The Moving Border: Part Two, The South

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From Futuro Media and PRX, it's Latino USA.

I'm Maria Hinojosa.

Today, part two of our series.

The Moving Border.

This time, we travel south to Tapachula on the Mexico-Guatemala border to look at what's

happening to asylum seekers there.

Welcome to Latino USA.

I'm Maria Hinojosa.

And dear listener, today we continue the story that we shared last week.

This is part two of our series, The Moving Border.

This is a deeply on the ground reported story.

That looks at asylum and at the somewhat secretive partnership between Mexico and the United

States to prevent migrants from crossing the border.

Our award-winning series originally aired in May of 2020 when border policies were being

made under the Trump administration.

So with elections rapidly approaching and with immigration being a top issue for voters,

we thought the time was right to bring this story back to you.

Now, if you want to hear part one, catch it on the Latino USA podcast feed or at our

website, latinousa.org.

And now here's the second part of The Moving Border.

So we have just landed in Tapachula and it could not be more different than Juarez.

It's Saturday, January 11th, 2020.

And I've just landed in a small airport in Tapachula on Mexico's southern border with

Guatemala.

Literally.

We went from the northernmost border in Mexico to the southernmost border.

We crossed the entire country of Mexico.

I check my phone.

No messages.

Inside the airport, I rush to baggage claim.

I'm recording just in case he's outside.

I don't see anybody.

I look at every young man.

I pass.

Hoping he'll be here waiting for me.

He's nowhere.

Taxi?

Buenas tardes.

Oh my God.

This is all I was hoping for was that he would be here.

And he's not.

He's just not.

In our last episode, we reported about how the real wall that Trump has built is a paper

wall, a wall of policies that push asylum seekers out of the U.S. and into Mexico.

So, let's get into it.

Let's go.

We visited the northern border and met some of the migrants stuck waiting for the chance

to ask for asylum in the U.S., a place they believe they'll find safety.

Now I've come to Tapachula on Mexico's southern border.

It's another city filled with asylum seekers from all over the world.

I'm here to find out why so many migrants are waiting here almost 2,000 times a day.

I'm here to meet up with a 23-year-old Honduran migrant named Josue, whose story I've been

following for a year now.

We planned to meet up here, but for the last few days, Josue hasn't picked up his phone.

I'm going to call him right now.

Okay.

I'm going to call him right now.

Okay.

All right.

Uh, he's just a man in a suit stuck waiting around the border.

I don't even know what to say.

It's a weird feeling honestly to be so anxious to see him because I don't really

know this kid.

I met him a year ago in Matamoros when I was interviewing migrants for a story about life

at the U.S.

Mexico border.

He was my son's age at the time, just 23, and he was sleeping under a bridge.

To see him alone in those conditions, it got to me.

We spoke for like maybe two minutes, and I gave him my card, just like I usually do with people I meet.

But this kid, he actually called again and again.

One of those calls came from a detention center in Texas.

It was his second attempt to get to the U.S.

Josue presented himself and asked for asylum at the border.

He told officers he feared for his life if he was returned to Honduras, that he had been threatened by the gangs.

Even though Josue passed his first credible fear interview, ultimately he was deported back to Honduras anyway.

Josue then moved back in with his grandmother, the closest thing he still has to a parent.

His mother died of cancer while he was in detention.

But he didn't stay in Honduras long.

Soon he was back on the road north again, this time with his grandma in tow.

He crossed back into Mexico, and last time we spoke, he was here in Tapachula.

I'm here in Tapachula, and I'm going to be rolling papers right now.

He told me he was petitioning for asylum here.

And this was the first time I heard about this new strategy.

Migrants hoping to reach the United States by first applying for asylum in Mexico.

And it turns out this is increasingly common.

Because traveling to the northern border without legal documents has gotten harder and harder since Mexico has ramped up its own immigration enforcement.

We'll talk more about that later.

Right now, I'm determined to find Josue.

After being in touch for so long, this was the chance for me to finally really hear his story.

And though I've spent a lot of time in Mexico, this place, Tapachula, is completely new to me.

So I'm going to need some help.

Outside of the airport, I meet up with a local journalist named Benjamín Alfaro.

He's going to be helping me to report this story.

Bueno, Benjamín, ¿qué onda? What's up?

¿Hablas inglés, Benjamín?

Ah, no.

No?

In the car on the way to the hotel, I get a first glimpse of Tapachula.

Oh my God, the humidity is 110%.

And it is beautiful and sweaty and like in the tropics and it's so green.

Bueno, aquí a mi izquierda estamos pasando algunos árboles cultivos de mango ataulfo.

As we drive past fields of mangoes, plantains and coffins,

Benjamín says there's a saying here about the fertility of this land.

Throw a seed on the ground, it'll grow.

That's why there have always been so many migrants here, he tells me.

Like Mexican farm workers in the United States.

For decades, he says, mostly Guatemalans have crossed the border to work seasonally in the fields here.

In recent years, large numbers of migrants heading towards the United States

have landed in Tapachula.

The majority are from Central America.

But there's also a growing number of people from Haiti, India and West Africa.

Mexicans like Benjamín, who grew up here, are for the most part used to people coming and going.

And Tapachula is not a small town.

The official count says the city has about 300,000 residents.

But counting migrants, there's probably tens of thousands more.

As we arrive at my hotel,

I ask Benjamín to do me a favor and try calling Josué from his phone.

And nothing.

So I go down to the hotel restaurant to have dinner.

But I can't help but think about a question Benjamín asked me.

So,

he just heard me say what's happened with Josué.

And we're kind of thinking that he's just like,

it is strange that he disappears the day before you're coming.

You know, is there a potential that he's being kidnapped,

extorted because he's been in communication with someone from the United States?

I mean, we have no idea.

It may sound like a stretch, but maybe it isn't.

And that's because Josué has already been a victim of crime here,

in Tapachula.

It was last year,

after his grandmother had given up on migrating

and left to go back to Honduras.

One day, Josué says he and three other Honduran guys

were picked up near his shelter

by a man who said he had a job for them at a ranch.

Josué said he needed the money,

so he jumped at the chance to work.

On the way, Josué says they were told that actually

they were being hired to kill someone.

It sounds like a story straight out of a movie.

Josué says he was able to jump out of the truck and flee.

And then he saw the news.

Three men had been found dead inside a truck.

Graphic photos of men with blood dripping down their faces,

flashed on the screen.

Josué believes the men were the other Hondurans

he was looking for work with.

A month later,

Josué says he was robbed while selling donuts in the street.

He filed a police report

and also gave a statement about what happened

the day he jumped out of the truck.

Shortly after,

Josué had to leave the shelter to make space for new arrivals.

Without legal documents to work

and completely alone in Tapachula,

he ended up living alone,

and that's where he still was the last time we spoke,

just a few days ago.

The last thing he said to me

was that he was afraid someone would kill him.

It is 9-12 on Saturday, January 11th,

and we just finished dinner here in Tapachula.

All I do is I look out into the night,

and I'm like, where is this kid?

Where is this kid?

That's all I'm asking myself.

How did he disappear?

And why did he disappear the day before I get here?

I try one more time and nothing.

Beep.

He's gone.

And, um...

I'm going to have to try and find this guy

in a city that I've never been to

where there are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds

of Central American migrants,

Honduran young men in their 20s just like him.

And now I've got to find him.

Coming up,

Benjamín and I go looking for Josué.

Stay with us.

No te vayas.

You've probably heard the stereotypes.

I'm just thinking of all the, like, Mercury retrograde memes.

The Scorpio side of me is like, absolutely not.

I'm an Aquarius.

It's like the visionary energy in me.

But there's so much more to astrology.

I'm Isa Nakazawa.

Join me on Stars and Stars with Isa,

a new podcast where I welcome some of the most talented stars of our time

to find what their birth chart reveals about them and their purpose.

I'm laughing because I'm like, these are two big topics in my life.

This golden eagle resonates and this phoenix resonates.

It's crazy because I feel all those ways at once.

Listen to Stars and Stars with Isa wherever you get your podcasts.

Don't forget to follow the show so you never miss an episode.

Hey, we're back.

So the next morning,

Benjamin and I set off to see if we can find clues as to Josué's whereabouts.

We visit key spots for migrants around Tapachula,

which gives me a chance to understand what migration looks like here on the southern border.

So I'm just fascinated because we have now walked.

I guess we're going to go up these stairs and we're going to see the river.

But there's like a mural painted on these stairs and it says,

Welcome.

Welcome. Bienvenidos to Paso El Coyote.

Welcome to the El Coyote crossing.

First, we go to see the Suchiate River.

And that's the river that separates Mexico from its southern neighbor, Guatemala.

So there is a legal and a less legal way to cross this border.

The actual international bridge and official port of entry is visible from where I'm standing.

It's less than a mile down.

But this unofficial crossing,

is the more popular one.

We watch as people ride across the river into Mexico on makeshift rafts.

And on top of big inner tubes,

like you've got two huge inner tubes,

you've just got planks of wood.

So the most basic kind of transportation.

They mostly seem to be students and workers.

Others cross to Mexico to do their shopping,

after all, there is a Walmart in Tapachula.

Here and there, though,

tired looking young men with backpacks hop on,

alone and in small groups.

So one of the things that I'm thinking a lot about as I'm standing on this river between Guatemala and Mexico is,

is this where Josue crossed?

Then I see a well-dressed older man in khakis and a pink polo shirt board a raft from the Guatemalan side.

He's holding a briefcase.

And he almost seems out of place.

His name is Freddy.

He's Guatemalan, 60 years old.

He works in Mexico as a teacher and says he crosses to Tapachula on a raft because it's easier and faster than the official crossing.

Why did you cross the raft instead of the raft?

Because sometimes,

it's a little bit difficult to cross.

In what sense?

It's a little bit of trouble,

because they're going to demand and demand,

and the people,

well,

trans-migrants,

they know each other.

And you don't have a problem?

He's quick to point out that no one bothers him because they kind of know who the locals are,

and he doesn't look like a migrant.

But who do you teach?

Adwanas.

What?

I'm a master of adwanas.

Before we move on,

I asked Freddy what he teaches.

He says,

You're a professor who teaches about border crossing and customs,

but you're crossing in an illegal crossing.

O sea, es chistoso.

That's just how things are here in Tapachula, he tells me.

Mexico's southern border has always been more relaxed than the one up north.

Like the customs teacher, Freddy.

Most people who live around here,

don't think much of crossing back and forth,

legally or not.

But recently,

this border has tightened up.

That's due in part to the arrival of the Mexican National Guard,

La Guardia Nacional.

The National Guard is President López Obrador's new security force,

which we mentioned last episode.

It's the one that was created to help fight crime,

but has been deployed to enforce immigration instead.

In January,

the National Guard made news,

at this crossing point,

when it scuffled with a big caravan making its way from Central America,

using force on migrants and making mass arrests.

Now, whatever you think of this so-called caravan,

whether you see them as refugees or invaders,

one thing is clear tonight,

they're in a standoff right now with an army of Mexican federales,

and tensions are running high.

It was another example of Mexico's president fulfilling his promise to the

United States to crack down on migration.

But today, at the river,

it doesn't really look like the National Guard is doing much.

For close to an hour,

we've watched people crossing illegally in rafts across the border,

right in their line of sight.

And then,

a very official-looking,

uniformed man approaches me.

No, not just to bother you,

but you're from Radio Publica?

Yes.

From the United States, right?

Yes.

Do you want me to write it down?

No, here.

I just want your name.

Maria.

Pujo.

Hinojosa.

He writes my name down in a beat-up little notebook that he slips right back into his pocket.

He tells me that his name is Sergeant Hernandez and that he's with the National Guard.

So I ask him what exactly their role here is.

It's just to support what is migration.

Our support is with migration.

He tells me their job is to support immigration agents.

For the most part, he tells me,

they don't really bother the Guatemalan citizens,

who cross back and forth daily.

But they approach others and check their ID,

looking for Haitians or Hondurans, for example.

People like Josué.

We don't stop them at any time.

We rescue the migrants.

And when we rescue them,

migration gives them the options of what they can do in our country.

He's quick to tell me that they don't detain migrants.

They rescue them.

He says they rescue them by turning them over to immigration so they can,

quote,

learn about their options in Mexico.

So where do these rescued migrants go?

They're taken to a place where they can eat and rest, he says.

It's called Siglo XXI.

Now, if you're imagining that Siglo XXI is a shelter,

you couldn't be more wrong.

It's actually a huge immigrant detention center here in Tapachula.

We decide to head there next.

On our way, we come across an immigration checkpoint,

much like the ones the Border Patrol sets up near the border in the United States.

Okay, so we're driving through a checkpoint.

There is, on the left side, a pickup truck with lights flashing.

There is a...

But we're not stopped.

They wave us through.

Behind us, though, a van is pulled over.

Benjamin says these random, militarized roadblocks

have been popping up everywhere in recent years.

And so has the military, with their pickups,

masked soldiers, and automatic weapons.

And they're not just here in Tapachula.

They're on all the major roads leading out of the city.

And they pop in and out along popular routes for migrants,

all the way to the northern border,

including railroad tracks and bus stations.

In fact, advocates say it's so hard now for asylum seekers

to get to the U.S. border without being detained by some Mexican authority

that many have been stuck here in Tapachula,

hoping to get some kind of legal status

that will make it easier to travel through the country.

For years, Mexico mostly turned a blind eye

to migrants transiting north.

But now, with large caravans of migrants

from Central America arriving,

and the news cameras that followed,

pressure to stop the flow was increasing.

Thousands of migrants marching north through Mexico,

hoping to reach the U.S.

President Trump calling it a, quote,

national emergency, vowing to send in the U.S. military.

In January of 2019, Mexico rolled out a humanitarian visa.

The visa basically provides a visa

that provided temporary legal status for one year,

allowing migrants to work,

and more importantly, travel legally.

Mexico shutting down a fast-track program for temporary asylum,

allowing migrants to stay in Mexico.

But so many people applied for the humanitarian visa

that the Mexican government ended the program

in less than two weeks.

When they brought it back just a couple of months later,

the requirements were tightened so much,

it was now nearly impossible to get one approved.

So the other option was to apply for asylum in Mexico,

which more than 70,000 people did last year.

Most of those applications have been filed here in Tapachula.

Some of these applicants will choose to settle in Mexico.

They realize that getting into the U.S. is just too hard now.

But many seem to be applying with the hope

that once they have legal status,

they can use it to travel safely

and make it to the U.S. border.

And that's what Josue was doing here last time we spoke.

The local refugee office is overwhelmed with applications.

Right now, more than half of all cases

have been pending for a year.

In the time that asylum seekers wait

for a resolution to their case,

they're not allowed to leave Tapachula.

They have to check in weekly or biweekly

to keep their cases active.

And in many cases,

they're sent for some period of time

to Siglo XXI,

Tapachula's sprawling immigrant detention center.

They wouldn't let us in to see the facility.

So we're here now, climbing to get a better view

from a nearby hill that overlooks it.

Siglo XXI is the largest immigrant detention center in Mexico.

It's where the National Guard sergeant told me

that they send rescued migrants.

From here, I see a large prison yard.

Wow.

Look how big it is.

All you really see from here are, you know,

the roof coverings.

Long, white.

All I'm seeing is, like, I think a line of people.

You know, if you didn't know any better,

you would say, oh, well, it's a school

with a very big yard.

But then you realize that there's a watchtower,

and that means that they are watchtowers.

They're watching to make sure that nobody gets out.

And there's a huge wall

that goes all around it,

so you clearly cannot climb out.

The prison has capacity for 960 migrants.

It goes over their number for a long time.

There are photos and videos that were made,

a little over 2,000,

who have been sleeping there,

one on top of the other, in the bathroom,

wherever, right?

Benjamin tells me the detention center is so overcrowded,

it's supposed to house about 900 people,

but up to 2,000 have been crammed together.

He says that recently migrants leaked photos

of people sleeping in the bathrooms,

one on top of another.

In April of 2019,

more than 1,000 migrants,

including families with children,

broke out of Siglo XXI

after a dispute over lack of food,

sanitation, and overcrowding.

By the way,

we reached out to President López Obrador's office

as well as to other senior members

of his administration for comment.

Our requests were all denied.

So far, I've seen the outskirts of Tapachula,

but now we're finally heading into the city.

I want to search for Josué in the Central Plaza,

which is a place I knew he used to go to a lot.

At the plaza,

I'm surprised to see just how diverse

Tapachula is.

It's buzzing with live music

and street vendors of all kinds.

So we are in the plaza,

the Central Plaza.

There's a lot of activity.

It's Sunday afternoon,

which is when everybody comes to the plaza

to get your shoes shined,

to sit with your girlfriend,

to have a cup of coffee or a drink.

And there is some football game

that is happening.

I don't know anything about football,

but there's a football game that's going on.

So we are here

to look and see what's going on.

I meet a man from Haiti

who approached me

when he saw I had a microphone.

He told me that he's been stuck here for months

waiting for asylum.

And the wait, he says,

is far from easy.

There are many Haitians here in Tapachula

who are having a hard time there.

They can't work.

But there are many Haitians

who have four or five children

to buy diapers.

He says there are many Haitians here,

families with four or five kids,

and the parents can't work

and don't have money for food or diapers.

He's been here for five months,

but he still doesn't have a work permit,

so he's selling cold bottles of water

in the plaza to support his family.

There's nothing for him here in Tapachula,

he tells me.

He's trying to get to Tijuana.

There, he hopes his family in the U.S.

will be able to help him pay for a coyote

to try and smuggle him across the border.

Before I leave, I take out my phone

and pull up a photo of Josué

and ask him if he's seen him.

He says there are a lot of guys

who could look like him here.

In the end, I don't get anywhere.

Later on, I stop by

Albergue El Buen Pastor.

It's a shelter that I know

Josué lived in for a while.

We've been following the case of a young man

for many months now,

and he was here.

And I want to know if you recognize him.

He was here.

Let's see if you recognize him.

Oh, yes.

Can you tell me what you know about him?

Can you tell me something about him?

He hasn't come back.

I don't find any clues as to his whereabouts here,

but I do meet Sister Olga,

who says she remembers Josué

but hasn't seen him in a while.

She's been running this House for Migrants for decades.

Sister Olga says she used to have an army of volunteers.

Now, no one really shows up to help anymore.

She's very racist, very inhumane.

She doesn't want to see migrants anymore.

And everyone complains.

We don't want migrants anymore.

She says Tapachula is becoming more racist and inhumane,

that everybody complains about wanting migrants gone.

And it's not just here.

The caravans used to be greeted all over Mexico

by well-wishers handing out medicine, food, and water.

But those days have passed.

Mexico! Mexico! Mexico!

This is what an anti-migrant protest looks like in Mexico.

There's anger and waving of Mexican flags

and signs like this one,

which translates to no to the invasion.

Sister Olga says when migrants were just passing through here,

maybe it was easier to be more compassionate.

But now, she says, the asylum process keeps people stuck here.

So they're in the plazas.

They're lined up outside government buildings.

They're sleeping in the streets.

And Tapachula is in Mexico's poorest state, Chiapas.

Resources here are limited,

and migrants are an easy target for people to take out their frustrations.

Now, without helping hands to make ends meet at the shelter,

Sister Olga has had to come up with a new plan.

This is a sale we have to help ourselves here.

We sell some things here.

What are these?

We make donations to sell, and they're warm.

To support the shelter and themselves,

the migrants take part in a donut baking and selling operation.

For now, it's just enough to scrape by.

The next morning at breakfast, my phone rings.

It's a video call, finally, from Josué.

That's coming up.

Stay with us.

No te vayas.

Okay, we're back.

At long last, I receive a video call from Josué.

It's the first time I'm seeing his face since we met a year ago.

En todo el tiempo, nunca te he visto desde que te conocí.

No te he visto.

And after everything, it turns out he's not in Tapachula,

but he's in Mexico.

He's in Mexico.

He's not in Tapachula at all.

He's back home in Honduras.

Josué flips the camera on his phone and shows me.

He's using the Wi-Fi at a café in Tegucigalpa, the capital.

Josué tells me he left Tapachula the day before I arrived,

that some guys had beat him up in the market,

and that he says he couldn't take it anymore.

He was scared,

always thinking that someone was right over his shoulder

coming to punish him for filing that police report

after he jumped out of that truck,

or that the gangs he ran away from in Honduras

would follow him here to Tapachula.

After all, it's really close,

and there were Central American gang tags on the walls

all around town that I saw myself.

In the end, Josué took off back to Honduras.

The gangs were there too.

But at least there he could stay with his grandmother

instead of sleeping on the streets.

But Mexican law says he must be present

for in-person check-ins with immigration

while his asylum petition is pending.

So when Josué went to the asylum agency

to let them know he was leaving,

that meant his asylum case in Mexico would be closed.

Three months waiting in Tapachula was for nothing.

After a few days,

Josué was released from prison.

He was released from prison.

Later that day,

I have a chance to meet with Alma Marquez.

She's the head of the refugee agency here in Tapachula.

It's called Comar.

I want to know what kind of protections

the Mexican government is supposed to offer

to someone like Josué.

You're a refugee.

You're leaving your home country.

And the place that is supposed to be giving you safe haven,

isn't able to protect you.

Do you think those people should continue to apply

for refugee status in Mexico

if they've been a victim of a crime in Mexico?

Or really, should they then be,

by international law,

allowed to apply to another country?

If you are a victim of a crime in Mexico,

you will have the right to file a complaint

and go to the corresponding authorities

so that they can take charge.

Alma says anyone who is a victim

should just go to the police.

Plus, she says,

there's a process to protect victims of crime.

If Josué had told them before he left to Honduras

that he was afraid,

he might have been able to be transferred

out of Tapachula.

And then, in the middle of speaking with Alma,

I get a call from Josué.

No, Josué is calling.

Well, actually, hold on a second.

Josué.

Huh?

I'm in Comar right now.

We're talking about your case.

When you came to close your case,

did you tell Comar why you were leaving?

Josué says he did tell an official

that his grandmother was worried about him

because of what happened.

And he says he showed the official

the report that he had made with the police.

He says no one ever mentioned

the possibility of moving him somewhere safe

elsewhere in Mexico.

Like, what do you recommend to a young...

He's like so many other Honduran men, right?

His life is under threat.

He's afraid all the time.

He has people who have died all around him.

He feels that he could be killed at any moment.

We have to check the case

because I cannot give you right now

my point of view of the case.

And then Alma adds in Spanish...

I've been doing this for 15 years, she says.

Dealing with Central Americans,

I know them well.

You can't get stuck on one case.

In the end, Josué may not have used

the right words to trigger special protections.

And it's hard to believe

asylum policy sometimes comes down

to just that, words.

But even if he had...

Alma says 65% of all asylum seekers

are here in Tapachula.

They could all say

they want to move to a different city.

And it's not like she can move them all.

The larger problem, Alma says,

is Mexico's asylum system

is sorely underfunded and understaffed.

While the agency's budget was doubled

from the year before,

it's just a little over $2 million for 2020.

And most of their financial support

is coming from outside of Mexico.

And we'll get into that a bit more later.

By Mexican law,

asylum claims are supposed to be resolved

in 55 days, not over a year.

Last year, the agency only ended up

granting refugee status to less than 2,000 people

from Honduras, Guatemala, and El Salvador,

even though more than 70,000 applications

were submitted in total.

If we zoom out for a second,

the reason Josue found himself

seeking asylum here in Tapachula

in the first place,

instead of the United States,

where he hoped to eventually make it,

is because Mexico has been developing itself

as an asylum destination.

You could say an alternative to the U.S.

And that's in part because Mexico is getting help

and encouragement to do this,

both from the United States

and from the U.S.

and from the UNHCR.

That's short for

United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.

We made our way to their office in Tapachula.

Okay, so we are standing...

We're kind of in a residential neighborhood

in Tapachula,

so far away from downtown.

Corner building here

by security.

There's a camera out front.

There's some, you know, razor...

Not razor wire, but there's wiring around.

And it says in all white,

and it says,

UNHCR, ACNUR,

La Agencia de la ONU para los Refugiados,

the United Nations Agency for Refugees.

There are no lines here

or asylum seekers waiting outside.

It almost feels like this place

is out of their reach.

Now, the UNHCR was created after World War II

to make sure that what happened then

would never happen again.

Jews who tried to escape the Holocaust

were denied entry to almost every country in the world.

Many were famously turned back

only to meet their deaths.

So this international agency's mission

is to protect refugees and asylum seekers.

Today in Mexico,

it works with the government

to come up with systems

to process and admit asylum seekers.

And they have a system

with a $60 million budget this year

to contribute to Mexico's efforts.

Today, we're here to meet with Giovanni Lepri.

He's the deputy representative with UNHCR in Mexico.

I told him the details of Josué's case

to get his take on why Josué

didn't receive any kind of special protection.

This looks like one of the real genuine cases

in which the person that you're describing

had all the reason and the right

to have an alternative to move somewhere else.

In that sense, I think that it's appropriate to say

that he did somehow fell into the cracks

and unfortunately probably is not the only one.

Giovanni says while they've made progress,

there's still a long way to go

in getting the asylum system to work the way it should.

I wanted to know more broadly

why UNHCR was here in Mexico specifically.

Each and every country should be a country

where there are opportunities for people

that are in need of international protection.

I think that Mexico is today

one of the countries that could offer opportunities

and possibility for integration of refugees

much better than many, many other countries

that we would put as the top developed country in the world.

The fact that employment,

there is plenty of opportunity,

there are plenty of opportunities.

The migrants we spoke to in Tapachula

might disagree about that notion

of plenty of opportunity in Mexico for them.

Giovanni says the UN

is just trying to help.

But there's a question of whether diverting migrants

for making it to the United States

by giving them a chance to stay in Mexico

is actually helping them.

Yes, Mexico is a larger and more prosperous country

than the Central American nations,

but it suffers from many of the same issues around safety

as the places migrants are escaping from.

Take Josue's case.

At various points,

he was homeless, unable to work, hungry,

and nearly killed here.

Is this what safety looks like for him?

And it turns out there's a word

for what's happening here in Mexico,

because it's part of a global trend called externalization.

Externalization,

where states are gradually pushing their borders outwards

and making it increasingly impossible

for refugees and asylum seekers

to even reach the territory

of the world's most prosperous states.

This is Jeff Crisp.

We reached him in London.

He spent many years as a higher-up at the UNHCR.

Since leaving,

he's been highly critical of the organization.

And externalization, he says.

And this is a global trend in the industrialized world.

It's a policy being pursued by the United States,

by the European Union,

and by Australia.

It's also happening, for example,

in Libya,

where the European Union is funding the local government

to intercept migrants at sea

and put them in detention in dismal conditions.

And in Australia,

where asylum seekers have been sent to camps

on remote Pacific islands.

It means migrants are being corralled into poorer countries

where they aren't necessarily better off

than where they started.

And Jeff says

the UNHCR

is in a tough position to do anything about it,

in part because of the source of its money.

It's become increasingly constrained in recent years

as governments have pursued more restrictive

refugee and asylum policies.

And one of my arguments has been recently

that UNHCR is very worried about losing U.S. support.

And the U.S. provides around 40%

of the organization's budget.

Partly, I would argue,

because UNHCR depends so heavily

on the U.S. for its funding,

it's been very wary, in my opinion,

of actually going out in public

and criticizing the policies

pursued by Donald Trump.

It's the first week of March now.

I'm back in New York City.

And I get a call from Josue.

I can't believe what he tells me.

He's decided to go back to Mexico.

He's leaving in just a few days.

He's headed back to Tapachula.

And then, right before he's about to make the trip...

WHO has been assessing this outbreak around the clock,

and we're deeply concerned.

We have therefore made the assessment

that COVID-19 can be characterized as a pandemic.

Mexico and Guatemala,

like many other countries around the world,

announced they might close their borders

due to the coronavirus pandemic.

Whether it's a virus or not,

on the second week of March,

Josue hitchhiked back to Tapachula,

making it out of Guatemala

just before it closed its borders.

Once in Tapachula,

Josue went and got a meeting at Comar,

the refugee office.

He records it on his phone.

Josue?

Yes.

Okay, so this is your house?

Yes, I had to close my house

because they were looking for me to kill me.

And that's what you need right now?

I don't want to start my own house.

I want to reopen it.

He says he wants to reopen his case.

But they tell him bad news.

They say that the document he signed

when he left in January

means he abandoned his case,

and that if he wants to apply for asylum,

he needs to start over.

The process, they say,

could take another year,

another year of waiting in Tapachula.

I don't have anything.

I'm not working right now.

I don't have anything.

I have nothing.

I'm sorry, Josue.

There's no better news.

Josue says his desperation is growing.

With lockdowns in place,

there's no work.

And that means no food.

Sometimes it worries me a lot

because sometimes I eat and sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I go to bed without dinner.

Or sometimes I go to bed without breakfast.

Sometimes he has to skip meals.

And he's on the verge of being homeless again.

And then he hears that the refugee office

is going to be closed through June.

That wait he was dreading,

it keeps on extending.

Comar is closed,

so his paperwork just sits there,

much like he does waiting.

How long do you think you'll stay in Mexico?

Cuatro años.

Sí.

O tiempo sigue menos.

He says,

now he's thinking he'll ultimately stay in Mexico

for a while,

maybe four years or less, if possible,

if he can get to the United States,

where he really wants to be.

What does it mean?

You say, I want to go to the north

to go to the United States.

And I say,

and what does the United States mean to you?

For me, the United States,

it helps a lot.

And there,

in the United States,

I can overcome myself.

I ask Josué,

what does getting to the United States mean to him?

And he says,

a chance to do better in life.

Josué has now made four attempts

to make it to the United States

and spent years of his life,

all to end up here in Tapachula,

with nothing to show for it.

He's happy to be alive,

is about all he can say.

And as far as my eyes

And he tells me he's feeling sick

with a high fever, cough,

and body aches.

And he can't find any medical help.

He's wondering if maybe

he's feeling sick with a high fever,

cough, and body aches.

All he's gone through, a deadly virus, is just another addition to his long list of fears.

To be continued...

...and mixed by Stephanie LeBeau and Leah Shaw-Dameron.

The executive producer is Diane Sylvester.

The Moving Borders series was produced in partnership with the Pulitzer Center,

with additional support by the Ford Foundation.

Fact-checking for this episode by Amy Tardif.

The Latino USA team includes...

...and Nancy Trujillo.

Benilei Ramirez is our co-executive producer, along with myself, and I'm your host, Maria Hinojosa.

Remember, you can find Latino USA on your podcast feed.

Also on our website, which is latinousa.org.

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