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Peter Frick-Wright (Host): Hey everybody, this is part two of our series on the people standing up for monarch butterflies. If you haven’t heard the first part, this is one of those things where it makes a lot of sense to go back and listen to part one.

Otherwise, I’ll let reporters Michael May and Zach Goldbaum take it from here.

Michael: The body of Homero Gómez González was discovered in a well near the village of Ocampo in late January 2020. It was transported to the capital of Michoacán for an autopsy. The state returned the body to the family, and Homero’s brother, Amado, took him home…

Amado: The first place we brought him was here. People working here at the sanctuary, ejidatarios, tourists, were all waiting for him. Thousands of people. And from here, they carried him to a school that is about a kilometer or two away.

Zach: A caravan followed the body around town as people paid their respects. Finally, as the sun set, they brought Homero to his house. A rosary was placed in Homero’s hands. People came with offerings – flowers, candles, wreaths, crowns.

Amado: I didn’t stay too long because, well, I was tired. We had gone almost 15 days without sleep. So I stayed until midnight and went to rest.

Michael: When Amado left the house at midnight, he says there were still thousands of people surrounding it, praying the rosary.

Amado: It was an extremely sad moment, but at the same time, I felt strengthened by all the support and condolences. Seeing that he was so loved was even surprising to us, his family. We knew that his work was extremely important, but we didn’t fully understand the significance of it. We didn't realize it until we saw people from all over the world coming. The next day was the funeral. A procession snaked through the town, carrying his coffin to the cemetery.

Amado: There were many, many reporters… A lot... We got many calls from national and international media outlets, and it became my responsibility to answer all of them. And their main question at the time was whether it had been an accident or a murder.

Zach: The prosecutors in the capital released the results of the autopsy: mechanical asphyxiation by drowning of a person with head trauma. They said Homero had died because of an accident. But there’s good reason not to trust the police in this part of Mexico, where fewer than 4% of crimes are ever solved. Could Homero have wandered away from the fair, hit his head, and then somehow drowned himself in a small well? Unlikely. Homero’s family was sure that this was no accident. According to them, Homero was murdered.

I’m Zach Goldbaum.
And I’m Michael May.
This week, the disappearance of the Monarch King. Part 2

Michael: It was early February when we arrived in Ocampo, Mexico, to learn more about the death of Homero Gómez González. It had been four years since Homero had been buried, and the case was still unsolved. Meanwhile, the monarch populations had continued to decline, and we wanted to see what was happening in the butterfly reserve now that its most well-known champion was gone.

Ocampo is about a three-hour drive from Mexico City. As you drive into the mountains, you begin to see painted monarchs everywhere—on billboards, hotel signs, even bus decals. Ocampo is a small colonial town with cobblestone streets and Spanish tile roofs. There’s one road, Calle John Lennon, with a mural of the famous Abbey Road album cover, with The Beatles in swirling clouds of monarch butterflies.

There are a few other monarch sanctuaries in Mexico, but El Rosario is by far the largest and most popular in the world. During butterfly season—mid-November to late-March—the tiny village transforms.

[Music from the local band]

Zach: The parking lot at the base of the reserve fills up early with tour buses. Local kids are running around. Their parents man the rows of food stands with tacos, trout, and carne asada.

Restaurant: ¿Quiere comer la pescado o carne asada? ¿Qué bueno que le gustó la trucha.

There are guides ready to take you up the mountain, and artisans sell butterfly fridge magnets, butterfly earrings, and classical music for ballets inspired by the monarch butterfly.

Artisan: Música clásica para el ballet de la mariposa.

Michael: It’s a vibrant tourist economy, and this was Homero’s vision: the butterflies protected, the community sustained. It had been four years since his death, but people were still nervous to talk about it. We met a longtime guide at the reserve, who said, “I know a lot of things…”

Roberto Cabrera: I know a lot of things, but I don't want to get into trouble. I want to live in peace.

When we met Homero’s brother, Amado, he was accompanied by four armed bodyguards.

Amado: I have bodyguards because we are not safe. We have to take precautions. We live in a very difficult country where it seems to be a crime to protect the environment, to work for the benefit of the environment, and to promote the butterfly.

[News waterfall]: Homero Gómez, the manager of the sanctuary, was found dead after police say he was beaten and thrown down a well. His family says he had recently received threats warning him to stop the campaign against illegal logging. Not only does this threaten the butterflies, but the risk exists for those who defend against illegal logging. He was a defender of the environment in a region with many conflicts. Mexico continues to shatter records for violent homicides, especially in states like Michoacán.

Mexico is one of the most dangerous places in the world for environmental activists. In 2020, 30 were killed. The following year, that number jumped to 54.

Amado: My brother made collateral enemies, because defending the forest affects interests. Demanding your rights from the government affects interests. To promote the butterfly and protect it affects interests. So he was a very friendly person who wouldn’t hurt anyone personally. He was incapable of harming anyone. However, his activity did damage certain interests.

So, was Homero killed for the crime of protecting the environment? Did his conservation work cross the wrong person, or the wrong cartel?

Zach: After we spoke with Amado, we started walking up the mountain. It’s a steep, hour-long hike along a wide path. The whole way, you’re surrounded by this vast forest of oyamel firs.

Michael: So we made it to the butterflies after walking about a little over an hour up a steep hill, and it's pretty extraordinary. It's cold, so they're not really moving, but they're just blanketing these trees.

Zach: And they're sort of hanging off the branches in these almost wasp-nest formations, but when you look closer, you realize each branch probably has a thousand butterflies.

Michael: There are probably about 20 trees around us with butterflies, and then around that there’s none.

Zach: Yeah, I mean, if you didn’t know what you were looking for, you might completely miss these.

The oyamel forests offer a kind of Goldilocks climate—not too hot, not too cold. It’s why the monarchs thrive here. The problem is that avocados thrive here too.

Homero: Avocado grows at the altitude where the monarch butterfly lives.

Here’s Homero in a video he posted to Facebook in 2019.

Homero: I am in a forest plantation here at El Rosario, in the Michoacán countryside, where the monarch butterfly reaches.

He’s high in the forest, surrounded by baby oyamels, talking about his efforts to convert farms back into habitat.

Homero: It’s false that we are turning forests into avocado plantations. We are converting the plots that we once used for growing corn and oats into new forests.

But the work of replanting butterfly habitat is unending because the forest is cleared again and again for new, often illegal avocado farms. The avocado trade has grown to over $3 billion annually, driven in large part by American avocado consumption, which has tripled in the last 20 years.

Falko Ernst: It used to be about marijuana, it used to be about poppy to a certain degree, and about cocaine, but there’s also a very rich business in agriculture that includes avocados.

Michael: Falko Ernst is with the International Crisis Group. He’s been watching criminals get involved in the avocado trade. By extorting farmers with the threat of violence, organized crime is moving into agriculture. They get paid not to hurt people.

Part of what Falko does as a researcher is spend time with cartels. They talk to him because he doesn’t name names.

Falko: I can give you a concrete example from the perspective of a criminal boss I’ve had a longstanding conversation with. He’s got a mid-sized criminal group that he commands. And he opened up about his growth plan.

So we were standing there above the city, and he was saying, “Okay, so now I’m getting into rice, I’m getting into cheese, and even dog food.” So he really has a list of opportunities where he can go on the take.

And that’s been an eminent trend within Mexican organized crime at large: that through this lack of protection, through this complicity with state authorities, you get to tap into further and further resources. And when there is resistance to making way for avocado orchards, those interests are being enforced by violence.

Zach: So as Homero was trying to grow the butterfly reserve, it was constantly being encroached on by cartels who wanted more avocado production. But Homero fought back. In an interview, he said:

Homero: We always fight to ensure that no trees are cut down in El Rosario.

VO: “We always fight to ensure that no trees are cut down in El Rosario.”

Homero: We did not allow logging. And sometimes we did get threats demanding us to leave, risking our lives.

VO: “We did not allow logging. And sometimes we did have threats and we’d risk our lives.”

Homero: And one day, we even had to shut down the city of Angangueo to demand that the municipal president and his police officers protect us because they were supposed to be defending us. Even that day, we got threats.

VO: He then tells a story about organizing a protest against the mayor and the local police to force them to investigate the threats.

Homero: But nothing happened.

VO: But nothing has happened, he says.

Michael: In Ocampo, we stayed in a butterfly-themed inn called Rancho Cumbre Monarca. It had international tourists, sprawling gardens, and a meditation room. There, we met with Amado Fernandez, who oversees the entire reserve for the federal government.

Amado Fernandez: The total surface area of the reserve is 56,259 hectares, and a nuclear zone of 13,554 hectares, currently. So the nuclear zone is basically for preservation.

We wanted to talk with him about illegal logging, one of the industries that Homero may have rubbed the wrong way with his butterfly conservation work. To our surprise, Amado insisted logging is not a problem in the reserve anymore.

Amado Fernandez: It’s not an issue in the entire area. We’re talking about 56,259 hectares in total. According to the monitoring we did last year, only four accumulated hectares distributed on that surface had problems. So, that can happen naturally, right? A lightning strike, and a tree dies. Or the tree simply grew old and died. It reached its biological cycle. People extracted it for firewood. But it doesn’t imply that someone chopped a living tree. Clandestine logging was only in 3.7 hectares, and it was distributed. It wasn’t just in one area.

Zach: The murder of Homero Gómez González was widely reported in the United States as this guy who stood up to illegal logging and avocado farming, and he was killed because of it. What do you make of that? What do you make of the way it was covered in the international press?

Amado: So, regardless of what’s being said, our agency has accurate information of what happens in the reserve. And it’s always handled with transparency. We are always communicating and working with an assessing committee.

Amado Fernandez told us that within the nucleus—which is where the butterflies congregate—there is not a single instance of illegal logging. This was not what we were expecting to hear.

Michael: But I’m just wondering, was he frustrated by that coverage, that everybody in America thought there was a huge illegal logging problem that was out of control?

Amado: I insist, we have good information. We keep people informed. Even every year, we hold a press conference.

Michael: We tried to push him on this discrepancy—how was Homero killed for resisting illegal logging if that illegal logging didn’t exist?—and Amado would talk at length without actually answering what we were asking, until, eventually, our translator straight-up told us, “Guys, he’s avoiding the question.”

Zach: When Homero was killed, the story told around the world was of a lone defender standing up to the mighty forces of cartels determined to clear the forest for profit.

But four years after his death, no one seems to be clearing trees where the butterflies overwinter. El Rosario remains a model of sustainable ecotourism.

In an interview with Homero, a journalist asks:

Interviewer: Is the risk still there? Is this area still threatened?

VO: Is the risk still there? Is this area still threatened?

Homero: The threats of illegal logging are gone.

VO: The threats of illegal logging are gone, he says.

Homero: The challenges we currently face to protect the monarch butterfly are the indiscriminate use of pesticides in the northern countries and climate change.

VO: Homero says climate change and indiscriminate pesticide use in the United States—not logging and avocado farming—are the gravest threats to the monarchs.

So does that mean he wasn’t killed because he was trying to protect the trees? Not necessarily. The motive could have been simply to send a message. Because other forests in Michoacán are being decimated by logging and avocado farming, cartels want to protect those interests from other would-be environmentalists.

But it’s not a simple, open-and-shut case. In fact, after the break, it turns out there are a bunch of reasons why Homero might have been killed.

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[Sound of a babbling brook]
Michael: As you make your way through the oyamel fir forests of the Monarch Reserve, you step over springs and streams that the butterflies drink from. In fact, the water that comes from these forests is a valuable commodity. Here’s Homero.

Homero: We produce water.

He says, we produce water.

Homero: All the water you’ve seen today is part of the Cutzamala System.

And that water ends up in the Cutzamala System, a series of rivers, canals, and hydropower that provides water to Mexico City.

Homero: And Michoacan contributes 52% of the water. If you want to talk about population, we’re talking about 2.7 million people who are being supplied with our water. And the governments of Mexico City and the state of Mexico are fighting to charge people for the water, but they can’t be bothered to pay to care for the forests or reforest.

Michoacan, he says, contributes more than half of Mexico City’s water. The government is charging people for that water, he says, but they don’t pay to protect where the water comes from.

Homero: And Silvano, the governor, has committed to it, but no one has complied with approving the payments of environmental services.

He says that Governor Silvano Aureoles publicly committed to help, specifically by increasing how much people in the reserve are paid to help conserve the trees and water, but so far, the money hasn’t arrived.

Zach: Mexico is in the midst of historic drought, so it’s possible that by demanding control over and compensation for the water that traveled through the reserve, Homero posed a threat.

You might remember from episode one, Silvano and Homero had gone to school together and studied agricultural engineering. But Homero went to work at the reserve, and Silvano went into politics. The relationship was hot and cold.

Like many politicians in Mexico, Silvano became embroiled in scandal. He’s no longer governor and is currently under investigation for having links to criminal groups. Here he is on TV, being pressed on an alleged 2 million dollar bribe:

Anchor: 2,000,000 Silvano dollars. Good night, good night. 2,000,000 dollars they are accusing you of, uh, having received.

Silvano: I say this is a distraction.

Anchor: They're saying they gave you 2,000,000 dollars.

Silvano is not unique in Mexican politics, where the line between the state and organized crime is blurred. Both the cartels and the government have a stake in how water is used. Which brings us to another theory of Homero’s death: politics.

Michael: The day Homero disappeared, as you may remember, he was meeting with a group of landowners at the reserve. His phone was ringing over and over. Then, he left and went to have a meet-and-greet at a horse race with some local politicians: Elizabeth Vilches, Karina Alvarez, and Octavio Ocampo.

Homero was from a rival political party and had run an unsuccessful political campaign, but a new election was coming up the following year, and Homero still had political ambitions.

Homero arrived at the horse race around five or six. He ate with the politicians. He drank with them until seven or eight when he was last seen. So what do these politicians know about his disappearance?

They wouldn’t say. Karina Alvarez and Octavio Ocampo took advantage of a loophole in Mexican law. It allows politicians to recuse themselves from investigations if they think it could put them in danger.

Emiliano: With the thesis that we had, which was that basically Homero had been murdered by the collusion between politicians and organized crime, we knew we were treading dangerous territory.

That’s Emiliano Ruprah, a journalist and documentary filmmaker. This summer, just after we were in Mexico, Emiliano released a film on Netflix called The Guardian of the Monarchs. It investigates Homero’s death.

Emiliano says that a clue emerged shortly after his disappearance . . . It started when Homero’s son kept calling his father’s phone.

Emiliano: The day after his father disappears, his father's phone keeps ringing, but nobody's picking it up. And for some reason, later on, I think the second or third day, a man picks up the phone and he says, "I have your father's phone." What is strange about the individual who had the iPhone is that he was a local photographer covering the event. But he wasn't covering the event just for anybody. He was covering the event for the local politicians who dined with Homero on the last night he was seen.

The photographer was Jorge Arroyo Jr. Emiliano and his team set out to talk to him, but Jorge had vanished.

Emiliano: So we sent a local journalist to investigate, and she spoke to two of his friends who said, "Look, we don't know what happened to him. We don't know where he is." And then to his family members, who basically didn't want to talk about the situation. They were clearly scared.

The photographer’s case, like Homero’s, ran cold.

Emiliano did interview the other politicians who were there for the film. They all insist they had nothing to do with Homero’s death and don’t know who did, except Karina Alvarez. She refused to participate.

Emiliano: The film had a bit of a viral reaction in Mexico, especially on TikTok. And it began with, um, sort of videos of people crying at the injustices happening in Mexico in general. Uh, and then it sort of evolved into rage against the government.

Karina Alvarez became a target. She eventually released her own video statement, saying she’s innocent and insisting she was a friend of Homero’s.

[Karina’s statement]

After the film, the public pressure even forced the prosecutor’s office to reopen the investigation. But the prosecutor said, “The focus of Netflix is entertainment… It’s a narrative, where the events are amplified to make the story more engaging.”

Zach: In a state where politics and crime work hand in glove, it’s more than likely that Homero’s death will never be solved.

Homero was a kingmaker. He wanted to make sure the people of El Rosario, not some outside political or criminal group, benefited from the resources they protected.

Homero threatened the interests of the avocado trade with his opposition to deforestation. He threatened politicians with his relentless battle for state funds for conservation and water rights.

And all the tourist money he helped generate, he wanted it all to go to the people who live in the reserve. Which is our final theory of Homero’s death: business.

Homero: We are going to close with 130,000 people.

That’s Homero, talking once again about the astonishing number of visitors arriving at the reserve.

Homero: This helps people a lot because there are 87 people working as guides. There are 47 people working on horses, and we still have 300 people who sell food and who sell these crafts.

He says that those tourists help a lot of people: 87 guides, another 47 who take people up the mountain on horseback, and 300 people who sell food and crafts. Last year, the butterfly biosphere had nearly 300,000 visitors.

Homero may have been killed not exactly for being an environmentalist. He may have represented an even bigger threat to the cartels: an independent power broker who refused to be corrupted.

Michael: Here’s the image of Homero that endures. He’s in the forest, surrounded by butterflies, asking his "friends on social media" to visit. He wants them to witness the arrival of the monarchs.

Homero: I greet you from the chosen monarch butterfly sanctuary of El Rosario, the largest in the world, and this year with double the number of butterflies…

He posted this video at the end of October, just as the monarchs were returning from their migration. Every year, they arrive in Michoacan right around Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. As the story goes, the monarchs are the souls of the dead, paying their loved ones a visit.

Homero: And from the moment you arrive at the parking lot, you can already see it flying that walks through all the valleys looking for water after seeing difficult climates for three days derived from cold front number 12 and 13 today...

Homero explains that they’ve been flying for days in search of water. But now they’ve found everything they need in this tiny patch of forest.

The simple way of looking at protecting the butterflies, and at a lot of conservation work, is to see humans and nature as antagonistic. Whenever possible, they should be kept separate. If an environmentalist is killed, it must be because they were protecting a resource that people wanted for themselves.

But Homero, he accomplished something truly extraordinary: he gave everyone a reason to protect the butterflies.

He set up a system that got everyone on board with preserving their habitat. He found a way for the relationship to be mutually beneficial. And it’s now a family legacy. Here’s his brother, Amado:

Amado: People see us as a political family. So, people started to invite me to participate in politics. And, well, after a lot of thought, I decided to do so.

In 2022, Amado was elected the mayor of Ocampo.

Amado: What really motivates me as mayor is to continue preserving my brother's legacy: promoting the monarch butterfly while continuing with his fight to preserve the forests. Of course, we have many responsibilities in different sectors, but the legacy left by my brother is what really drives me to move forward, to help our community grow.

Zach: Every year, in the spring, the monarchs begin to stir.

They leave their roosts in the oyamels and begin their journey north.

Tens of millions of them, moving down the mountain forests of the Sierras Madres, across vast deserts, soaring on thermal currents as high as a mile in the sky.

They’re headed to the United States and Canada.

Seeking milkweed, the only plant where they’ll lay their eggs.

It’s the same journey they’ve embarked on for at least 10,000 years, but it’s jeopardized by humans who interfere and reliant on other humans, like Homero, who intervene.

And six hundred miles north of their winter home, another conflict is brewing in the path of the monarchs, in the rich valley of the Rio Grande.

Marianna Trevino Wright: I took this job to protect and preserve an ecosystem, the deep South Texas that I love.

Tommy Fisher:  The president will, if he allows us to play, I guarantee it’s no different than Tom Brady. Once we get in, we never come out.

Kimberly Lowe: — You do not take my — get the fuck down, bitch.

That’s next week.

Peter Frick-Wright: That’s Zach Goldbaum and Michael May.

This episode was written and reported by Zach and Michael, with help from Rodrigo Cervantes in Mexico.

Editing by me, Peter Frick-Wright, and Robbie Carver. Music and sound design by Robbie as well.

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