All Mexico was shaken by the evidence of indigenous unrest revealed in the "Zapatista" uprising in Chiapas in 1994. Now in the state of Chihuahua -- about as far from Chiapas as you can go without leaving Mexico -- there are signs of a political stirring which, while far from an uprising, may produce interesting sparks when they come into contact with a massive development scheme backed by the Mexican government. PNS correspondent Kent Paterson is a radio producer at KUNM in Albuquerque, New Mexico and writes about Mexican politics and culture.

CUSURARE, MEXICO -- "In 1940, the old forest was very big, a pine tree was very big. I remember that two trees would barely fit in a truck. Nowadays they're not the same pine they used to be. Now a truck can haul 30 or 40 tree trunks."

Margarita Baquetero, a Raramuri Indian elder, is taking a break from gathering vegetables in her garden in this small mountain community in the northern Mexican state of Chihuahua.

"It makes me sad that our pines trees are gradually being lost. Outsiders are taking away the timber, and the people who live here are being left with nothing."

The Raramuri and other indigenous groups in this region, the Sierra Tarahumara, have suddenly found themselves the owners of a prime piece of real estate. The region is treasured for forests, mineral deposits, and tourist potential -- and for illegal timber harvesting and drug cultivation.

Even while authorities hatch new development plans for the region, conflicts are brewing between natives and newcomers over control of the mountains' rich resources.

In the background is the memory of the 1994 Zapatista uprising in the opposite corner of Mexico, and the possibility of an indigenous revolt. Although there has been no armed rebellion here, local people are taking the stage for the first time as key actors.

For example, one group of Raramuri residents of San Alonso succeeded in forcing a temporary halt to logging on their land this year after filing a complaint with Mexico's environmental attorney general, alleging that timber contractors for the US-based International Paper Co. were over harvesting pines on their lands.

Another potential area of conflict involves the growing eco-tourist market. A steady stream of foreign visitors come to the Sierra Tarahumara to seek rustic getaways amid the sheer canyons and waterfalls of the Sierra Tarahumara. No longer content with work as maids or day laborers, indigenous villagers are trying their hands at small business trying to attract some of the dollars of backpackers and hikers.

Indeed, Raramuri in the community of San Ignacio, a few miles from the tourist town of Creel, have raised eyebrows with a new enterprise that offers scenic tours, a lake resort and handicrafts store -- providing income for more than 100 individuals.

But the Mexican government has its own vision for the area stretching from the Sea of Cortez to the Copper Canyon, a 15-year, $300 million megaproject dubbed "the Second Conquest" by a local Jesuit priest, Javier Avila.

Launched about two years ago, the plan proposes a new airport, new roads, and 4,000 new hotel rooms. Carlos Laczano, chief of eco tourism for the state of Chihuahua, says the goal is to increase the number of visitors from the current 80,000 a year to 500,000 a year. The payoff for locals will be 15,000 new jobs.

Laczano says the megaproject will be "an economic option for the inhabitants, so they can get away from negative things like drug trafficking."

Government officials say that the involvement of indigenous people is vital to the project, and note that Raramuri representatives sit on a new coordinating council, but rumblings of discontent can already be heard.

At a meeting with state authorities this past summer, some traditional Raramuri governors complained to reporters they knew little about the project, though it seeks to bring hundreds of thousands of visitors to their lands.

Maria Elena Quintero, a member of Cususare's tourist committee, one of a new wave of indigenous women activists, said she had seen no studies that might shed light on the environmental or cultural impact of so many visitors.

"I don't see much benefit for the people," she said, suggesting that hotel owners will be the big gainers.

"I'd like to see the project provide support for indigenous people, really support us, and not have developers use us as window dressing to begin the project."

What is at stake here in the mountains of Chihuahua is far more than a division of profits. With the reverberations of Mexico's indigenous autonomy movement reaching here from the south, the future of eco-tourism in the northwest will be an important test of whether Mexico's indigenous people gain a true voice in determining their destiny.