The Guardian of the Monarchs (now streaming on Netflix) may be an eye-opener for people outside of Mexico. Director Emiliano Ruprah’s documentary functions as both tribute and expose: The former, to Homero Gomez Gonzalez, a Mexican conservationist dedicated to preserving the monarch butterfly sanctuary in El Rosario, Michoacan – no matter what. The latter, of the spate of murders committed against Mexican environmentalists by cartels – and the corrupt government officials who allow it to happen. Yes, Gomez, beloved both within and outside his community, was one of the victims. Why, you may wonder, do organized criminals target environmentalists? The answer to that is in the film, which highlights a tragic situation with a profound global ripple effect.
The Gist: “Brides of the sun.” That’s what Homero poetically dubbed his beloved monarch butterflies. You know the monarch – instantly recognizable for the distinctive orange and black designs on its wings, proof perhaps that mother nature is an inspired artist. They migrate annually from Canada, 4,400 kilometers to El Rosario, where they cluster and gather en masse to rest, eat and mate. Their presence in Mexico made them part of folklore, where they symbolize dreams, transformation and resilience, their yearly treks north and back resonating mightily with Mexican migrant workers who make similar excursions; some believe the monarchs carry with them the souls of the dead.
We see photos and videos of Homero standing among massive throngs of the gorgeous butterflies. They were his passion. His social media videos helped drive hundreds of thousands of tourists to El Rosario to see the monarchs at the preserve where he worked as commissioner. He grew up in the area, and was a local hero of sorts. His son, wife, siblings and friends describe him as a loving and affectionate father with a tendency to be a prankster. But he was dead-serious about maintaining the habitat, stopping at nothing to protect its sanctity, even under the threat of violence.
Violence? Against a man who loves butterflies? It has to be driven by greed, right? Absolutely: Michoacan is a hotbed for cartel activity. The forest provides them cover for cooking meth, smuggling drugs and guns and, frankly, waging war against each other, and they keep safe houses in remote areas so they can kidnap and hide people with minimal scrutiny. But the area is rich in natural resources, and organized criminals realized how much money could be earned via illegal logging. They not only venture into protected areas at night and literally steal trees, but they also burn the remaining vegetation to clear it for avocado plantations. Cartels, I was shocked to learn, export the fruit to the U.S., participating in the multibillion-dollar avocado industry. (How and why this happens remains the topic for another documentary, perhaps.) Logging and avocados, we learn via the talking heads here, are even more profitable than marijuana.
Back to Homero, who would venture into the woods at night to catch illegal loggers in the act. It was wholly grassroots work, as local authorities tend to look the other way, either due to their links with organized crime networks or a desire to not stir trouble. Homero became an increasingly vocal advocate against such illegal activity, using the press to expose what was happening in El Rosario and rouse federal and international action. He even got involved in local politics, and decided to run for mayor. His high-profile activity made him a target – he was even abducted and threatened by cartel members to curb his activism. The next time, they wouldn’t be so nice: On Jan. 13, 2020, Homero went to the local horse racing track to hobnob with other local politcos and never came home. His family fretted. The cops waffled. The community turned out in the hundreds to search the forest for him. Sixteen days later, his body was found at the bottom of a well.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Ruprah could spin The Guardian of the Monarchs into a compelling limited series about murders of environmental activists, like Werner Herzog did with Into the Abyss.
Performance Worth Watching: Homero’s adult son, Homero Jr., is the most consistently credible voice in the film, and in many ways, he’s arguably the foundation of the narrative.
Memorable Dialogue: Homero’s wife, Rebeca Valencia: “‘I have a serious problem that I don’t think I’ll be able to solve.’ Those were his words.”
Sex and Skin: None.
Our Take: Structurally and stylistically, The Guardian of the Monarchs is a fairly standard documentary – it tells a linear story via plenty of talking heads and some archival footage, and maybe leans on reenactments more than most (although they also lend the film some necessary gravitas and visual variety). But Ruprah’s vigorous journalism has a clear point-of-view: Romero was done wrong, and Ruprah doesn’t just trot out sympathizers to bemoan the guy’s terrible fate. He finds a cop who coolly – and cynically, if you look hard enough – repeats the “official” lines about Romero’s death, that he “drowned” and there’s no evidence of foul play. He trots out Silvano Aureoles, and it’s shocking he agreed to participate, considering he’s a former Michoacan governor who’s currently under investigation for his ties to organized crime, and is described as someone who pretended to be Romero’s friend while he worked behind the scenes to undermine him. Ruprah also finds a coroner and journalists who offer detailed evidence and crucial context for the story, to balance out the emotional testimony of Romero’s family and friends.
So the film plays like a magazine piece by a creator with a flair for the occasional poetic turn (Ruprah’s footage of the monarch butterflies is gorgeous and reverent, as potent a plea for conservation as any fact or statistic about their dwindling numbers and disappearing habitat). From the core story spins a plethora of implications about international trade, rampant corruption in government (and not just in Mexico, the subtext slyly urges), climate change and grassroots activism. Each of those topics probably deserves its own documentary, and, as ever, answering one question turns up several more. But the overriding idea is that Guardian picks up where Romero left off, using the media to elevate the voices of the righteous oppressed.
Our Call: You’ll admire this documentary’s rigor as much as its message. STREAM IT.
John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.