Last fall, I was approached by Megan Marshall, a good friend and Catholic Relief Services volunteer in El Salvador, about the possibility of traveling from El Salvador to Tucson, Arizona by land. The idea of the roughly 2,200 mile trip was not to go sightseeing through Guatemala and Mexico. Rather, we would follow the route that Salvadorans take to the U.S. in search of decently paid work. The idea intrigued me. I had thought about taking the trip before but now it became a very real possibility. Meg had spent 18 months accompanying migrants with an organization called CARECEN International. She had a number of contacts along the journey of people who have dedicated their lives to the migrants passing through. Most importantly, I had the time to do it and with the help of the Casa de la Solidaridad and Catholic Relief Services, I had the financial resources to make it happen.
On Saturday February 3, after a few months of emails and phone calls, Meg and I departed on the journey. Over the next 27 days, we had the trip of a lifetime. We did all of our traveling by bus and we crossed borders legally with our passports. We did not ride the trains and compared to the migrants, we did not do too much walking. Our contacts were people, many of whom were religious women, who have dedicated their lives to serving Central Americans on their journey to the U.S. The generosity we received was tremendous.
Our main goal was to listen to the migrants’ stories. As a result, we spent the majority of time hanging out at shelters talking with the migrants about what they were experiencing. It was rare that we asked more than three questions: Why did you leave? Where are you going? What has it been like? Those three questions often led to hours of conversation. As you will learn, this is a very difficult journey and many of the migrants enjoyed having others who were interested in their stories. We were surprised more than once at how open the migrants were with us. As you read through this, please focus on the stories of the migrants. Please try and embrace their humanity in connection with your own. Our only desire is to try to humbly give witness to their experiences.
For some context, El Salvador is geographically roughly the size of Massachusetts. Roughly 25% of its population (2.5 million people) already lives outside of the country. 90% of those people are in the U.S. According to the UNDP, 700 Salvadorans per day leave their homeland to head north. Remittances, money sent back from the U.S., make up around 20% of the Gross National Product and that number steadily grows. Although women make the trip as well, the majority of those we encountered were men. In El Salvador, it is more and more common to see whole villages, usually rural, with hardly any men left. Destruction of the family as a result of the migration movement is a reality for hundreds of thousands of Salvadorans. Similar situations are found in Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua.
I want to sincerely thank the countless migrants who were willing to share their stories with us. Also, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the people running the shelters where we spent much of our time. Although despair was a reality at times, the hope we saw in their commitments and dedication brought us to tears more than once. We are extremely grateful for their witness to the life of Christ. Also, this trip would not have been possible without the support of many friends in El Salvador.
Finally, thank you for reading. I have tried to refrain from writing too much over these past years and bogging down the inboxes of friends and family. However, this is too important to keep to myself. I want to recognize that many of you probably have very strong opinions about migration. I hope that you are able to set aside whatever those opinions may be and engage these stories. On the afternoon before I left, I met with my friend and mentor Antonio Cañas. His final advice to me was, “Ojos abiertos, Tom. Ojos abiertos.” “Open eyes, Tom. Open eyes.” These are some of the things I saw.
The Beginning
“To explore Mexico is to walk through rainforests and along tropical beaches, to traverse vast deserts and gaze at snowcapped volcanoes, and to wander the streets of bustling cities, sleepy villages, chic resorts and the ruined cities of the Maya, the Aztecs and other great civilizations.”
At 5:15am, the PuertoBus bus station in San Salvador was mundane. Seated across from me was a quiet middle-aged Salvadoran woman unsuccessfully fighting back tears. She was headed “al norte.” Has the poverty become too much for her? Is one of her children sick? Is she going to find a loved one? These were the questions that began to formulate in my head as I took a break from my reading my “Lonely Planet Mexico” guide book. While she probably did not fully understand the obstacles that lay between her and the U.S., she knew that her travels through Mexico would not bring her to chic resorts or ruined cities of ancient civilizations. This was the day that she left. February 3, 2007. She did not when she would talk to her family. She did not know if she would ever see her homeland again. She now, maybe for the first time, fully realized that she was actually doing this. The tears running down her face made me realize that so too was I. My journey of a lifetime would be along the route that many Central Americans take in search of life.
Salvadorans travel into Guatemala legally. For the many Salvadorans that leave daily, this bus trip is the first leg of their journey to the United States. The bus traveled through western Guatemala on a narrow, dusty two-lane road surrounded by hills on both sides. With the exception of two random migration stops, one in El Salvador and one in Guatemala, the trip was uneventful until the Guatemala-Mexico border. There, just before crossing into Mexico, the bus made a right-hand turn and headed northeast for about 30 minutes. Although not advertised in the trip itinerary, everyone knew that the bus would stop in Tecún Úman, Guatemala. There, the Central American people who could not legally enter into Mexico, about one-third of the passengers, got off the bus. The bus driver did not open the luggage compartments down below. The little with which they traveled was on their backs or in their pockets. Whether they were traveling with human traffickers or alone, the journey before them was a human rights disaster. They were the victims.
The situation on the southern border of Mexico is very dangerous. Having to sneak into Mexico, the migrants walk great distances through the mountains to avoid the Mexican military guarding the border. Also, in order to cross into Mexico, it is necessary to swim across the Suchiate River. Once across the river, it is roughly a 15-hour walk to the town of Tapachula. During those 15 hours, the migrants face many obstacles, of which hunger and thirst are the most pressing. Many are robbed by Guatemalan and Mexican officials. If they do not pay, they will be turned in and deported – after a stay in a Mexican holding center. Migrants want to avoid those at all costs. Gangs have formed along the border. Knowing that the migrants have to travel with some money, the migrants have become a steady flow of prey for the gangs as well. There is a shelter run by a Catholic priest in Tapachula. The shelter provides food, shelter, and water to the migrants. Also, the shelters throughout Mexico are refuges for the migrants. Police cannot enter onto the property without a warrant which provides a sense of security rarely found on the journey. When we arrived, about 30 migrants were gathered in the front yard. We were not surprised when the first five people with whom we talked were Salvadorans. The majority were men. The migrants were as young as two years old, as old as 50. The migrants were from all over Central America: Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua. Each one had a story and every one seemed to be more tragic than the next.
One Nicaraguan man, called “chele” as a reference to his light skin, shared with us his reality. Chele had already made the trip once. He explained that his family back in Nicaragua was devastated by the news that he was leaving again. However, he had hopes of more land, a car, and a bigger house for his wife and children. He described the struggling economy of Nicaragua. He emphasized that the country was still feeling the effects of the U.S.-funded war of the 1980’s. He also noted the effect of Hurricane Mitch in 1998 from which the country is still yet to recover - thanks in large part to a corrupt government that never distributed the relief aid. He was convinced that any hope for his desires lay outside of Nicaragua in the United States.
Once people decide to leave, they must choose whether or not they want to go with a migrant smuggler. Most of the people at the shelter were going without smugglers, known as “coyotes” or “polleros.” The price to travel from Central America with a migrant smuggler is between $6,000 and $7,000. One Honduran man pointed out the he could buy a farm for that amount of money! However, while it has never been lucrative for the average Honduran, the agricultural situation has been exacerbated by the Central American Free Trade Agreement. He knows that there would be little return on investing in a farm, but there is a huge payoff if he finds work in the U.S. Estimates range from 7:1 up to 17:1. Migrants must pay the smuggler half of the money upfront. The original money is generally sent by a family member working in the U.S. and will be used by the smuggler to pay bribes and transportation costs. There are no contracts. The money almost always moves via Western Union accounts. Western Union rates vary but 15% or 20% are common rates (i.e. it costs $15-20 to send $100). It is one of many parties that has greatly profited from migration. The money still owed to the smuggler is paid upon arrival.
Among the others staying at the shelter was a Salvadoran family of 3 that was attempting to ride their bikes all the way through Mexico thinking that they would be less suspicious than the many walkers. They also wanted to avoid the cargo train with their 7-year-old son. Two other men were caught earlier in the day by Mexican migration officials. They were robbed of $700 total and now had absolutely nothing. I asked, “If you were caught by migration, why were you not deported”? The chuckles of many of the migrants at my apparently stupid question proved that I was missing something. They made it clear that very few are deported from the southern portion of Mexico. As Chele put it:
“We are like animals in this country. We get caught, robbed, and let go. That might happen 5 or 6 times to every person here. If they deport us, their friends 100 kilometers north cannot rob us again. And if their friends 100 kilometers north deport us, then their friends another 100 kilometers north cannot rob us. They don’t want to deport us. They are getting rich at the expense of us. This is a business for them. No one really wants this to end.”
Many migrants now realize that it is smart to have money sent to various different places. For example, if they are certain that they will be robbed between point A and point B, they will have money sent to point B. Once there, they will pick up money and have more sent to point C. They are robbed between points B and C, pick up more at point, etc… Chele was right that it has become a business and it is amazing just how lucrative it is.
As we departed the shelter, thanking so many of the people who shared with us, a young man, maybe 17 years of age, arrived. He looked exhausted. He had spent the day walking through the hills and swimming across the river into Mexico. He grabbed some water right away and the person in charge of the shelter explained the rules. He laid down on the grass and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He made it into Mexico – just a couple thousand more miles to go.
Southern Mexico
From the shelter in Tapachula, the migrants travel to Arriaga and then to Ixtepec. Arriaga is located 152 kilometers north, as the crow flies, from Tapachula. Previously, the cargo train traveled from Tapachula to Arriaga. However, when pressure was put on the Mexican government to slow the flow of migrants crossing its southern border, they stopped this portion of the train route. Of course, this did nothing to stop the flow. The migrants just have to walk that distance. The heat is a major obstacle. Also, the route is well-known by the many people looking to take advantage of the migrants. Robberies and abuse have become an everyday occurrence. One can imagine too that death is a very real possibility. One of the great difficulties with migrants who die is trying to identify them. If one is caught more than once in either Mexico or the U.S., they can face jail time. As a result, very few migrants use their real identities. Also, many Central Americans choose not to carry any identity with the hope of convincing their capturers that they are Mexican. When they are unable to sing the second verse of the Mexican national anthem, or pass other similar tests, there identities as Central Americans become clear. Despite the many obstacles, nearly all of the migrants risk walking to Arriaga in order to travel by train. The cargo train is the main mode of transportation for the migrants. It travels nearly the entire length of Mexico. The train carries agricultural goods, oil, and many other products. It is not meant to carry people. Public transportation is often subject to migration checkpoints so that is not an option. The migrants “board” the train for the first time in Arriaga. The next stop is Ixtepec. It is a place I will never forget.
I stepped off the bus, looked to my right and then to my left. For at least one mile in each direction, thousands of migrants gathered along the railroad tracks. The scene was surreal. As we walked along the railroad tracks in search of Padre Alejandro, a Catholic priest who had agreed to receive us, we saw many more seated in idle trains. I have experienced the poor in a state of waiting many times. Never, though, have I felt the human desperation of so many people in such close proximity. These people literally had nothing. They did not even know when the next train would leave. I did not see anyone eating or drinking. Many shouted a few English phrases they knew while others asked for money. Although we traveled lightly, it is probable that the four bags we carried were worth more than the belongings of hundreds of people there combined.
Eventually we met Padre Alejandro whose vigor and youthful appearance betrayed his 62 years of age. A diocesan priest, he had resigned from his parish to work full-time with the migrants passing through Ixtepec. We drove to his house located about 20 minutes away where we had dinner before we began to help his volunteer staff prepare food for about 500 people. We loaded up the food in the pick-up truck, stopped for some water, and headed back to the railroad tracks. Padre Alejandro drove along the tracks to let a few people know where we would be serving the meal. Word obviously spread as a long line of people formed. I know that I am not a fun person to be around when I am hungry. As a result, I was a bit anxious about how the process of serving food to hundreds of people who had not eaten in days would go. It was very smooth. With the exception of 2 or 3 people, no one cut the line. No one grabbed food prematurely. They humbly passed through the line. With the help of a few migrants, we served the meal out of the back of the truck. Tortillas served as plates and we scooped beans and potatoes onto stacks of 5 at a time. “Please” and “thank you” were repeated hundreds of times. I was moved as much by the generosity of Padre Alejandro as I was by the gratitude of the many we served that night. I saw more Latin men cry over the course of this trip than I have seen in years of living in Latin America-that night was no exception. The toll of the journey was setting in and the migrants desperately needed the food and water.
Padre Alejandro received word that the train was going to leave around 9:30pm. When he announced this news, people began to mobilize quickly. Even though not everyone had eaten, they found the groups with which they were traveling and placed themselves along the railroad tracks. Not everyone was headed north, however. A man named Wilfredo lingered while nearly all of the others had left. He was from Honduras where he had left a wife and 2-year-old daughter five months earlier. He left with 1500 lempiras ($90). He left the other $60 to his name for his family. Like many other migrants, Wilfredo left in the middle of the night so his family could not try and convince him to stay. He ran out of money quickly and spent a month in Veracruz, Mexico working random jobs. He saved up enough to keep going and made it to the Mexican-U.S. border. There, he spent three months. He made it across the Piedras Negras crossing, south of San Antonio, but was captured and sent back by U.S. border patrol. He made three more failed attempts. He begged on the streets of Juarez, Mexico for food. Finally, after five months and no communication with home, he decided to go back to Honduras. He recognized the possibility that his family back home might have given up hope that he was still alive. Padre Alejandro offered what he could to Wilfredo, blessed him, and sent him on his way south.
We then made our way down the railroad tracks to talk with folks as they prepared to depart on the cargo train. Generally, the cars are locked so all of the people are forced to travel on top of the train or in between the cars. On this particular night, there were some open cars which enabled many of the more vulnerable migrants, mostly women, to grab seats on the floor inside the train. While still dangerous, it is safer to travel inside of the trains than on the outside. The ride on this particular night would be 12 hours long which made fatigue another obstacle-especially given the fact that few has eaten properly. Also, the train parked in Ixtepec. People did not have to run and jump on while it was moving as they would have to do in other parts. On a journey as difficult as this one, these small points of gratitude can make a big difference.
As we walked along the tracks talking with the migrants, many asked questions about the U.S. or how to say certain things in English. One young man who talked with us for some time was wearing a bright red turtleneck with “Nebraska” written along the collar. I asked where he was headed and he proudly pointed out the name on his collar. He was obviously very cold, it was probably in the 50s, and he spoke only when his hands did not need to feel the warm sensation of his breath. I asked where exactly he was headed in Nebraska. He replied, “No, just Nebraska.” I informed him that Nebraska is a pretty big place and he seemed very confused. “Do you have the name of a city, an address, or a phone number?” He replied, “I am going to Nebraska. I have some friends there who say there is plenty of work harvesting. I am going there.” Surely, if he is cold in Ixtepec, Mexico, he is going to freeze in Nebraska. Further, he had absolutely no idea where he was headed. Without knowing any English, he was headed without a phone number to a state with a land mass larger than that of his entire country (El Salvador would fit inside of Nebraska 9.5 times) looking for some friends. I wish I could say that his story was uncommon. However, I am convinced that the vast majority of people could not have showed me on a map where they were or where they were headed. It is almost as though east and west do not exist. North and south are the only directions mentioned.
Another man we met, Rafael, spoke nearly perfect English. A Salvadoran, he lived in Oakland for years. He worked construction but had recently been deported. He was on his way back to his family in Oakland where he knew his job awaited him. He affirmed that there was no work left for him in El Salvador and he will keep trying to get back to Oakland until he makes it. I understood his plight very well. The purchasing power in El Salvador has decreased and unemployment has risen substantially. Like Rafael, there are countless people without any other option than to go to the U.S. and work. Also, it is clear that he and many others are finding work. Rafael was in his prime working age. He would much prefer to stay close to his family and contribute to his own country’s economy, however, it is simply not an option. He is one of many migrants who will help contribute $500 billion toward our social security system over the next 20 years without ever collecting a penny.
The train pulled away with over 1,500 people on it. People were hanging from the ladders on the sides of the cars, seated between the cars, and sitting on top of the train. Many belted themselves to the train so that, in case they fell asleep, they would not fall. Still, one of them would surely fall off over the next 12 hours. I understood the need for the rehabilitation center in Tapachula, Mexico dedicated to amputees. There are so many people losing limbs along the journey, mostly falling from the trains, that the center was formed to train people how to live without the limbs they have lost. As the last car passed, I saw the local police pass by. The train workers seemed to not even take note of all the passengers. We all knew the conductor had been paid off.
I was baffled by the notion that every person there was convinced they would make it. I think that they must convince themselves psychologically that they will make it in order to endure the journey. Surely, an hourly wage in the U.S. is a huge pay off if they do arrive. Also, the vast majority are convinced too that God wants them to make it. “I am going for my wife and kids. Of course God wants me to make it. God wants them to have a better life.” The migrants there that night were not criminals. They were hard-working people in search of a more dignified lives for themselves and for their families. I could not help but notice the beauty of the full moon shining brightly over us. Contemplating God’s creation, I had to agree with the idea that God wanted these people to have more dignified lives. I am convinced, however, that God does not want them endure this much suffering and humiliation in order to achieve it.
The heart of Mexico
Oaxaca, Mexico does not experience the huge migration flow that other Mexican cities experience because it is not located near the path of the railroad. The train passes farther east. Still, the Casa del Buen Samaritano exists to serve the few migrants that pass through Oaxaca normally trying to escape the dangers of the train. There was a family of immigrants staying at the shelter during our time in the beautiful colonial town. There were two realities of this movement that hit crystallized for me in Oaxaca: the first was the destruction of the family that has occurred as a result of migration. The second is the extent of the mafia that is taking advantage of the migrants.
Ellie, a Guatemalan, was traveling with her brother and husband. The two men had managed to find work for the day so we had lunch with her. They left Guatemala on December 16 and left her two boys, 3 and 1, with her mother-in-law. They were robbed of everything by the Guatemalan police before they even crossed into Mexico. They had planned to work along the way to save some money but they underestimated the difficulty of finding work. They spent many nights in the mountains after being denied hospitality by Mexican civilians. They decided to risk taking the public bus system to Oaxaca but they were stopped by the federal police. The police made the two men strip down completely and then stole the little they had acquired begging. Ellie stood her ground and refused to strip down past her underwear. Luckily, the police did not use force to make her do anything else and the three were let go.
They made it to the shelter in Oaxaca. Ellie was able to make a phone call back home from the shelter. She imitated the voice of her 3-year-old son asking her when she and dad were coming home. It was a very sad description. We could tell that being away from her children was very hard for her but even harder that they still had not sent any money back to them. She cried for some time thinking about her children. Surely, her children have spent many nights crying as well, wondering where their mom and dad are. Preserving the family has to be an integral part of the debate over migration. Ellie deserved to be with her children. Ellie’s children deserved to be with their mom and dad.
After our conversation with Ellie, we met with Padre Fernando who is a local priest heavily involved in the migration issue. He spoke at length of the mafia. It is clear that there is a lot of organized crime aimed at the migrants. Along with many others, Fernando did not believe that either the Mexican or the U.S. government is actually interested in ending the migration movement. He compared the migrants to dogs chasing a piece of meat and they will go through anything to achieve it. He explained that high-ranking government officials do all of the appointing. In particular, they appoint the police chiefs and the top-ranking military officials. They then appoint the officers who perform the actual robberies and accept the bribes from coyotes to let groups pass. The money then works its way back up the chain. If anything goes wrong, they can blame it on the lower officials and the higher-ups bring in a new group to do it. It is a well-oiled machine that is generating vast amounts of money daily. Feeling the urgency of the situation, especially given all of the suffering we were encountering, this fact was a tough one to accept. As Fernando said, “Mexico es un panteon sin cruces para los centroamericanos.” “Mexico is a graveyard without crosses for central americans.” Everyone seemed to know it.
Meg and I returned eastward to a train stop further north in Coatzacoalcos, Mexico. We were received by a women’s religious community. It had rained the night before which created a number of puddles on the dirt roads of the town. My spirits were lifted by the very warm welcome we received-and by some delicious mangos. The sisters had different ministries in the town but all of them served the migrants in some capacity. Hermana Alma directed the shelter. She received us and then quickly introduced us to Julio, a Salvadoran man helping oversee the shelter. He gave us a tour of the shelter that is built for 50 people although they receive up to 200. The shelter had a kitchen where all of the meals were prepared. There were also wash areas, showers, and a separate but smaller room for the women.
As of noon, there were 25 men staying at the shelter. They were scattered around the shelter doing different tasks. Always, they were talking about the trip. One of my fascinations was the underground information system. Everyone tells stories about where to cross and how best to do it. They share stories about bands of thieves in certain areas, bad officials in other parts, and where the shelters are located. A lot of the information contradicts other information. Still, one bad piece of news about any one of the border crossings can change the plans of thousands of people.
We sat down with Julio, 24, from La Paz, El Salvador. One could sense the vulnerability and loneliness in his voice. He left January 7 largely because of the gang situation in his hometown. He had crossed with two other young men into the territory of another gang without permission. Even though the three were not involved in gang life, they were threatened by the gang and soon after one of his friends was murdered. He decided to leave out of fear for his own life. Before he left for El Naranjo, a place on the Mexico-Guatemala border where a lot of migrants cross into Mexico via boat, he decided not to tell his mother to save her the grief. He was able to call from the shelter. He walked most of the way and he was unable to buy any food because of the exorbitant rates along the trail. One night, he paid 10 pesos to stay in the front yard of a family’s house in Mexico. He did not have a roof over his head or a blanket but he paid for the security that cannot be found in the surrounding mountains where many migrants are vulnerable to thieves. From San Francisco, Mexico, he jumped a cargo train and he arrived at the shelter on January 13. He described it as the worst week of his life. When he first arrived, there were so many migrants that he was told he had to shower, grab some food, and get out. However, he was dejected and the rain was coming down in buckets. He persuaded Hermana Alma into letting him work for a few days that had then turned into a month.
Julio sleeps in the kitchen of the shelter and receives the migrants who arrive at all hours of the night. He gives the guests an orientation to the shelter, gives each guest a task that is to be completed during their stay, and provides any other necessary assistance. His presence allows the nuns to get some much needed rest at night. Julio’s history in El Salvador is a typical one. He only went to school until second grade before he began selling bread to help make ends meet in his house. He noted the dollarization had been very bad for the people in his town because they did not know how to manage the currency and the price of basic goods had risen dramatically. The minimum wage in El Salvador could not support his family let alone what his family was able to earn in the informal sector. While he knew that he could not return to El Salvador, he had no idea what he would do in the U.S.
We then met with Julia Ortiz from Honduras. She began by saying that the journey is extremely difficult but that God helps. She ran into problems in Palenque, Mexico like many others. She was robbed by officials there but continued on her way. Age 27, she fled Honduras with her husband in order to try and provide for their two boys, ages 10 and 8. Her biggest struggles had been hunger and the cold. Of the 21 people traveling in her group, she was the only woman. She left despite the pleas of her brother not to go and 8 days in she said that it had not been too bad thus far. She was headed for Utah where a friend was awaiting them. I kidded her about how cold it is in Utah, especially compared to the climate in Mexico, but she could not grasp the humor. Every migrant she knew that had arrived in the U.S. had found work. As her friend in Utah put it, “Anyone willing to work hard here is able to find work.” Up to that point, she said that she would do the trip over again.
As she said that, however, the woman seated to her left welled up with tears. Carla made it very obvious that she would not have left Honduras 10 days earlier had she known what awaited her. Her children are ages 12, 10, and 9. She thought about coming many times but never knew it was going to be this bad. Another victim of the raid in Palenque, she was split up from her husband and 12-year-old daughter with whom she was traveling. She was in the cabin of the train when the bright stadium lights of Mexican migration seemingly turned the night into day. Everyone panicked. Many began jumping from the moving train. The cops grabbed her husband and daughter but she managed to escape into the mountains with other people. She stayed safe through the night and made her way by foot with some other migrants to the shelter. She still had not heard anything from her husband or daughter and was basically just waiting, hoping that they would somehow show up at the shelter. I suggested that she call back to her house in Honduras and ask her family there if her husband called them to tell them where he was. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at me strangely before she said, “We don’t have a phone there. It was one of the things we hoped to buy once we found work in the U.S.” From there, her thoughts became very scattered. Psychologically, she was a mess. She jumped from talking about how dirty her clothes were to the children she left behind to what a bad idea it was for her to come. The desperation in her voice was overwhelming. She was not with any of her children or her husband. She had no way of contacting them. She had no money to return and she even if she did, she could not trust anyone to take her safely back to Honduras (Carla, like many of the women who take this journey, received an injection to prevent pregnancy for six months. The incidence of rape is extremely high which has also caused serious concerns about the spread of HIV/AIDS). Her one option was to turn herself in and be deported by Mexico but that might mean abandoning her husband and daughter. As I wrote in my journal that night, “The producers of ‘Survivor’ could not think this one up.”
Getting Closer
Saltillo is very close to the southernmost tip of Texas. The migrants have come a very long way up to that point but the situation on the U.S.-Mexico border presents a whole new set of obstacles. We attended Mass at the shelter there, also run by nuns. The priest was very clear about denouncing the human rights abuses that the congregation of migrants had experienced. By this point, every person at the shelter had been through something traumatic. One man’s face was all cut up from falling off of the train the night before. The sermon was also a preparation for what lie ahead and how the situation in which the migrants found themselves was in stark contrast to the will of God.
We met with a university professor who gives a talk 5 nights a week at the shelter about what awaits the migrants. The latest information involved the mingling of the drug traffickers and human traffickers. As border patrol increased along the U.S.-Mexico border, drug traffickers became very hostile toward the migrant smugglers and the migrants. In short, the migration situation brought many more obstacles for the drug traffickers. However, they eventually realized that the migrants could be used to their advantage. It is about a 4-day walk through the desert from the train to the Laredo, Texas crossing. By the time the migrants arrive, they are very tired. Drug traffickers will organize with a migrant smuggler a group of about 20 migrants looking to cross. They will offer the migrants backpacks with food, water, and a few pounds of drugs. The migrants are told that someone will be waiting for the drugs on the other side of the Rio Grande. The backpack, food, and water are theirs to keep. By this point, many are so desperate that they are willing to move the drugs in order to keep the food and water. However, they are used only as decoys. The traffickers will call U.S. Border Patrol and report the migrants. Border Patrol will be waiting for the migrants and arrest them for drug trafficking and entering illegally. 20 miles down the road, huge truckloads of drugs to be sold and used in the U.S. are moved across the border. The migrants had simply become prey.
My most memorable interview from Saltillo and maybe my most memorable of the whole trip was with a man from Ahuachapan, El Salvador. Again, I saw more Latin American men cry during these 27 days than I have seen in years of being in Central America. Luis was a farmer and he told me the tragic story of his journey north. His story seemed to be just another one in a long line of tragic testimonies I was grateful to have heard. After awhile though, he began to tear up. He paused and then said:
“You know Tomás, I hated my father. He was a son-of-a-bitch. My mom was one of three of four women with whom my father had children and he didn’t support any of us. We were poor, really poor. I remember cursing him out on an empty stomach more than once. At 15, I promised myself that I would love my kids. I would give them everything that my father never gave me. And here I am, two kids, and in order to provide for them I have to go through this. The economy in my country does not cut it. I am not looking to be a millionaire. I want my kids to go to school. If they get sick, I want to be there for them. I want my wife to be able to prepare something other than rice and beans. I want to work hard, in my own country, and have that be enough. But it’s not. I can’t do it in El Salvador. And if I do not make it in the U.S., 20 years from now my kids are going to be talking to someone like you. And you know what they are going to say? ‘I hated my father…’”
Throughout the trip, I wore a lot of different hats: a student, a journalist, a counselor, an English teacher, a cook, a cleaner, an interpreter of policy. At that moment, though, there were no hats being worn. I was none of the above. I was a human being, just as human as Luis. To borrow an idea from Dean Brackley S.J, in that moment, all of the superiority and inferiority in the world dissolved. There were no more questions to ask, no more stories to share. The only logical thing to do was embrace.
Stateside
On February 21, after passing through Chihuaha, Mexico, we arrived to the U.S.-Mexico border. As we walked across the bridge between the two countries, we watched as Border Patrol slowly cruised along the fencing that separates the two countries. The sight of Juarez is hard on the eye. Like many border towns, it has grown tremendously in recent years. Many people gather in cities like Juarez awaiting the right time to cross. For the most part, migrants tend to cross during Border Patrol shift changes and also during meal times. It is also well-known that Border Patrol agents turn off their cameras at certain times. Normally, the traffickers will pay them and word will spread that the cameras will be off, for instance, from 6:15pm-6:30pm, in a very specific place. Obviously, those are good times to go as well.
We crossed the border and went to Annuciation House. Annunciation House is actually a series of three houses on both sides of the border that serves migrants. It began in the late 70s and many of its first guests were Salvadorans who were escaping the civil war that would eventually take the lives of 75,000 people. Salvadorans, along with many Mexicans and other Central Americans, still arrive at Annunciation House today. The services of the house are as important as ever.
We helped prepare dinner on our first night there with two of the mothers staying at the house. They shared with us a little bit about their journey across the border and why they came. The story of Angelica particularly moved me. She was there with her four children, one of whom had a learning disability. Her husband had abandoned them and she decided that the only reasonable thing to do to better her children’s future was come to the U.S. They made it across and were then staying at Annunciation House until she was able to get on her feet. She had a certain determination in her eyes that suggested to me that she would be all right. I had seen that look in the eyes of many Mexican women in St. Louis. It would not be easy but my best guess was that her determination would see her through.
During our time there, I also attended the fourth anniversary Mass of Juan Patricio, a 19-year-old Mexican boy who was killed by U.S. Border Patrol. He was then a guest at Annunciation House when, while he was taking out the trash, Border Patrol approached him. He panicked and ran until eventually he found himself in the middle of the street surrounded by still more officers. The situation escalated and he was shot to death. I was very grateful to the Annunciation House community for denouncing his unjust death and for not allowing Juan Patricio to become another statistic. He is truly remembered.
From El Paso, we went to our final destination: Tucson. Our experience, largely due to some incredible conversations we had with people heavily involved with migrants, was a great way to end our journey. The Tucson area has become one of the most, if not the most popular place for migrants to cross into the U.S. from Mexico. The reason for this is that the U.S. policy since the mid-1990s called for the sealing of the border near the San Diego and El Paso. Those actions have forced many migrants to pass through the desert in Arizona. It has become much more difficult because of the terrain and the climate. Accordingly, the deaths have dramatically increased.
We took a ride from Tucson back into Altar, Mexico. Altar is a town located about 2 hours south of the Mexico-U.S. border and therefore has become a launching pad for migrants. As we drove south, we noticed many conversion vans heading north. The system of vans is directed by a group of migrant smugglers. The vans do not have any seats inside of them and therefore can carry 30 migrants at a time. The cost is $80. The Mexican Government-funded human aid organization called Grupo Beta had a checkpoint along the road. The vans stop at the checkpoint so that the workers can record the name of each migrant. The workers also distribute pamphlets that explain the rights of the migrants. Finally, they are told how much food and water they will need in order to survive the walk through the desert. This whole process takes about 15 minutes. We were at the checkpoint for no more than 30 minutes and witnessed four vans pass. At $2,400 per van, it was again clear what a big business migrant smuggling has become.
Unfortunately, the abuse does not end in the desert of Mexico. Once in the U.S., many migrants still owe a debt to their coyotes. The migrants are held in houses throughout the U.S. until the debt is paid. For those who cannot afford to buy an identity, there are street corners located in cities all across the country where undocumented workers gather each morning. Employers who have employees absent pass by these corners to pick up workers. I heard more than one story about migrants working all day and at the end of the day the employer says, “All right, you have 10 minutes to start running. You better get out of here before I call migration.” The employer never pays them a penny. This is the type of abuse that can occur when the rights of human beings are not recognized. I am not suggesting that this is the case for every migrant worker. Many employers do treat them well and again, the payoff for the migrant is huge. Still, it was a disturbing reminder of the abuse that occurs.
What do we do?
As the 2008 election approaches, immigration will undoubtedly be a volatile topic of debate. We must learn to see migrants as mothers, fathers, and children who are unable to live dignified lives in their home countries. It is a last resort for many. We must develop and implement an immigration system that creates safe, orderly, and legal pathways for migrants to enter our country. Immigration is often debated through the lens of national security. All of us will be safer if we know who and where the immigrants among us are. It would also allow various government agencies to focus enforcement resources on potential terrorists, smugglers, and other criminals rather than the people whose stories are told here. The current enforcement approach is not working. We have spent at least $25 billion in taxpayer money on border enforcement since 1994 and during that time the number of undocumented immigrants living in the U.S. has doubled.
We also need to recognize that the current distribution of wealth is not working. One of the main selling points for the North American Free Trade Agreement was that the poor in Mexico would benefit financially and have less need to migrate. Since NAFTA, at least 1.3 million jobs have been lost in Mexican agriculture alone. Many domestic manufacturing jobs have been lost as well. The number of Mexicans living in the U.S. has doubled. At the same time, many people in the middle-class in the U.S. have suffered from recent trade agreements. Who is benefiting? As David Cay Johnson wrote for the New York Times on March 29, 2007, the income gap in the U.S. is widening (much like that of the rest of the world). He writes, “While the total reported income in the United States increased almost 9 percent in 2005 …average incomes for those in the bottom 90% dipped slightly compared with the year before, dropping $172, or 0.6 percent. The gains went largely to the top 1 percent, whose incomes rose to an average of $1.1 million each, an increase of more than $139,000, or about 14%.”
One does not need to be an economics expert to recognize that the income gap cannot continue to grow at the current pace. Immigration is a symptom of what is fundamentally an economics problem. It is amazing to me that the American dream now consists mostly of basic human rights: food, housing, education, and medicine. Those should not be things of dreams. They are basic human rights and until we implement an economic model that better distributes wealth, many will be denied them. I believe there is a human tendency to place blame on those who are weaker than us. It is easy for us to blame migrants for the recession that many are experiencing. However, the percentage of the U.S. population that is foreign-born is actually less today (11%) than it was in the early 20th century (15%). We must start to critically engage the upper rings of society before we begin placing blame on the poor.
Some of the information here was based on an interview with Erica Dahl-Bredine, Country Manager, Catholic Relief Services Mexico, as well as the Justice for Immigrants Web Site and other sources.
Conclusion
I have less than one month left here in El Salvador. The past two years have opened my eyes to more than I could have ever imagined. Despite all of the tragedy, loss, and injustice that too often define this country, there is a sense of peace within me as I prepare to leave here. It is not a sense of peace with the current state of the world. Rather, tt is a sense of peace because I know that many of you reading this would agree with these words of Archbishop Romero:
“If you live out a Christianity that is good but that is not sufficient for our times, that does not denounce injustice, that does not proclaim the kingdom of God courageously, that does not reject the sins humankind commits, that consents to the sins of certain classes so as to be accepted by those classes, then you are not doing your duty, you are sinning, you are betraying your mission. The church was put here to convert humankind, not to tell people that everything that they do is all right; and because of that, naturally, it irritates people.”
I suppose this country and my journey have irritated me to the very core of my being. I suppose they have irritated me as a Christian, as a U.S. citizen, as part of the human race. I suppose they have irritated me to the point of guiding my graduate studies and my vocation. I am very grateful to have been irritated in such ways.
“Ojos abiertos, Tom. Ojos abiertos” I never could have guessed just how open they would become. My hope is that all of us will take this challenge to heart. We must open our eyes to the reality of our world today and we must encourage and support others who do the same. It is my humblest hope that this article has opened your eyes to the reality of migrants and that that reality irritates you in some way.
Thank you for reading
Tom
More than anyone, I want to thank Megan Marshall with whom I made this journey. She was a wonderful companion and friend.
Also, this trip would not have been possible without the support of Kevin and Trena Yonkers-Talz and Rick Jones.
Finally, a very special thanks to John Gill, Andrew Kirschman S.J., Ray Burke, Allison Berry, and the entire Casa de la Solidaridad staff and community for their love and support.
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