TOCOA, Honduras (AP) 鈥� Seven bullets pounded into Juan L贸pez outside a small white church on a sunny September afternoon.
Six shots in the chest. One in the head. And a masked gunman standing in front of L贸pez's blood-spattered truck.
In seconds, another environmental champion in Honduras was dead after leading the fight to protect dense jungle and crystalline waters in a region rife with corruption and drug trafficking.
L贸pez鈥檚 killing led to from the Biden administration, the United Nations and , and brought back stark memories of the global outcry over the of Honduran environmentalist Berta C谩ceres.
As environmental groups struggle to carry on, L贸pez鈥檚 death has become emblematic of the failures of a government that once offered hope for change.
鈥淏y killing Juan, they wanted to shut us up, but the very opposite has happened," said Dalila Santiago, a close friend and leader in L贸pez鈥檚 movement. 鈥淲e鈥檝e raised our voices, demanded justice.鈥�
Environmentalists under threat
Protecting the environment is a high-risk profession in Honduras. People like L贸pez often act as unwanted eyes and ears in lawless swathes of Latin America, the most deadly region in the world for environmentalists, according to nongovernmental organization Global Witness. At least 18 environmentalists across Honduras were killed last year.
Activists and religious leaders assert that at the heart of Lopez鈥檚 killing was his fight against an iron oxide mining project with close government ties and a tangle of corruption around members of the Honduran president鈥檚 political party.
L贸pez's collective of local communities has fought the mine, which they say has carved into a nature reserve and polluted rivers, turning them a thick brown. Photos provided by residents show forest in the reserve eaten away by heavy machinery, and armed masked men guarding the mine.
The Honduran companies behind the mine 鈥� Inversiones Los Pinares, Inversiones Ecotek and their parent company 鈥� are being prosecuted for the mine's environmental destruction. They did not respond to requests for comment, but in prior public statements have defended the hundreds of jobs the mine created and their contributions to the region.
L贸pez, 46, also fought corruption, railing against scandals plaguing Tocoa Mayor Ad谩n F煤nez, an ally of Honduras鈥� president who has defended the mine.
鈥淛uan鈥檚 vision was for the future, and what we鈥檙e leaving behind for generations to come,鈥� said Carlos Orellana, a local priest who worked closely with him. 鈥淭hose who defend the environment know that at any moment they can be killed, because there is no state protection."
Since the mine's opening in 2013, environmentalists in the rural Col贸n region have received anonymous death threats, been tailed by men in unmarked cars and been jailed for years without trial.
In 2023, two members of L贸pez鈥檚 organization, the Municipal Committee for the Defense of the Common and Public Goods, were shot dead. More than 40 others have fled, seeking asylum in the United States.
The emptiness left behind
Two months after L贸pez's killing, a pall hangs over the home where he and his wife, Thelma Pe帽a, raised their daughters. It was there that L贸pez wrote love poems even as the family feared for their lives.
鈥淲e were always being followed,鈥� Pe帽a said. 鈥淗e received messages threatening that they would kidnap him, torture him.鈥�
Now state-assigned bodyguards, masked and armed, live with the family around the clock. When younger daughter Julia turned 9 this month, she posed with them for a photo along with a cake before a sequined backdrop.
Posters of L贸pez鈥檚 face with 鈥淛ustice for Juan鈥� now line Tocoa's streets. Bullet holes dot the church where he was shot after delivering a Sunday sermon.
His family has state protection and a small allowance for six months. After that, Pe帽a doesn鈥檛 know what they'll do.
鈥淭here鈥檚 an emptiness,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hen I鈥檓 with the girls, I feel like crying, but I hold it back so they see their strong mother. But there are moments at night when you鈥檙e all alone where you can鈥檛 contain your tears.鈥�
A 鈥榲ile murder鈥�
Honduran President Xiomara Castro has called L贸pez's killing a 鈥渧ile murder鈥� and promised to solve it.
In October, the government said it detained three people who carried out the killing, but H茅ctor Longino Becerra, the government's sub-secretary for human rights, said they believe the person who ordered the killing is at large. It isn鈥檛 easy to enforce laws in rural Honduras, he added.
Castro had inspired hope for many when she won the presidency in 2021, promising to reduce violence, root out corruption and end open pit-mining projects.
In 2023, L贸pez's coalition celebrated when Castro鈥檚 administration ordered mining suspended in the nature reserve. And shortly after L贸pez鈥檚 death, Honduran prosecutors formally accused company leaders and local government officials connected to the mine of illegally exploiting resources, abusing authority and 鈥渆nvironmental crimes鈥� for mining in the reserve.
But locals say they continue to hear dynamite explosions in the reserve and have witnessed mining continue.
鈥淲e don鈥檛 understand why these projects continue in our territory,鈥� said Santiago, L贸pez鈥檚 friend. But 鈥渢he government continues to be dominated by powerful businessmen and organized crime.鈥�
A tangle of corruption
Among the mine's defenders is the mayor, F煤nez, the leader of the president's political party in Colon and one of the most powerful people in the region.
In a drug-trafficking trial in the U.S., an ex-leader of the drug gang Los Cachiros accused the mayor of aiding the gang. Prosecutors are also investigating F煤nez's administration over allegations that it helped the mine obtain falsified environmental permits in 2016.
In September, a widely published video showed F煤nez alongside the president's brother-in-law Carlos Zelaya Los Cachiros, which has a firm grip on the city. The video shows the men being offered $500,000 to support Castro鈥檚 failed campaign in 2013. Amid ongoing investigations by authorities, F煤nez acknowledged he was in the meeting and that he'd known the narcos as "businessmen,鈥� but said there was no evidence any payment was made.
L贸pez was among the first to call for F煤nez to step down after the video surfaced. Days later, he was dead.
That timing prompted Orellana, the priest, to publicly accuse F煤nez during a sermon of ordering L贸pez鈥檚 murder. Shortly after, prosecutors ordered F煤nez to turn over security camera footage of his house the day of L贸pez's slaying. Prosecutors told the Associated Press that F煤nez was a 鈥減erson of interest鈥� in the murder investigation.
F煤nez did not respond to interview requests and maintains he is innocent, telling local media the priest was "not credible.鈥� He later said he wouldn't seek another term.
The president's political party has largely been silent about the accusations against F煤nez, but Longino Becerra called the corruption allegations 鈥渟tructural problems鈥� plaguing Honduras that cannot be fixed quickly.
鈥淵ou can鈥檛 judge a government ... for the errors committed by some of its members,鈥� he said.
鈥業鈥檒l always come back'
Other leaders in Tocoa have promised to continue L贸pez's work, but many say it has lost strength.
鈥淲e鈥檙e scared to continue fighting,鈥� Santiago said. But "we have to keep Juan L贸pez鈥檚 legacy alive.鈥�
Five years ago, Santiago and L贸pez made a promise: If she died first, he would plant a guava tree on her grave. If he died first, she would plant yuca to match his stubbornness.
"They can tear me up, they can cut me down. But I鈥檒l always come back," she recalled him saying.
With that memory running through her mind, she leaned over his grave, wiping tears from her eyes. She planted three yucas, and murmured: 鈥淚 never thought I would be here.鈥�
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Associated Press journalists Fernanda Pesce and Moises Castillo in Tocoa, Honduras and Marlon Gonz谩lez in Tegucigalpa, Honduras contributed to this report.
Megan Janetsky, The Associated Press
