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TAPACHULA, Mexico – It was nearly midnight by the time we weaved our way through the pothole-ridden streets of Tapachula, Mexico, on the way to the largest migrant detention center in Latin America.
Beyond the lively trumpeting of a late-night mariachi band and the street vendors peddling snacks to a hungry few, we encountered the massive green and white building, with the words, “Instituto Nacional de Migracion Delegacion Federal en Chiapas,” written on its side.
There were no windows, so we couldn’t see the people on the inside waiting to be deported to their home countries, but we knew there were hundreds of them, including many children who had tried to make the trek to the United States by themselves only to be nabbed by Mexican authorities.
Compared to last year, the crisis at the U.S.-Mexico border, seems to have diminished. Despite a dramatic spike in August 2015 at the Rio Grande Valley sector in South Texas, the number of apprehensions of unaccompanied children by U.S. Customs and Border Protection is down more than 40 percent, compared to last year’s numbers.
Mexico’s apprehensions and deportations, meanwhile, are on the rise. After announcing an upgraded southern border strategy in 2014, Mexican authorities deported 60 percent more children during the first few months of 2015 than during the same time period the previous year.
We came to Tapachula to find out what happens to the thousands of migrants, traveling to the U.S. from countries like El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, who are deported home long before they ever come close to reaching the United States.
Armed police with assault rifles slung from their shoulders stood guard outside the green metal gates as they waited for a charter bus to arrive on site to collect and deport dozens of migrants back to their home country of Honduras.
As we waited in the dark, misty parking lot under the cover of an umbrella, I started to wonder about who would be boarding that bus bound for Honduras in the dark of night. Would their families be there to pick them up on the other end? Why were they trying to reach the U.S? And what kinds of communities were they trying to leave?
To find out, we traveled from Mexico to San Pedro Sula, Honduras to meet some of them at the other end of their 12-hour bus journey back to their home country, one of the most dangerous places in the world.
As much as I have heard how dangerous San Pedro Sula is and that violence is the reason many people are trying to reach the United States, it wasn’t until I arrived there that I actually understood.
Two local journalists picked us up at the airport and made it clear to us that we would need to keep a low profile. It was suggested that we don’t bring our own security guards because it would draw more attention to our vehicle.
As we drove through the city, the local journalists pointed out neighborhoods that were gang controlled. “No one goes in there,” our driver told us, explaining how some people are killed.
The government-run migration center in San Pedro Sula is situated along a busy highway, blocked by metal gates. On the day we arrived, we expected at least two groups of migrants deported from Mexico to arrive at the center in charter buses.
At least three times a week, the vehicles drop off dozens of Hondurans – including unaccompanied children – who attempted to make the trek to the United States but were captured by Mexican authorities.
From there, the migrants must find a ride home, but some start another immediate journey back to the U.S.
We came to find out what happens in the moments after someone is deported home to a country that is frequently ranked as one of the deadliest places in the world.
Armed police with assault rifles slung from their shoulders stood guard outside the green metal gates as they waited for a charter bus to arrive on site to collect and deport dozens of migrants back to their home country of Honduras.
As we waited in the dark, misty parking lot under the cover of an umbrella, I started to wonder about who would be boarding that bus bound for Honduras in the dark of night. Would their families be there to pick them up on the other end? Why were they trying to reach the U.S? And what kinds of communities were they trying to leave?
To find out, we traveled from Mexico to San Pedro Sula, Honduras to meet some of them at the other end of their 12-hour bus journey back to their home country, one of the most dangerous places in the world.
The government-run migration center in San Pedro Sula is situated along a busy highway, blocked by metal gates. On the day we arrived, we expected at least two groups of migrants deported from Mexico to arrive at the center in charter buses.
At least three times a week, the vehicles drop off dozens of Hondurans – including unaccompanied children – who attempted to make the trek to the United States but were captured by Mexican authorities.
From there, the migrants must find a ride home, but some start another immediate journey back to the U.S.
We came to find out what happens in the moments after someone is deported home to a country that is frequently ranked as one of the deadliest places in the world.
We watched as shelter workers manually pulled open the gates and waved the bus onto the grounds.
One by one, passengers entered the shelter after filing past a line of employees that had formed a human barrier outside the bus. We couldn’t see the migrants’ faces from where we stood, only their feet – and many belonged to kids.
The employees guided the migrants into the building for processing, which took more than an hour for some.
As I waited for the migrants to emerge from the building, I couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. Many had left behind their mothers, their aunts, their boyfriends, their entire lives. They had endured days of exhausting travel through Guatemala and Mexico in the care of a stranger (a coyote) with hopes of making a new life in in the United States.
But each one had been captured before they even had a chance.
What would it be like to return home to this country – a country filled with poverty and violence?
A few family members arrived at the shelter to reunite with their loved ones. When the migrants finally emerged, the reunion was less emotional than I had imagined.
Many of the migrants did not seem sad or even defeated. There was a look of determination in their eyes, as if this deportation was a small bump in the road.
Most were not deterred by Mexico’s stepped up enforcement.
I questioned the mothers and children and young men as they exited the facility, “Will you try again?”
Most said they would make the journey to the United States again. One group told me they planned to do it the very next day.
Seventeen-year-old Katia Orellana, who lives in a gang-controlled neighborhood, told me she had plans to leave again as soon as possible.
Her mother stood by her side, emotionless, insisting that her daughter would try again.
Although Katia had already failed to reach the United States twice, she said she did not want to stay in her neighborhood with her fears of forced prostitution, assaults and drug dealing.
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