From detaining migrants to helping them: The change of life of an El Paso border patrol agent

The life of Michael DeBruhl, 67, has evolved on the border. Born and raised in El Paso, Texas, DeBruhl has gone from being a border patrol agent to directing a migrant reception center. It is an unusual trajectory that he takes in stride (“I grew up two blocks from the border”) but which involves an unusual journey: after years spent detaining migrants and controlling access to the U.S., he now receives the new arrivals and welcomes them in their first days in the country.

In the mid-1980s, DeBruhl was working as a teacher when his father took him to a job fair. There he came across the Customs and Border Protection (CBP) stand, and decided to join them. CBP agents have good working conditions and a generous pension, which can be considered “a luxury” in a country like the United States. They are in charge, among other tasks, of controlling the border and arresting people who try to enter the country illegally. Being a border patrol agent “is like being a police officer, you only think about law enforcement,” explains the former agent.

His father had worked for 40 years at the ports of entry. These are the places to access the country legally, such as airports, roads or seaports. DeBruhl says that when he graduated from the CBP academy, his father gave him advice that would shape his career. “Border patrol is not like customs; you deal with people, with human beings. Always treat people with respect, give them the dignity they deserve. Never eat in front of anyone unless you are going to share your lunch with them; treat people how you would like to be treated yourself.” DeBruhl never forgot those words.

After 26 years as an agent, it was time to retire — agents must do so when they turn 55. From then on, time opened before his eyes and he made the decision to volunteer at the Casa del Sagrado Corazón (House of the Sacred Heart) Church in El Paso, which serves migrants who have just crossed the border, helping them with basic needs before they go on their way.

Since late 2022, DeBruhl has taken over as director of the church-linked migrant shelter. The shelter was opened a couple of years ago in a critical situation. Its actual capacity is 120 people, but at that time they were able to provide shelter to between 200 and 250 people, while about 800 more were on the streets. All this happened just two days before Christmas. “It was a very delicate moment,” he explains.

For newcomers, the House of the Sacred Heart is just a “brief stop on their journey north.” The shelter welcomes migrants for two to five days, so they can “take a break.” “The main thing is to make them feel safe, to ensure they have three meals a day, clothing, that they are in contact with their sponsors (relatives or friends living legally in the U.S. who agree to financially support the newcomers), and that they can find out how they are going to move north.” As for what migrants appreciate most when they arrive at the shelter, DeBruhl says it’s the little things, like “the simple act of choosing your own clothes.”

The former border patrol agent knows the two sides of the same coin. And that is why he emphasizes the gap between the orders given from Washington and what actually happens on the border. President Joe Biden’s new executive order, which has been in effect for three weeks, makes it even more difficult for migrants to request asylum. “What will happen on the ground remains to be seen,” says DeBruhl.

The lies and false ideas that people have about migrants, their “demonization,” pushed the agent to work to help the new arrivals. “I heard things like everyone is a criminal. I’ve interviewed hundreds of migrants, maybe a thousand, and I know that is not true. Therefore, I wanted to bring some truth to the discussion: the history of migrants in the United States is positive, migrants built this country.”

His own past also helped him bring a lot of knowledge to his new role. “He knew how the system worked, the paperwork, the problems of migrants when they arrive, and how to get them on their way with information.” As a volunteer and now as the shelter director, he has had to “sit across the table from border patrol agents” on multiple occasions.

After 26 years of service during which he was rarely in his hometown, DeBruhl returned to El Paso. “I never expected to return, but the mountains called me, there’s no place like home.” The Texas native, who considers himself Mexican-American, explains that he moved near the mountains, which was a “full circle” because it reminded him of his routes as a Border Patrol agent and the place where he grew up.

The shelter he runs is in Segundo Barrio, a district of El Paso known for being one of the most humble neighborhoods in the city. It is also a historically migrant, Hispanic area, specifically of people of Mexican descent, although now there are other Latinos as well. Currently “80% or 90% of the people who come to the shelter are Venezuelans,” says its director. For him, Segundo Barrio is also home. “When I was eight years old I used to play here, my parents’ parents lived here for a time.”

DeBruhl has a critical and courageous view of the immigration system, which is surely why his trajectory is so unusual. “We have to open more avenues for migrants,” he says, and demands more resources. “Funding is needed to support the (legalization) pathways that already exist,” such as appointments to apply for asylum. “Securing the border is important, but it is also necessary to expand the avenues for legal migration. You can have both at the same time, it doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

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