PAR as a tool for agroecological transition and be better equipped to navigate its challenges in practice. We present our work in this critical reflexive context.

Our research in Guerrero not only seeks to understand the communities themselves but also to contextualize the historical forces shaping their current circumstances and their expressed need for agroecological transitions. This historical backdrop is crucial as it informs the specific challenges and “historical baggage” that may impact these transitions. Our study employed diverse methodologies to capture this depth of understanding: Ulises Moreno-Tabarez (UMT) undertook an extensive ethnographic journey, which began as a personal exploration of ancestral ties and evolved into a comprehensive immersive research experience. In parallel, Uriel Winston Cabrera Tena (UWCT) and María Concepción López Ojeda (MCLO) implemented a PAR approach, focusing on colearning, facilitation, and community empowerment. These varied approaches were united by a commitment to deep engagement, allowing us to grasp the nuanced realities of the communities we studied—their needs, historical contexts, and aspirations. This multifaceted understanding is pivotal as we navigate the complexities of advocating for and implementing agroecological transitions that are not only sustainable but also historically and culturally informed.

Acknowledging our positionality is crucial: While we are part of academia, at the time of our research, none of us were officially anchored to an academic institution. Our engagement was motivated by personal commitments and the shared desire to address the social challenges that affect us and our communities directly. As natives and residents of this region, we are inherently embedded in its geopolitics, influencing and influenced by the local dynamics. This insider position enabled us to engage with our communities on a level of mutual understanding and respect, fostering a collaborative environment where knowledge and solutions are cocreated.

Our research journeys were marked by an iterative process of knowledge sharing, rich with debates and discussions. We conducted our research projects independently of one another; our knowledge sharing process started in July 2022, and we’ve been developing these arguments alongside the communities with whom we worked, as well as other pedagogical activities (reading groups, online discussion forums, and (in)formal gatherings). This process has allowed for continuous refinement of our understandings and assumptions, ensuring that our work remains responsive and respectful to the communities with whom we are deeply connected. In what follows, we narrate our relative experiences and return to this collective voice to talk about our process of collective data analysis.

UMT: My research journey, which spanned from July 2019 to March 2022, began as a personal project aimed at piecing together the undocumented social history of my family in the easternmost part of Costa Chica in Guerrero. What started as a modest effort to understand my roots evolved into a comprehensive ethnographic study, encompassing the central city of Ometepec and neighboring municipalities such as Azoyu, Xochistlahuaca, Tlacoachistlahuaca, and Cuajinicuilapa. This project, unexpectedly extended by the global pandemic, transformed into an open-ended exploration. Being immunocompromised, I found the rural landscape to be a sanctuary during the pandemic, offering both safety and a unique extended research opportunity. This period highlighted the challenges of accessing health care in rural areas, intensified by the global pandemic and local unpreparedness. Compounding these difficulties were the effects of industrial agricultural practices, which depleted local resources and contributed to health issues within the community, thereby exacerbating the public health crisis.

Using exploratory ethnographic methods, I engaged with existing networks of artists, artisans, activists, academics, government workers, and peasants, expanding these connections beyond their local scopes to foster a broader regional network. This expansion was essential, as each municipality possesses a distinct identity, often distinctly Indigenous or Afrodescendant, with few overlaps. By bridging these groups, I aimed to facilitate a more complex dialogue that acknowledged and respected these unique cultural identities while working through “positive difference,” the coproduction of solidarity through heterogeneity (Massey, 2005). Volunteering my skills, I offered workshops on development from an international perspective and involved myself in various community tasks (see Figure 2). This approach not only allowed for an immersive experience but also enabled the adaptation of our collaborative efforts to the specific needs and dynamics of each group.

Guided organically by the experiences and narratives of the participants, my research led me to identify key themes like the interactions between rural and urban development, intersections of Black and Indigenous encounters, and localized political ecological conflicts. Participatory agroecology emerged as a prominent theme from the diverse interactions among groups of different generations and abilities. Over 3 years, I collected data through participant observations and interviews, dedicating Sundays to the Ejército Zapatista Libertador del Sur Asociación Civil (EZLS A.C.) cooperative. EZLS A.C. is a regional cooperative that, in its name, pays homage to Emiliano Zapata’s guerrila army during the Mexican Revolution as well as the Zapatista group that led the 1994 uprising in Chiapas. EZLS A.C. are what remains of Union Regional de Ejidos de la Costa Chica de Guerrero (URECCh), a powerful collective of ejido ranchers who, from 1982 to 2005, produced and cooperatively sold agricultural products, including honey, hibiscus, sesame, corn, and other products internationally to buyer cooperatives in Germany, Japan, and the United States (Mendoza Espinosa, 2003). URECCh was disbanded after they aligned themselves with a political party who drained their resources for political purposes in their attempt to hold on to power. EZLS A.C. was formed in 2018, when URECCh’s founding members decided to take up social organizing once more.

In this phase of my work, I collaborated closely with EZLS A.C.’s organizing committee and various members. Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, I actively participated in discussions, scrutinized their operations, and contributed to a couple of agroecological projects (see Figure 3). This engagement facilitated forging substantial bonds and experiencing thick roots of knowledge, perspectives, and histories spanning ages, abilities, ethnoracial dynamics, and socioeconomic statuses. My data analysis strategy was fluid, each conversation, observation, and anecdote adding layers of themes to my field notes. One of the salient themes was the power dynamics before and during the pandemic, their evolution, and strides toward communal or participatory agroecology which I understand as an approach to agroecology that actively involves community members in all phases of agricultural and ecological management. Throughout, I prioritized understanding and honoring participants’ boundaries and valued their distinct insights. The complexity of managing interpersonal relations was accentuated by the context in which they were situated, rather than a purely analytical lens which would demand we highlight the legacy of slavery and colonialism.

In this phase of my work, I intentionally adopted a role that emphasized humility and a learner’s mindset, referred to as the “curious observer” approach (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007). This stance, influenced by Mikhail Bakhtin’s concept of dialogism and inspired by the discursive tactics of scholars like Haraway (1988) and Tsing (2015), aimed to recognize the partiality and situatedness of one’s understanding. Rather than asserting authority, my role was designed to facilitate dialogues and create learning spaces where all participants could share knowledge on equal footing. This approach actively employed humor and self-deprecation—not to diminish my role but as strategic tools to engage more deeply with community members. Humor, especially when it involves self-deprecation, serves as a powerful means of communication that can express trust and affection, crucial for building rapport and fostering open exchanges. In the local cultural context, these interactions often involve a playful exchange of barbs (“albur”), which, while sometimes bordering on the risqué, are customary and reflect a deeper sense of communal trust. By participating equally in this exchange—both dishing out and receiving—I worked to challenge conventional academic hierarchies and positivist expectations, thereby enhancing the depth and authenticity of our engagements and ensuring the research process was participative and mutually enlightening.

UWCT and MCLO: We employed PAR methods in our community educational work which ran from May 2019 to April 2022. While ethnographic methods can employ PAR, PAR does not equate to ethnography as it does not require such in-depth immersion with the researched locality or culture (Hemment, 2007). Our methods were designed to be more direct, short-term, yet continuous, participatory, and action-oriented, aligning more with PAR principles around the world (Cornish et al., 2023). We worked in different localities, which we referred to as collective learning communities. In each community, we began by identifying issues that were collectively recognized as priority territorial challenges. These communities were Ahuexotitlán in the municipality of Chilapa de Álvarez, Palma y Palo Gordo in the municipality of Juan R. Escudero, and Ejido Nuevo in the Acapulco de Juárez municipality (see Figure 4, map includes a visual of all of our research sites, elaborated by MCLO using Google Earth). To lend credibility and manage resources for community outreach, we registered the civil association, Biólogos por el Ambiente y la Actualización Educativa A.C. which gave us an entry point as professional workshop facilitators.

We reached out to our educational networks to engage closely with communities in which we offered interactive agroecology workshops. This helped us understand the local issues and barriers to group, collaborative work. As facilitators, we navigated networks to find entry points, one of which was the Telebachillerato Comunitario #033 in Ahuexotitlán (see Figure 5). We worked directly with local youth groups, conducting discussions about the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals and, through knowledge exchange dialogues, how they relate to the specific challenges faced by their community. We had similar processes in the Palma and Palo Gordo localities (see Figures 6 and 7), where our entry points were the local ejido assemblies. These assemblies are pivotal in managing their ejido lands, which, despite undergoing significant privatization on a national level, locally this ejido continues to serve as vital center of and for communal life and agriculture. Our goal was not only to understand their geohistorical context but also to engage the community in finding potential solutions to the problems they expressed. This collaborative dialogue allowed us to align our objectives with the priorities of the community, specifically those related to poverty, hunger, health and well-being, clean water and sanitation, sustainable cities and communities, and climate action. The questions we asked were designed to provoke thoughtful responses and encourage the sharing of traditional agricultural knowledge. Rather than merely documenting these practices, we aimed to foster a space where this wisdom could be appreciated, understood, and integrated with modern agroecological practices. In this way, our role was not only educators or re-educators (again, reinforcing their already existing knowledge systems), but also as intermediaries of a space for knowledge sharing and accompaniment through community building processes.

By engaging in this way, we were not merely passive observers of culture but active participants in fostering change. Our approach recognized the community members as experts of their own experience, providing them with the tools and resources to articulate their needs, share their knowledge, and shape their own future. Through our work, we hoped to empower these communities to take control of their agricultural practices, enhance their resilience, and improve their overall well-being. This work, as we will show, is easier said than done.

As the last leg of our collective experiences, we—the researchers—engaged in a knowledge exchange process which itself altered the ways in which we conceptualized or framed our existing methods and methodologies. Two methodological themes emerged from these discussions which will also feed into our resulting insights. First, our encounters with ethnoracial categories within the coastal lands of Guerrero were marked by the intricate negotiation of identities. While these categories may not be actively assumed by local communities, they nonetheless carry significant sociohistorical weight, often manifesting in phenotypic or sociocultural forms. These are geographies where Black, Indigenous, and especially Afro-Indigenous biocultural markers coalesce, illustrating the complex interplay of identity, heritage, and economic racialization deeply embedded in legacies of colonialism and slavery. In recognizing these contexts, we made a conscious effort to engage with, rather than impose or actively ignore, ethnoracial categories in their present and absent expressions, acknowledging the intricacies of identity formation, and the sociohistorical processes that continue to influence them. This includes the contemporary social justice movements employing ethnoracial categories yet, as Moreno-Tabarez (2020) documents, struggle to incorporate any meaningful environmental concerns into their agendas.

Second, our participatory methodologies, while rich in insights, were inevitably messy, especially during knowledge exchange sessions. These occasions were characterized by vibrant discussions and, occasionally, tensions, particularly around the tendency to tell successful stories of solidarity. While such narratives can inspire, they may also obscure the persistent institutional and structural barriers confronting PAR in its different iterations and in the context of agroecology. Amid the push for optimism and ideological box-ticking that champions the so-called “Cuarta Transformación,” we recognize the risk of glossing over the internal top-down logic that state-led agroecological transformations often carry. This approach not only circumvents genuine participatory dialogue but also risks undermining the sustainable impact of these policies. In essence, our journey has underscored the importance of critically engaging with ethnoracial categories and the complexities of participatory methodologies, reminding us of the need for continuous reflection, adaptation, and learning in our work.

Our exploration of our collective work, particularly during our data analysis, necessitated an understanding of the complex interconnectedness between Acapulco, Costa Chica, and La Montaña’s regional geographies. Although our scope didn’t encompass these regions entirely, the insights gleaned from specific localities within them were helpful, unveiling shared or interconnected histories integral to understanding the contemporary challenges these communities confront concerning agroecological transitions. For us, these 3 distinct regions, each with its unique cultural and historical tapestry, are bound by a common legacy—the hacienda system. Introduced during the colonial era, this system was centered around vast estates, both secular and ecclesiastical, controlled by a select few Spaniards.

The enduring impacts of the hacienda system subtly yet significantly influence the present socio-environmental realities of these regions. Even though this diverse land tenure system was abolished in the 1930s, its remnants continue to mold current land use practices (cattle ranching and monocultures), social hierarchies (where powerful families—caciques—maintained control), and economic structures (racial capitalism and its local variations). These historical legacies contribute directly to the obstacles faced in the path of agroecological transitions, making it challenging for these communities to adopt sustainable agricultural practices.

A unique aspect of these haciendas was their ecclesiastical ownership, with a significant portion of the estates being controlled by the Catholic Church. This introduced another layer of religious and socio-affective dimensions to land ownership and usage. On one hand, Indigenous peoples’ relationships to these colonial land structures were complex and often fraught, marked by forced displacement or subordination (Dehouve, 2002). On the other hand, Afrodescendant populations, who were significant contributors to upholding these structures through similar complex power arrangements with these land structures, are frequently omitted in agrarian historical narratives, which tend to spotlight the experiences of Indigenous groups more (e.g., Van Rankin-Anaya, 2023).

Our exploration of these regions’ narratives emphasizes the importance of acknowledging the aftereffects of the hacienda system in shaping their current struggles and future possibilities. The intertwined histories of these regions serve as the backdrop for our exploration of the ongoing agroecological transitions. Our exploration of Acapulco’s transformative journey served as a window into the enduring legacies of the hacienda system, such as the urban–rural disconnect, cultural erosion, environmental degradation, labor exploitation, monoculture farming, and land inequality. These residual effects of the system intricately weave into the city’s modern narrative, subtly shaping its socio-environmental dynamics. Acapulco, once a significant global trading hub during the Manila Galleons era, later emerged as an international tourist destination from the 1940s. This rapid transformation, while lucrative, sparked unplanned urbanization, a manifestation of the enduring urban–rural disconnect for which the hacienda system had laid the groundwork. Acapulco’s transformation into a global tourist destination led to rampant urbanization, causing serious environmental issues. Government’s decision to put tourism at the forefront of urbanization processes resulted in detrimental practices such as the disposal of untreated sewage into beaches and other local waterways, accompanied by insufficient investment in their maintenance (Salgado Bautista et al., 2022). Furthermore, the local populations found their lives drastically altered, pushed away from agricultural livelihoods and compelled toward urbanization. These changes were accompanied by government policies promoting the excessive use of fertilizers, leading to further environmental degradation through soil erosion (Moreno-Tabarez, 2020). The drive toward urban development and agricultural practices skewed toward monoculture led to clear patterns of land inequality and cultural erosion. Local communities faced the erosion of their traditional agrarian lifestyles, as they were encouraged to shift to urban living and adopt modern agricultural practices.

Examining the issues we face in these regions through an interdisciplinary lens, urbanization emerges as a compelling force shaping both sociocultural landscapes and environmental trajectories and their contemporary challenges in adopting agroecological processes. This is an obvious theme for Acapulco with its historic importance as a central port city, yet this turn toward urban life, itself a lingering imprint of the hacienda system, has led to a notable displacement of traditional rural identities and lifestyles. Urbanization is not just a physical transformation but engenders a shifting matrix of social hierarchies, power dynamics, and cultural attitudes. It is especially palpable within regions like Costa Chica and La Montaña, where the move toward urbanization is a source of both internal tension and division. Concurrently, the allure of the urban world, often perceived as a marker of “progress” and “modernity,” threatens the continuity of traditional agrarian practices, often relegating them as outdated relics of the past. This mindset, which we call “aspirational urbanity,” poses a substantial hurdle to the implementation of participatory agroecological projects and processes.

The concept of “aspirational urbanity” is rich and diverse, drawing from a myriad of global sources, resources, and discourses. Its roots are deeply personal, tracing back to individual experiences of migration that leave lasting imprints. During our fieldwork, we frequently observed a poignant trend—a large portion of the younger generation, typically in their late 10s or early 20s, were brought up by their grandparents due to their parents’ migration. These young people’s formative years were steeped in narratives of their parents’ journeys toward bigger cities or northern regions like the United States and Canada in pursuit of better opportunities. Consequently, these stories of migration play a vital role in fueling their urban aspirations, shaping their perceptions of “progress” and “prosperity.”

Through these narratives, the appeal of urban life, as experienced by their parents (even if they live rural lives in the “north”), permeates their worldviews, stoking desires for a life beyond the confines of their agrarian localities. This complex intersection of migration, urban aspiration, and generational shifts frames a rich context within which to understand the challenges these communities face in agroecological transitions. Therefore, migration not only physically relocates individuals but also catalyzes shifts in social and cultural orientations. It helps to cultivate the allure of urbanity, shaping individual aspirations, perceptions, and expectations. As a consequence, these evolving aspirations exert a profound influence on how these communities perceive and interact with their agrarian roots, thereby creating both tangible and intangible barriers to the widespread adoption of agroecological practices.

The introduction and proliferation of agro-industrial products have substantially altered the agricultural timeline for many farmers, transforming their perception of time and productivity. Traditional agroecological practices in these regions are not just farming techniques but interwoven narratives of life, culture, and spirituality in all of its regional syncretic expressions. These understandings of time are deeply embedded in the cultural lifeblood of the region. Festivals, ritualistic offerings, altars, dances, and holidays are scheduled around key agricultural events, reinforcing the bond between farming activities and cultural expressions. Other cultural practices that illustrate this linkage include traditional storytelling, communal feasting, seasonal music, craft making using farm produce, and even specific agricultural rites like seed blessing ceremonies or harvest thanksgiving rituals. Local cosmologies and mythologies often feature agricultural deities or narratives, further cementing the intimate relationship between farming cycles and spiritual beliefs.

However, this intricate interplay of agriculture and culture is increasingly disrupted by the escalating effects of climate change and the growing influence of agro-industrial products. Traditional agricultural calendars, once predictable, are unsettled as climate change introduces unexpected variabilities. Simultaneously, agro-industrial products promising accelerated farming processes are distorting these time-honored rhythms, dislocating agricultural activities from their natural cycles. This dislocation extends beyond farming to cultural and spiritual practices tied to agriculture, risking potential erosion of cultural heritage and communal identity. As farmers strive to balance modern agricultural needs with the preservation of cultural traditions, they confront the profound challenge of reconciling progress with heritage, innovation with tradition, and productivity with sustainability. The interplay of these forces shapes the contemporary struggle of these farming communities in their pursuit of agroecological transitions.

In synthesizing the preceding analysis, the complex interplay between the legacy of the hacienda system, regional histories of ethnoracial encounters, and ongoing agroecological transitions across Acapulco, Costa Chica, and La Montaña is evident. These threads of understanding, while linked by shared colonial histories, unravel distinct narratives of urban aspirations, cultural shifts, environmental degradation, and economic migrations. While our exploration highlights commonalities, it’s crucial to respect and understand the unique nuances each region presents. Moving into the discussion and reflection section, we aim to strike a reflexive balance between our individual experiences and our collective findings and reflections.

In this segment of our findings and reflections, we shift toward a more inductive framework, acknowledging the distinct challenges we each confronted in our work. While maintaining our overall analytical framing and regional focus, we recognize that these constitute the larger context within which more personal narratives unfold. Our central thesis asserts that for participatory agroecology to be effective, it is crucial to attend to the specific, often idiosyncratic, geohistorical, and sociocultural dynamics of local communities. This recognition underscores the necessity of a tailored approach that respects and responds to the unique characteristics of each locale and its inhabitants. Similarly, as is true with all research, we share key stories that exemplify our findings even though we are talking about 2 different 3-year projects, meaning that the characters and storylines are much more dynamic than we can fit on the page. Furthermore, to ensure that these findings transcend the academic sphere and foster real-world impacts, we have consulted with our respective groups to conduct communal critical reflexive sessions. These sessions are designed not only to discuss the findings but also to strategize on their practical applications, those which are not broadly structural, at least. We affirm that our engagement with these groups continues, supported through ongoing initiatives like BIOAAE in UWCT and MCLO’s case and through a project called Coastal Commons: Afro-Indigenous Urban Solidarities funded by the Urban Studies Foundation. While the specific outcomes and evolutions of these engagements are beyond the scope of this work, it is important to acknowledge that our PAR processes are meant to be continuous and dynamic, reflecting our commitment to sustained interaction and impact.

UMT: When I started collaborating with EZLS A.C., the group was a situational blend of backgrounds and ages promising knowledge exchange and participation. With 54 members in total, the majority were elderly, disabled, or chronically ill men who identified as Afrodescendant or Indigenous, but never both (see Figure 8). Despite their physical limitations, they remained actively engaged in agriculture in varied ways. Complementing this majority was a smaller group of young, able-bodied Indigenous Amuzgo men. Fresh out of university with agronomy degrees, these young men had returned to the region, wanting to improve both their own and their rural communities’ circumstances. The organizing committee, the leaders of EZLS A.C., consisted solely of these elderly men, their weekly meetings were attended only by a few of the young agronomy graduates. Though not part of the organizing committee, a few of these youths attended the weekly meetings. While the committee members attended these meetings regularly, others only participated during the monthly discussions since they lived farther away. The elders looked forward to these meetings, which served as a social lifeline, offering a captive audience for their stories and experiences of their “glory days” of ejido organizing.

As I became more embedded within the EZLS A.C., the subtle undercurrents of power dynamics became more palpable, especially as the pandemic began to take hold of our lives. These subtle tensions, previously wrapped up in the camaraderie of weekly meetings, began to unspool and become more pronounced. The pandemic disrupted our routine, forcing us to cut back on our regular in-person gatherings to maintain health and safety guidelines. Our group faced a digital divide that prevented us from transitioning seamlessly to online meetings. The young ones grappled with connectivity issues in their remote towns, while the elders were largely unfamiliar with the intricacies of digital technology. This physical and digital distance exacerbated the tensions that had been quietly simmering beneath the surface. The once ambient tension transformed into an overt power struggle. The young men, in their quest to replicate the successful models of the past without replicating capitalist market logics, were now confronting the harsh realities of their present circumstances—the ethnoracial discrimination, their landlessness, and the monumental task of ushering in sustainable change in an increasingly uncertain world. The elderly, for their part, were grappling with their inability to control the narrative in the same way they had in pre-pandemic times. As the global crisis persisted, the resulting fallout—disease, mortality, economic inflation, and escalating costs—profoundly reshaped our agroecological journey.

As the global crisis rolled on, the internal landscape of EZLS A.C. underwent a significant change. In the aftermath of the pandemic’s second wave (early 2021), the young Indigenous Amuzgo graduates began attending meetings more regularly. Equipped with both scientific agronomy knowledge and local cosmologies, these young men strived to apply their skills despite the ongoing challenges, such as unemployment and underappreciation of their contributions. The global crisis unfolded around us, and food prices shot up, inciting a shared lament within EZLS A.C. over our dependence on out-of-state markets. Our once reliable market structures, disrupted by narco-violence and domestic strife, were now mere remnants of a prosperous past. Buyer cooperatives that had once supported URECCh’s products had fled from our state’s growing reputation as a hotspot for narco-related violence. Meanwhile, the internal politics within our organization had whittled us down to nothing more than a meeting place, a tenuous symbol of resilience amid the tumult. With the pandemic severing our last threads of hope for these older markets’ revival, contemplating local self-sufficiency turned from a philosophical musing to a pressing necessity.

During this period, the elderly members found themselves confronted with a shift in their roles. While they still held sway as decision-makers of the cooperative, the changing circumstances called for a more active participation, a departure from their accustomed roles. However, their declining health and physical limitations constrained their ability to engage in physically demanding tasks such as participatory agroecological projects. There was a need for a symbiotic blend of knowledge, ability, and resources. After a period of internal debate and introspection, they gradually began to accept the ideas proposed by the younger members. It was then that we decided to embark on new agricultural ventures. We started on a small scale, planting native greens like cilantro, radish, chillies, and tomatoes. Buoyed by our initial success, we expanded our efforts and initiated a “milpa” project, intercropping corn, beans, and squash.

As the months went by, discord subtly began to permeate the cooperative. This tension, I realized, stemmed from fundamentally different perceptions of labor and value; the young men, responsible for both the intellectual labor of designing these agroecological projects and the physical labor of bringing them to life, were regarded by the elderly members merely as workers, a view that mirrored the seniors’ past roles within the organization and did not fully recognize the younger members’ contributions. In the winter of 2022, as we were preparing to repeat our successful “milpa” project, this tension became too prominent to ignore; a dispute over the distribution of the produce emerged, and the elderly men, as the landowners, demanded a larger share for sale, assigning a smaller portion for self-consumption. This proposition contradicted our original agreement and seemed particularly unfair to the younger members who were unpaid for their labor.

The unresolved disagreement unfortunately led to the failure of our project. While some corn was harvested, most was left to decay in the fields, a stark symbol of the power struggle that had taken hold of us and a testament to the elders’ stubbornness. The youth did not again return to the cooperative, and this became the last experience I documented in my research project. This event marked a disappointing end to a promising endeavor, highlighting the damage unresolved conflict can cause in collective efforts. It was a stark reminder that despite our steps toward symbiotic cooperation, existing power dynamics in their abusive iterations and unresolved disagreements could still fracture our unity, leaving us with fragmented dreams and an acre and a half of spoiling corn, which birds and other wildlife eventually consumed.

UWCT and MCLO: In Ahuexotitlán, our work with children revealed a generational gap due to parental migration, leaving grandparents as caretakers. However, the grandparents were often preoccupied with household and farming responsibilities. The children were eager to learn agroecology, but they cited lack of land access as a barrier. They shared stories from elders labeling pesticides as “poison,” but the community continued using them due to lack of alternatives. Remittances from migrants were mostly invested in cattle, indicating a connection between urban migration and cattle ranching, which had environmental repercussions. Limitations in our engagement included a lack of continuous funding, which hindered our ability to sustain a persistent presence (Weiss, 2017). Additionally, aside from the telebachillerato’s director–teacher–janitor, there was an absence of local leadership to help drive initiatives forward. Despite these challenges, during the pandemic, we remotely assisted the children in establishing a vegetable and green garden at their school. This effort aimed to instill agroecological knowledge and practices that could potentially be transferred to their homesteads for further experimentation and adoption. Our experience in Ahuexotitlán highlighted the intricacy of socioeconomic and cultural factors influencing community dynamics and the importance of adaptability, leadership, and sustainable support in educational interventions.

In La Palma and Palo Gordo, our initial intention was to engage with the ejido assembly to provide workshops on agroecological methods, particularly focusing on the creation of organic biopesticides, compost, and nutrient-rich foods for plants, which would reduce their dependence on agrochemicals like glyphosate and neonicotinoids. However, when only 3 people showed up to our workshops, we reevaluated our approach. Noticing that the majority of individuals around were older women, often household caretakers and also raising their grandchildren due to migration, we decided to align our efforts with their needs. We conducted a workshop on creating agroecological sanitary napkins, which piqued the interest of many women in the community (see Figure 9). This provided us with an opportune moment to inquire about their perspectives on agrochemicals. Much like in Ahuexotitlán, they referred to these agrochemicals as “poison.” Although they were supportive of the idea of using more sustainable agricultural products, they expressed that they simply did not have the time to prepare them. The women elaborated on their daily routines, which included delivering lunch to their husbands working in distant fields, and taking care of household chores and children. Their days were stretched thin, and the prospect of adding another task was daunting. This interaction shed light on the multifaceted challenges faced by the community, where time constraints and traditional gender roles limited the adoption of sustainable practices. It emphasized the importance of understanding the intricate dynamics of daily life and responsibilities within communities, and how these factors can significantly influence the feasibility and adoption of interventions. Furthermore, it highlighted the need for strategies that not only educate but also consider the practicalities and constraints of the targeted community members.

In Ejido Nuevo, we encountered a different set of challenges. As we attempted to conduct an agroecological workshop to which we were invited, we found ourselves facing a high level of suspicion and resistance. The community seemed to be heavily guarded, with added layers of informal checkpoints where we were questioned about our presence and intentions. This tension was palpable throughout our time there, highlighting the complicated nature of working in communities with potential underground extralegal activities that pose threats to educational and ecological efforts. The resistance we faced was multifaceted. On the one hand, there was a need among some community members for deforestation for auto-consumption due to economic constraints. The lack of alternatives like gas stoves made the use of wood vital for their livelihood, despite the alarming statistics pointing to respiratory issues as a leading cause of death in the region. Moreover, the widespread consumption of sodas like Coca-Cola indicated a prevalence of unhealthy dietary choices, contributing to diabetes and hypertension. On the other hand, there seemed to be a criminal element that profited from the illegal selling of timber. It became clear that our ecological critique touched a nerve among this group. As we left the town, a young man pursued us on a bike to warn us against speaking ill of deforestation if we were to return. Our experience in Ejido Nuevo reinforced the importance of recognizing the complex interplay between economic necessity, ecological concerns, and the underlying influence of extralegal activities. The delicate balance of addressing ecological issues without demonizing the community’s survival strategies or antagonizing those engaged in illicit activities requires a nuanced and sensitive approach. It is crucial to engage with communities in a manner that acknowledges their socioeconomic realities while striving for ecological sustainability and education.

In light of these events, we found ourselves immersed in a profound process of self-criticism to recognize the role of our place of enunciation, attempting to dismantle the role of the “correct scientist,” avoiding the generalizations and “focused objectives” that we might prematurely find in different communities. Transitioning toward other ways of constructing knowledge and supporting community processes—toward a paradigm shift—has appeared to us as a complex, nonlinear process with highs and lows, which could be compared to the difficulties faced by agroecology itself due to its nature and evolution, in the face of this capitalist system that imposes impossible limits on local changes and which, despite the sum of efforts, are halted by multiple intersections. However, we continue to fine-tune ourselves as subjects ethically and politically committed to the processes of PAR, seeking the involvement of change actors—how residents perceive themselves in the territories—as subjects involved in the design, execution, data collection, and systematization of data, leading to processes of reflection, transformation, and consequently, to processes that evolve from each episteme. This expanded explanation connects deeply with the challenges and intentions behind engaging with communities in a respectful and ethically conscious manner, acknowledging the complexities of local conditions and the need for collaborative efforts in transformational practices.

This research aimed to delve into the intricate complexities of participatory agroecology within specific “communities” in Mexico, asserting the necessity for tailored approaches that consider the unique historical, geographical, and social dynamics. The central thesis of this study is that for participatory agroecology to be effective and sustainable, it is imperative to attend to and navigate the idiosyncrasies of the localities, which include power relations, cultural norms, socioeconomic realities, and environmental conditions. Our methodology encompassed historical–geographical analysis, combined with ethnographic studies, through which we examined multiple cases across different regions. This multifaceted approach allowed for a comprehensive understanding of the factors that influence participatory agroecology within the collaborating communities.

A novel finding was the understanding of how contemporary challenges such as the COVID-19 pandemic intersected with existing dynamics to reconfigure community interactions. For instance, the pandemic not only disrupted physical gatherings but also brought to the surface the underlying tensions within EZLS A.C. It acted as a catalyst that both exposed and intensified existing fractures within the community. These tensions are intricately tied to land inequality, a critical national issue exacerbated by programs like Sembrando Vida, which necessitate that beneficiaries own their own plot of land, thus deepening the divide between landed and landless individuals. Furthermore, the case of Ejido Nuevo brought forth the intricate interplay between ecological concerns and economic necessities, highlighting the delicate balance required in participatory agroecology. The need for alternatives like gas stoves was vital for livelihood despite its ecological cost, and the criticality of understanding the complex socioeconomic realities before embarking on ecological interventions.

A striking revelation through our historical–geographical analysis was the understanding of how historical events and geographical factors shaped not only the physical but also the social landscape of these communities. For instance, in the case of EZLS A.C., the colonial legacy of landownership and the geographical challenges faced by the community presented unique constraints and opportunities. The geographical seclusion of some communities created both a sense of shared identity but also posed challenges in market access and exposure to diverse agricultural practices. Additionally, historical events such as migration patterns significantly influenced the generational dynamics and roles within communities, as observed in Ahuexotitlán. Notably, migration has also fueled aspirational urbanities, reflecting the intertwined geographies of rural and urban spaces, as discussed by De Grammont (2008). This concept of “aspirational urbanity” highlights how rural inhabitants often seek urban-like improvements, modeled after north-western geographies, creating what De Grammont terms “new ruralities” in Latin America. Our contributions extend beyond the theoretical realm by highlighting the practical aspects and challenges. The study showcases the importance of adaptive engagement with communities, as seen in La Palma and Palo Gordo, where the initial approach was modified to align with the needs and interests of the community members, particularly older women. Similarly, the experiences in EZLS A.C. emphasized the necessity of navigating delicate power dynamics and recognizing the varied capacities and aspirations of different community members.

Navigating the multifaceted challenges of participatory agroecology underscores the structural constraints imposed by governmental policies. These policies often inadvertently create barriers that complicate or undermine sustainable agricultural practices. For example, entrenched agricultural policies that favor large-scale, chemical-intensive farming can limit the scope for implementing sustainable, community-led agroecological initiatives. Such policies not only discourage local involvement and innovation but also align poorly with the ecological and social needs of rural communities. Furthermore, economic incentives designed to boost agricultural productivity frequently prioritize short-term gains over long-term sustainability, failing to address the underlying economic and social pressures that communities face. This includes lack of support for infrastructure development that is critical for sustainable practices, such as water management systems and access to eco-friendly technology. The result is a significant gap between policy intentions and on-the-ground realities, making it difficult for communities to transition toward truly sustainable agroecological transitions.

Data accessibility will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, considering the research project’s nature. We can share anonymized fieldnotes, interviews, data analysis, workshop documents, and sensitively anonymized information regarding health, ability, and legal matters. Privacy protection measures are implemented to ensure the safety of the researchers working in complex, high-risk geographies, while maintaining the confidentiality of participants and facilitating the responsible dissemination of valuable insights.

This research was supported by a Seminar Series Award from the Urban Studies Foundation, grant reference USFSSA-230311.

The authors report no competing interests.

Contributed to conception and design: UMT.

Contributed to acquisition of data: UMT, UWCT, MCLO.

Contributed to analysis and interpretation of data: UMT, UWCT, MCLO.

Drafted and/or revised the article: UMT, UWCT, MCLO.

Translated the text from Spanish to English: UMT.

Approved the submitted version for publication: UMT, UWCT, MCLO.

How to cite this article: Moreno-Tabarez, U, Cabrera-Tena, UW, López-Ojeda, MC. 2024. Afro-Indigenous harvests: Cultivating participatory agroecologies in Guerrero, Mexico. Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene 12(1). DOI: https://doi.org/10.1525/elementa.2023.00104

Domain Editor-in-Chief: Alastair Iles, University of California Berkeley, Berkeley, CA, USA

Associate Editor: Maywa Montenegro de Wit, University of California Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz, CA, USA

Knowledge Domain: Sustainability Transitions

Part of an Elementa Special Feature: Ways of Knowing and Being for Agroecology Transitions