To verify the anarchy that reigns in migratory flows, my Mexican-American former student, who works in an NGO to support legal processes with headquarters in Tijuana and San Diego, suggested that I visit a station in the trolley which connects San Ysidro (the busiest crossing on the entire border) to our University of California, San Diego campus.
The intense sun that characterizes our region was supplanted last Monday by an intense cold drizzle that was more reminiscent of London. Between 8 and 10 in the morning, every day, in a semi-abandoned parking lot, the immigration authority, known as Customs and Border Protection (CBP), releases hundreds of migrants as if they were birds arriving on dry land.
That day they freed 440 people. The majority, young men. It turns out that families are taken to shelters or hotels to protect them more. San Diego immigration centers are at full capacity.
The parking lot was a veritable Tower of Babel: Chinese, Pakistanis, Afghans (several Africans, who have a reputation for being surly and aggressive) and numerous Latin Americans: Cubans, Venezuelans, Colombians and, to a greater extent, Ecuadorians. I was surprised to find a group of young people from the Dominican Republic.
I talked at length with Jaime (I omit his real name). A 21-year-old young man, who abandoned his systems engineering career. He made the journey together with his sister, mother and uncle. Her mother, who had a small grocery store, was being extorted by a local gang and when they showed her photographs of her sister and him, the woman got rid of everything and in 54 days they arrived in San Diego.
They flew to El Salvador. From there they walked until they entered Tapachula. They arrived in buses to Mexico City. Walking near the airport, some individuals in two vans forcibly took them to “a very dirty and dark house.” They were charged a floor fee of 2 thousand dollars per person. They left scared and immediately boarded a plane to Tijuana.
Already at the border with the United States, a local pollero took them to the eastern area of the border (probably near the Otay mountains), because, in that precise place, Trump’s wall has a hole. That’s where they were introduced to the American dream.
After a few minutes of walking, they found a border patrol and turned themselves in, requesting asylum. They were held in a detention center for two days and last Monday, early, they were released in the parking lot.
Jaime was very nervous. He didn’t know if his mother was in a shelter or detained. That night he sent me a WhatsApp: “My mother arrived, they had taken her to a hotel.” This Thursday when I wrote my column, Jaime called me. Now more in tune, he tells me that they are already in Charlotte, Virginia, where they have an aunt. He asks me if I can help him get a job. He knows that at some point he has to go to an immigration hearing.
Currently, migrants have three main options to enter the United States. The CBP1 application to request asylum, which takes between 3 and 5 months and is the ‘legal’ way to do it. Enter between ports, as Jaime did, through the gaps or by jumping over Trump’s wall. Finally, bravely, as was done before, trying to outwit the immigration authority, whether with or without the help of a coyote, which even for Mexicans does not cost less than 8 or 10 thousand dollars.
The weather is improving and winter is ending, so the season of more migrants and what will be greater chaos on our common border begins. In March of this year, more than 189 thousand arrivals were registered at our common border, according to the CBP.
My suspicion is that flows will skyrocket as the election year in the United States progresses. The narrative of the polleros will be: “Let’s go north before the carrot-colored man and the beautiful and beautiful wall return.”
