SANTA ANA ZIROSTO – Mexican avocado picker Francisco Isidro wasted little time returning to the trees after U.S. officials lifted a security alert that had briefly frozen avocado exports to the United States.
The next morning, Isidro was already back in an orchard, looping a rope over a roughly 20-foot (6-meter) avocado tree before climbing into its branches. Within 15 minutes, he had packed a crate of fruit destined for U.S. markets.
“Thank God … and now we’re getting paid!” he called out, relieved after several days without work.
The restart came eight days after the alert disrupted operations in Michoacán, Mexico’s top avocado-producing state. Following the deployment of additional Mexican troops in the area, U.S. authorities fully removed the restrictions that had prompted growers and packers to pause shipments. Michoacán is also a state where four cartels designated as terrorist organizations by the Trump administration are active.
By the weekend, the avocado supply chain was moving again. Orchards had reopened, packing facilities were working at full capacity, and U.S. Department of Agriculture inspectors were back on site to certify the fruit and check that shipments were pest-free before crossing into the United States.
For laborers, the return to work meant the return of daily wages. For some producers, the stepped-up security presence offered hope that violence and extortion might ease. Others were less certain, warning that any sense of stability could prove temporary.
“We’ll be safe for a while, we’ll see what happens next,” said Valentín Rodríguez, a veteran businessperson in the avocado industry.
In a violence-plagued state, the risks remain wide-ranging
The U.S. alert caught Isidro high in a tree in an orchard in Santa Ana Zirosto, an area of green, low hills in western Michoacán where criminal groups are very active. There were no explanations, just the foreman’s shout to stop cutting.
Isidro, 39 years old and with two decades of experience as a harvester, knew that this meant either starting to look for another job until the situation returned to normal — since they’re paid by the day — or supporting his family solely on what his wife earned from a small store.
More than 90 miles (145 kilometers) away, in the town of Tacámbaro, an engineer at an avocado packing plant received the alert in the early hours of the morning: The facility should be kept sealed and under quarantine.
Some 200,000 people employed by Michoacán’s avocado industry were left in limbo.
Authorities did not say what threat triggered the alert. But in a state where numerous local cartels make money not only from drugs but also from extortion, there are plenty of possibilities.
Some growers have come to consider extortion an unavoidable production cost. A producer from Michoacán told The Associated Press recently that he pays 1 peso per kilo exported in extortion fees and exports about 90 metric tons a day, which amounts to more than $5,000 in daily payments.
In March alone, Mexico shipped nearly 4,800 tons of avocados a day to the United States.
Trucks loaded with avocados are also sometimes robbed on roads in western Michoacán. And some farmworkers have been stopped and beaten by armed men near the border with Jalisco without being told why, according to one worker who spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation.
Mexican avocado production is US-controlled
U.S. inspectors have been assaulted and temporarily detained in the past, triggering similar export suspensions. On some occasions, threats arose after inspectors detected pests and were pressured not to report them, said an official familiar with their work who spoke on condition of anonymity for security reasons. The U.S. Embassy does not usually provide details about the incidents.
Inspectors now have less of a presence in the orchards, which are located in isolated hills where armed groups operate with little interference, and concentrate on packing plants.
“If the United States says that it is suspending technical services for security reasons, it’s impossible to export. If it’s for a plant health, it’s the same,” said Rodríguez, who grows, packs and sells avocados. “We are at the mercy of whatever the U.S. market and government decide to do with the industry.”
There is also a political dimension, he said, adding that Mexico didn’t export avocados to the United States for eight decades after a worm was found in an avocado pit in 1914. The U.S. ban was lifted in 1997 as domestic production could no longer meet growing demand.
Exports rely on inspection and certification
More than 80% of Mexican avocados are sold to the U.S. Thousands of tons of avocados travel daily to the United States, especially at the beginning of the year, when demand for guacamole surges ahead of the Super Bowl. To keep that volume moving, certification is key.
Isidro is a “certified” picker. He knows how to disinfect cutting tools before using them, handle the fruit quickly and carefully, and report any spots or damage. The orchards where he works are also certified, providing dining and bathroom facilities for workers.
Jesús Méndez, his supervisor, inspected the boxes before they were loaded onto a truck with the tracking details. The trucks wait until all those in the area are ready before traveling in convoys to packing plants, accompanied by police patrols to prevent robberies.
At the packing plants, inspections continue, checking quality, the fruit’s flesh and possible pests. The avocados then move along mechanical lines that sort them by size before workers place them into boxes.
Once labeled and sealed, the trailers head for the U.S. border. At the slightest security alert, every point along the route can be brought to a standstill.
Fears remain despite the return to work
The deployment of more than 1,500 soldiers to protect Michoacán’s avocado-growing region and recent arrests of people allegedly involved in extortion have eased concerns, but only partially.
Luis Manuel Soto, a 36-year-old grower and packer from western Michoacán, hopes the increased security will bring improvements. So far, he says, he has not felt them.
In 2024, he said, armed men pulled him from his vehicle and threatened to kill him unless he paid them and withdrew a complaint over extortion and an attempt to seize his orchards. The threats returned last July, even though one person involved in the earlier case has been convicted.
“They left me a funeral cross and … a written message saying I had only days left,” Soto said from a town near Morelia, Michoacán’s capital.
The threats have continued by phone. Now he divides his time between occasional visits to his orchards, managing his businesses and social projects remotely, and going to prosecutors’ offices to request protection.
In Santa Ana Zirosto and surrounding communities, residents welcome the military presence.
“It gives us some peace, but it also scares us a little because it could lead to confrontations with some of the groups,” said Méndez.
