In some places, beauty is not just a physical trait but a living essence. Tulum is one of them.
Perched between the jungle and the sea, Tulum has long been a sanctuary where the ancient pulse of Mayan civilization meets the rhythm of modern dreams. Here, turquoise waves kiss white-sand shores under the watchful gaze of centuries-old ruins. People from all walks of life come to heal, to dance, to create, and to reconnect with something sacred. Tulum is more than a destination—it is a feeling, a spirit that lingers in the air long after your footprints have washed away.
This town has blossomed from a quiet fishing village into a vibrant global cultural center. It has attracted artists, seekers, builders, and families who believe in the magic of this land. And yet, behind the postcard-perfect image lies a truth we must now face together.
In recent months, Tulum has been shaken by a wave of violence that has left us heartbroken, uncertain, and, at times, afraid. The recent assassination of our Security and Citizen Protection Secretary, José Roberto Rodríguez Bautista, has pierced the very core of our community. His death, while in service of restoring peace to our streets, is a tragic symbol of the uphill battle we face.
This is not an isolated incident. Organized crime, fueled by cartel disputes and systemic corruption, has infiltrated areas once thought untouchable. Business owners are losing clients. Tourists are second-guessing their visits. Families are locking their doors earlier at night. And while officials offer promises, few answers come, and fewer results follow.
Hotel occupancy has plummeted across the Riviera Maya, with some reporting up to 40% in cancellations. Entire livelihoods—chefs, artisans, eco-guides—hang by a thread. These are not just numbers. These are mothers trying to buy groceries, students hoping to pay for school, and elders who built this town with their hands and now fear what’s become of it.
And yet, amid this darkness, something remarkable is happening.
Tulum is still standing.
And not just standing—fighting, healing, transforming. Not with weapons or headlines but with heart, creativity, and community. In the face of fear, our people rise each morning and go to work. They gather for ceremonies in the jungle. They teach yoga on beaches bathed in sunrise. They create art that carries ancient symbols and future hope. They form coalitions, lead grassroots initiatives, and open doors to strangers needing a safe space.
We see this spirit in the local chefs organizing cultural dinners to remind the world of the warmth and richness of our food. We see it in eco-resorts investing in sustainability and conservation. We see it in festivals that amplify the voice of nature, music, and indigenous heritage. We see it in foundations, working daily to protect vulnerable groups and elevate the soul of this land.
We also see it in you—the residents who still believe, the travelers who still arrive, the entrepreneurs who still build, the children who still laugh.
The truth is that Tulum is wounded but not broken.
We carry our scars like sacred glyphs, knowing they are part of our story but not the whole one. We do not deny the pain. We do not ignore the failures of those meant to protect us. But we also refuse to let these moments define us.
The soul of Tulum is not for sale. It cannot be corrupted. It cannot be erased.
We say to the authorities—local, state, and federal—do better. Do what you promised. Walk our streets, not just in motorcades but in humility. Please show us your courage is as strong as ours.
To our readers—whether you’re sipping coffee in Aldea Zama or watching the sunrise in Italy, whether you’re a local artist or a tourist wondering if you should still come—we say: stand with us. Don’t look away. Please don’t give up on us because the Tulum that enchanted you is still here. Beneath the fear is a heartbeat. Beneath the headlines is a community that believes.
Yes, we are hurting and tired. But more than anything, we are united.
In the end, Tulum’s true strength has never been in its buildings, beaches, or economy. It lies in its people—in the grandmother sweeping the street before dawn, in the young activist painting murals of resistance, in the child learning to dance between palm trees and cenotes, and in every person who chooses hope again and again.
And so, this is our message:
Despite the corruption, violence, and silence from those in power, Tulum remains on its feet.
Not because we are untouched by tragedy but because we are unwilling to be defined by it.
Because love still walks our beaches. Because the community still gathers under the moonlight. Because art still blooms in the cracks.
We are Tulum.
We are still here.
And we are not going anywhere.
