The Q’eqchi’ families living along the coastal stretch of Izabal in Eastern Guatemala have been here for over a century. Census records from 1913 document their presence, though their roots go back even further. This land is not just a political issue or a legal battle. It’s home. It’s where their grandparents’ grandparents settled and where their children play.

A Change

In 1996, without a single conversation with the families who lived there, the Guatemalan Congress made a decision that would haunt generations to come. They leased the land to a company called Quetzal Forest and declared it a nature reserve named the Reserva Natural Manantiales Cerro San Gil. On paper, the Q’eqchi’ families had become illegal occupants of their own home.

For years, this remained largely theoretical, like a sword hanging over their heads. Then on September 18, 2019, they came. Army members and National Civil Police descended on Macho Creek in a coordinated show of force. It was a forcible eviction attempt, though the families refused to go quietly. Within weeks, representatives from 51 families gathered with CODECA (a campesino development committee) to publicly denounce what was happening: threats, arrest warrants, intimidation. Without consultation or dialogue, they were losing their ancestral territory to a nature reserve.

Evictions

Since the first eviction threat in 2017, the community has endured 17 separate threats. Seventeen times, the threat arrived, and they’ve prepared themselves for the worst that never quite arrived. But waiting for an eviction is its own form of torture.

On August 17, 2022, two thousand police officers showed up. They brought representatives from the Public Ministry. They brought trucks carrying masked, unidentified individuals. The sheer overwhelming force of it was unmistakable, as was the message it sent. And yet, no eviction order was served that day. Instead, arrest warrants were issued against community leaders for charges of usurpation, heritage crimes, and unauthorized sales of forest products.

This is how the eviction works in slow motion. Not just the threat of removal, but the layering of legal jeopardy, the arrest warrants, the constant pressure. At least seven community members face imprisonment if authorities decide to act. So many families live under the threat of potential homelessness. Uncertainty is the punishment itself.

Legal

The situation is complicated by overlapping claims on the same land. At least five private companies have interests in this territory. Cattle ranchers, forestry companies, and powerful large landholders all see valuable real estate because of the land’s strategic location near the sea. For the Q’eqchi’ families, this means they’re fighting the government, corporate interests, development pressures, and a legal system that seems designed to work against them.

In June 2024, the community discovered an active eviction notice when their children were denied a school code because of the pending eviction order. They were targeting the next generation’s right to belong to their own lands.

Evolving

By September 2025, the tactics had shifted. Two men arrived claiming to represent the “M&M Conflict Resolution Center,” supposedly representing the international community, offering assistance and “aid” in case of future eviction. One of the two men, Mynor Álvarez, is an ex-military officer and works with mining company CGN-Pronico and its subsidiary Solway Investment Group (a mining company notorious for its violence against and pollution of communities in El Estor). The other was Carlos Antonio Medina. They called it mediation. The community called it intimidation. “What we are facing is not help, it’s a veiled threat,” residents said.

There’s a language of pressure, the corporate hand extended in the guise of assistance with the hidden message: abandon your land voluntarily, or we’ll do it for you. This is how resistance evolves too. It becomes not just about saying no to eviction, but recognizing intimidation in all its forms.

On October 15th, 2025, another eviction attempt was suspended. There are 87 families living here, representing hundreds of people. If eviction succeeds, they face homelessness with no provisions for relocation. More than 30 community members risk imprisonment. While national and international norms and protocols exist to protect communities from such forced evictions and to provide for their rights when evictions are inevitable, these protective measures mean little for communities when authorities decide they don’t care about following them.

But for over a century, the Q’eqchi’ families of Macho Creek have refused to leave. They’ve weathered government decrees, corporate pressure, and legal technicalities designed to erase their connection to this place. Every day they remain is an act of resistance.

Macho Creek community members are a part of the Campesino Committee of the Highlands’ (CCDA) grassroots base. The CCDA uses legal, archival, and participatory research to help the community defend its claims to the land. BTS cooperants, interns, and volunteers have supported those efforts, including through participation in and documentation of popular education and participatory research trips to Macho Creek. Read past articles about Macho Creek on our blog.