Fabiola Torres Monfil points to the mountains that surround San Diego La Mesa Tochimiltzingo village in central Mexico, where she was born and raised. There, machinery is dotted among the patches of forest that still stand; they are moving earth to plant agave monocultures. In Mexico, these plants are part of everyday life and the landscape, but a little more than a decade ago, something changed. “Before, the quiotes [agave flowers] were bright all over the hills,” says Torres.
The agaves (Agave spp.) are a genus of plants endemic to the American continent, distributed from the southern United States to the north of South America. Mexico’s agaves are the source of the distillate mezcal. It has surged in popularity since 2010, after Unesco recognised traditional Mexican cuisine as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Artisanal agave distillates – particularly mezcal – subsequently grew in value as a contrast to tequila, another agave distillate that had already been industrialised.
Torres is a master mezcal maker, a tradition she inherited from her father and grandfather. The significance of mezcal in Mexico is broad, its artisans working at the intersection of multiple cultural, ecosystemic and symbolic relationships. It is connected to the territory, its life cycles and the social fabric of the country’s rural and Indigenous communities.
Agave and communities
Mexico is home to 75% of the agave species on the planet. Agaves flower once, just before the end of their lifecycles, producing a quiote – a tall flowering spike that towers over the base. Depending on the species, agaves can take between six and 40 years to grow. During that time, the agave concentrates sugars at the base, in its piña (heart), in order to have enough energy to flower. After blooming, it produces fruits (seed capsules), then begins to dry out and die. Agaves may also be reproduced from sprouts that emerge at the base, or that grow on the flower spike itself, which are genetically identical to the mother plant.
The domestication of agave is estimated to have occurred over 10,000 years ago. Its fibres have long been used to create numerous utilitarian objects, such as hats. Agave leaves may be used as food wrapping, and are also used for cooking in some traditional recipes, while the leaf tips are repurposed as needles. But the agave’s best-known use is arguably for drinks: distillates such as mezcal and tequila are made from from its piña. Agave sap can also be fermented (rather than distilled) to make pulque, another alcoholic beverage.
In other words, agaves have profound cultural significance, because the development of these products has been the result of thousands of years of interaction.
“The agavera tradition is a living cultural heritage in use,” says Diana Pinzón, a forestry engineer with a master’s in conservation science.
Mutual benefits: the co-evolution of agaves and bats
Agaves are chiropterophilous – pollinated by bats. Less appreciated than bees in human culture, bats nevertheless play a fundamental role as pollinators of countless plants, such as pitahayas (dragon fruit) and agaves. In Mexico, there are three species of nectar-eating bats related to agaves: the greater maguey bat (Leptonycteris nivalis), the lesser maguey bat (Leptonycteris yerbabuenae) and the trumpet bat (Choeronycteris mexicana). The first two species are classified by Mexico’s Secretariat of Environment and Natural Resources (Semarnat) as “at risk” and “under special protection” respectively, largely due to their dependence on agaves.
The close relationship between agaves and bats is the result of a sophisticated co-evolution estimated to be more than 10 million years old.
Ana Ibarra, director of the NGO, Bat Conservation International for Mexico and Latin America, describes this. The agaves increased the height of their quiotes as they evolved so bats could pollinate the flowers without getting tangled up in other plants. They also adjusted their cycle so that the peak nectar flow occurs at night. For their part, the bats adapted their snouts and tongues to reach the nectar without damaging the flowers, and synchronised their migration with the flowering of the agaves throughout the area that is now Mexico.
“The reason for sexual reproduction in nature is to ensure a genetic richness that allows organisms to have better tools to cope with environmental variation,” says Ibarra. “Thanks to pollination by bats, agaves are better equipped genetically to adapt to changes such as drought and pests.”
As they move in rhythm with the flowering season, bats can find quality food all year round. They can fly up to 50 kilometres per night during the migration season, all while carrying pollen in their fur. This pollination scenario enables genetic richness, and Ibarra and Pinzón agree that the diversity of agaves in Mexico is partly explained by this efficient pollination system.
If there is mezcal, there are no quiotes
In the 1990s, the so-called “tequila boom” made Mexican distillates world-famous. Although the tequila-producing region in Mexico is officially restricted to 181 municipalities across five states, agave plants are found across Mexico. This means other agave distillates are produced from the various species of agave found in the country.
The saddest thing is that when the mezcal craze began, we already knew this was coming, because we had already seen it with tequilaAna Ibarra, director of the NGO, Bat Conservation International for Mexico and Latin America
To make mezcal, tequila or any agave distillate, the entire plant is harvested when it contains the highest concentration of sugars, just when the quiotes begin to form. This leaves bats without food, because the plant’s life cycle is interrupted.
According to Ibarra, bat habitat destruction and a lack of food have caused the greater maguey bat – or Leptonycteris nivalis – population to decline by almost 50%. “The saddest thing is that when the mezcal craze began, we already knew this was coming, because we had already seen it with tequila,” she says.
Before mezcal became fashionable, agave communities produced small batches within a few months each year. Now they distil non-stop, all year round. Previously, wild agaves were used, and enough was left in the bush for repopulation. Torres says this has changed: “There are very few wild plants left in the hills, and now they use mostly monocultured offshoots.” This way of farming reduces a crop’s genetic diversity, leaving it more vulnerable to disease.
Once harvested, the agave hearts, or piñas, are baked with firewood in conical ovens in a process called tapada. This caramelises the sugars and facilitates their fermentation, which generates alcohol. The firewood is obtained from the surrounding hills, further increasing the environmental impact of Mexican agave distillate production.
A booming market
“Bats have been used as a marketing strategy. But neither Mexico nor the US understand the true impact of the agave distillate market on Mexico’s ecosystems,” says Pinzón.
Ten years ago, Pinzón and Torres joined forces to start an agave distillate project focused on ecosystem restoration, biodiversity conservation and the safeguarding of intangible cultural heritage. They named it Zinacantán, which in Nahuatl – an Indigenous American language spoken in Mexico – means “land of bats”, to honour the ecological importance of these mammals.
In 2024, they visited the Cuenca de Ojos reserve in the northwestern Mexican state of Sonora, and their hearts raced when they saw so many quiotes growing: “We had forgotten that the hills used to be full of quiotes. We didn’t even remember that the landscape used to be like this in San Diego La Mesa”, says Torres.
Ibarra agrees, while noting the change: for her, the transformation of ecosystems in Mexico over the past 15 years has been drastic.
The expansion of the agricultural frontier necessary to produce food is partly responsible, but so is the fact that land use is often changed with or without planning, or in response to temporary fads. These actions have been quickly accepted by historically impoverished communities, to whom land developers sell the discourse of “progress” and becoming “rural entrepreneurs”. Within a few years, the soil is degraded, and so are water sources. This leaves the communities without food sovereignty, and dilutes the cultural bonds that tie them to their land, forcing them to leave.
The rise of agave distillates is one such trend driving these radical and rapid landscape changes. These transformations take decades to reverse and a lot of hard work, making them unfeasible for historically impoverished and racialised communities.
Hope against the tide
Despite having to operate within Mexico’s heavily patriarchal society, Torres and Pinzón have been able to make a difference. In their project, they produce small batches of mezcal during just a few months each year; plant agaves grown from seedlings; maintain a seed bank; avoid the use of agrochemicals, and ensure at least 30% of their flowering agaves are left in the fields as food for bats. In doing all this, the pair have distanced themselves from the impositions of the market, which drives large-scale mezcal production via agave monocultures planted using chemicals that destroy biodiversity. The women have committed themselves to the conservation and care of a fragile biocultural heritage.
Torres and Pinzón understand the collective good that needs to be built in a community for them to be able to reject a mandate of territorial devastation. That is why their project now reaches beyond San Diego La Mesa via the Agavero Fund, a conservation collective involving several families and communities.
“My dream is that we may create nectar corridors for the bats. Distanced 50 kilometres from one another, we should have small associated plots of land where people commit to leaving the agaves to flower and plant new ones every year,” explains Pinzón.
While Pinzón’s dream is taking shape, the Agavero Fund is already yielding results. It is building additional seed banks to maintain the genetic diversity of agaves, and has initiated ecological restoration in various regions of Mexico. The fund has also attracted commitments from several rural communities to avoid using agrochemicals. Perhaps most importantly, it is prompting people to reflect on the impacts of the agave industry on their territories.
“The conservation work is based on establishing trusting relationships with the communities, so they don’t forget that land is the only real thing they have. The problem is so big that we suggest solutions knowing that the outlook for the future is very dark,” says Pinzón.
Indeed, the future looks dark: eradicated forests and dried-up water bodies, with no pollinators. The life, food sovereignty and cultural heritage of many rural and Indigenous communities depend on concrete and immediate action.
