Surviving Ciudad Juárez: The last obstacle before seeking asylum in the United States

Only two miles separate the center of Ciudad Juárez from El Paso, Texas, yet crossing one of the bridges that connect Mexico and the United States can become an ordeal for thousands of people — especially those who arrive after traveling nearly 1,900 miles from Chiapas, on the border with Guatemala. The long journey is fraught with kidnappings, extortion, disappearances, and murders of which they are victim. The Paso del Norte bridge serves as the final hurdle in a long obstacle course that began months or even years ago in Venezuela, Honduras, Cuba, El Salvador, or even farther away. Getting there has also turned into a race against time, as the United States is about to hold its presidential election on November 5. The fear of a Donald Trump victory has compelled thousands to hasten their pace to cross the Rio Grande as quickly as possible.

On the bridge, waiting to cross, Angie, Douglas, and their son Moisés are in line. They are a family from Honduras who have spent eight months securing an appointment through CBP One, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection app, to obtain a humanitarian visa. “We left for security reasons; there is no work, and the government only serves itself, not the people,” Angie explains, showing the appointment confirmation on her cell phone.

In the meantime, they have been waiting in a shelter in Mexico for confirmation to arrive. Angie has printed a copy of the receipt just in case something goes wrong. “We hope our life will be different on the other side, especially for him,” she says, pointing to her six-year-old son, who clutches several plastic dinosaurs in his hand. “He didn’t want to leave them behind; he brought them with him,” she laughs. Douglas, 28, expresses his willingness to work “in whatever comes along,” whether as a bricklayer, gardener, or cleaning staff.

The wall between Mexico and the United States is a massive scar that spans a third of the border. Over 620 miles of high fences and barbed wire stretch from the Pacific Ocean in Tijuana, through the desert to Ciudad Juárez, then reemerges to the east in Nuevo Laredo and Reynosa, near the Gulf of Mexico. This final stretch is the most challenging, particularly for those who have been walking for months in search of a new opportunity.

Luis Daniel, a 35-year-old Cuban, knows this all too well. He has been checking his cell phone for seven months, hoping that this appointment will change his life. On a sunny October day, he stands in line with his wife and children, carrying their entire lives in two suitcases and two bags. “It is a great emotion that has been worth the wait,” he says, nervously waiting with the other 40 people in front of U.S. immigration authorities, who will soon decide their fates. Luis Daniel’s dream, like that of everyone present, is to be given a chance to start over.

The number of migrants arriving at Mexico’s southern border and the requests submitted through CBP One have doubled compared to last year. This surge is driven partly by the ability to make appointments from Chiapas or Tabasco — states on Mexico’s southern border — and partly by the looming U.S. elections. The specter of a possible victory by Donald Trump raises concerns that there will be a rollback of immigration policies and a tightening of existing measures. “If Donald Trump wins, the American dream is over,” says Javier, a 37-year-old Venezuelan waiting for his appointment in Tapachula, near the Guatemala border, with resignation.

Around 800,000 people have arrived in the United States regularly since the CBP One application was implemented in January 2023, according to figures from Customs and Border Protection. Once their anticipated appointment arrives, each person’s case is processed individually. Based on this assessment, they may qualify for a humanitarian parole for up to two years, allowing them to continue their immigration process under Title 8 of the Immigration and Nationality Act. These applicants may also be eligible to obtain an employment authorization document that enables them to work.

Six miles south of the bridge, from the higher streets of the Luis Echeverría neighborhood, you can see the wall and, beyond it, the towering buildings of El Paso in Texas. The humble dirt streets on one side contrast sharply with the sleek walls of steel and glass that glisten in the sun. From a distance, the United States resembles the Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz — so close and yet so far — a stark juxtaposition of two realities coexisting in the same corner of the world.

Through an intricate labyrinth of narrow streets, you reach the El Buen Samaritano shelter, owned by the Methodist Church, where dozens of migrant families reside. Some have been there for almost a year, waiting for luck to knock on their door. “In these past two months, we have had an influx of people,” says Pastor Juan Fierro, director of the shelter, which houses about 75 individuals.

“There is a lot of uncertainty among people. They don’t know what will happen in a few weeks, and they fear that the application could disappear if Donald Trump comes to power. Many are rushing to make an appointment before the elections,” he explains. The pastor notes that while appointments used to be made within weeks, due to the high demand, it can now take months to get one. “We have a family from Guerrero that has been waiting for 10 months for an appointment, and they’re finally leaving tomorrow,” says Fierro.

The family consists of Maria, who is four months pregnant, along with her nieces, husband, and children — a total of six people. “I am very happy,” says Maria, 26. She and her family fled the Mexican state of Guerrero after organized crime groups threatened to kill them if they did not pay them a fee for a fruit shop they owned. “I always say: even if it’s rice and beans, praise God. He always listens to us,” she says. “Finally, we have had this opportunity, and I want my children to have careers so they can excel. I was never able to go to school because we were very poor, but I want them to learn things I never had the chance to.”

They are among the more than 8,600 people in Mexico who have been internally displaced this year due to violence. Between 2008 and 2023, around 392,000 people in Mexico have been forced to leave their states because of threats from organized crime, according to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Center (IDMC). Most of these individuals are fleeing from Guerrero, Zacatecas, and Michoacán, but recently, an increasing number have been displaced from Chiapas — a state that was once peaceful but has suffered in recent years due to conflicts among drug cartels. One-third of the people who arrive in Ciudad Juárez seeking to enter the U.S. are Mexican, according to official data.

The rise in migrants at the northern border has prompted Ciudad Juárez to open more shelters, which provide lodging, clothing, and food for those in need. The number has gone from just two in 2018 to 35. The image of border cities being overwhelmed by thousands of migrants has given way to the sight of smaller groups, who can be spotted in center of Ciudad Juárez, next to the train tracks or at the doors of shelters.

“The introduction of the application allowed for a more controlled arrival of these individuals,” explains Enrique Valenzuela, coordinator of the State Council of Population of Chihuahua (Coespo). “To those planning to come, we emphasize that they should do so through official channels and not be deceived by coyotes and smugglers who peddle the hope of crossing, yet risk jeopardizing their chances of securing better opportunities in the United States,” the coordinator advises.

Coespo collaborates with the United Nations International Organization for Migration (IOM) at the Comprehensive Migrant Assistance Center, offering protection and humanitarian assistance services. This includes channeling individuals to receive financial support, healthcare, or accommodation in the city’s various shelters. It also partners with organizations such as Save the Children, Doctors of the World, and Plan International to provide humanitarian support to migrants. “I believe that a well-communicated migration policy is more effective than reinforced security and fences. This applies not only to decisions made by the United States but also to those made by the Mexican government,” says Valenzuela.

In the last six years, the Mexican government has strengthened its security strategy, empowering the National Guard and the Armed Forces with verification and immigration control authority. This has resulted in Mexico becoming the Latin American country with the most extensive and fortified system of migrant detention in the region. Since then, the strategy has focused on containing migrants in the south and center of the country to prevent a repeat of the scenes of border cities at breaking point. “I believe the current strategy aims to tire out migrants and obstruct their progress,” says Pastor Juan Fierro.

This militarization of borders has led to migrants to organize large caravans as a way of evading arrests. This week, hundreds of people set out in a caravan with the goal of reaching Mexico City. Many of these migrants told local press that they prefer to walk and face danger rather than wait several months for their appointment.

“Detaining migrants in the center of the country makes them more vulnerable, leaving them at the mercy of any criminal group,” explains the pastor. “It’s better for them to reach a safe place, and for the National Institute of Migration [INM] to implement its new plan to transfer them to the border through secure corridors,” he adds. Last year, 1,148 migrants died or disappeared in Latin America due to the lack of safe or legal transit routes, according to the IOM.

For its part, the United States has been preventing individuals who cross illegally from turning themselves in to authorities to request asylum since June 5 of this year. According to an executive order signed by President Biden, anyone who enters in this manner may be expelled and disqualified from entering the country for the next five years. The Border Patrol, the Texas sheriff’s office, and the U.S. National Guard are meticulously patrolling the perimeter to stop unauthorized crossings.

In the dry bed of the Rio Grande, known as El Bordo, remnants of clothing caught in the barbed wire can be seen alongside rubber bullets fired by U.S. authorities, a warning to prevent anyone from crossing. Yet, just a few miles away, under the relentless sun, three young men— no older than 30 — attempt the crossing. They skillfully scale the bars on Avenida Rafael Pérez Serna, with the first one leading the way. A small gap between the barbed wire and the wall provides them the chance to jump to the other side. In less than two minutes, they succeed. What happens next is known only to them. Any unusual movement or presence in the area is immediately monitored, but that does not deter many from continuing their attempts to cross.

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