CIUDAD JUÁREZ – Weeks after the U.S. stopped allowing Venezuelans to stay and petition asylum after crossing the border with Mexico, a stubborn group of migrants, stranded on the banks of the Rio Grande, have claimed their small piece of land as “Little Venezuela.”
The land on the Mexican side includes dozens of tents, and a Venezuelan flag next to a Mexican flag. They say they have refused to leave their spot to seek shelter or even to listen to Mexican authorities who pleaded with them to apply for humanitarian visas.
“We made it this far,” said Juan Carlos Brito, who traveled from Caracas with his sister and niece, He sat near the banks of the Rio Grande where children ran and laughed, and where there was a clear view of El Paso’s downtown. In the evenings, Brito is mesmerized by the sight of El Paso’s Star on Franklin Mountain. “I’m not going anywhere but north, to reach that star.”
Faced with a sharp increase in Venezuelan migration, the Biden administration reached a deal with the administration of Andrés Manuel López Obrador earlier this month in which Mexico agreed to take back Venezuelans expelled under the United States’ pandemic policy known as Title 42.
So far, this policy has shifted the plight of the migrants from one side of the Rio Grande to the other. But they keep coming.
Last week, a top Mexican official visited the 2,000-mile U.S.-Mexico border to coordinate the response with U.S. and Mexican federal authorities, international human rights groups, migrant shelters and local authorities.
Throughout his visit, Arturo Rocha, a special envoy for Foreign Minister Marcelo Ebrard, promoted a five-point program intended to end the latest humanitarian crisis. Rocha said the program, created by U.S. and Mexican officials, is modeled after an initiative fashioned for Ukrainians. The program, which will allocate up to 24,000 visas, requires Venezuelans to have a valid passport and a U.S. sponsor.
Rocha insisted in an interview, “Our efforts are working,” pointing to what he called several key breakthroughs: El Paso last week stopped sending buses with migrants. The number of Venezuelans returned daily to Ciudad Juárez has plummeted from 200 daily to 40. U.S. immigration authorities , and state officials in Juarez, confirm the downward trend.
And along the Darien Gap, —a treacherous trek in the Panama jungle— Ecuadoreans and Haitians are outpacing Venezuelans for the first time in months, Rocha said. On Wednesday, Rocha said, 121 crossed, down from a peak of 3,000 in early October.
Moreover, Mexican immigration authorities last week began providing Venezuelans with visas that allow them to stay for up to 180 days, up from the original two weeks, that will permit them to work, he said.
“We realize that the camp forming at the border is a challenge,” Rocha said. “We are working with local authorities, civil society and international organizations to offer them [migrants] shelter and information on their options.”
“A good number of the people waiting can qualify for a humanitarian parole to fly into the U.S. — as opposed to crossing the border by land,” Rocha added. “We’re working to persuade those waiting at the bridge, as we have shelters and different options for them, including a regular stay in Mexico and access to the U.S.”
This latest migration flow, comes just weeks after the end of the 2022 fiscal year, in which the U.S. Border Patrol apprehended migrants 2.2 million times, shattering records, according to year-end figures released by U.S. Customs and Border Protection.
“Of the total unique encounters in September 2022, 77,302 were from Venezuela, Cuba, or Nicaragua, which represents 42 percent of unique encounters, a 245 percent increase over September 2021,” according to the report by CBP.
This year, at least 150,000 Venezuelans have arrived at the U.S. border, with Juárez dubbed the epicenter of the Venezuelan diaspora. At least 17,000 arrived in El Paso in October. Since Oct. 12, when the new policy was announced, about 2,000 Venezuelans have been returned to Juárez. Dozens more arrive daily, from different countries.
“A phenomenon of this magnitude, like the one we face, can easily overwhelm all three governments, local, state and federal,” said Enrique Valenzuela, head of Chihuahua’s State Population Control office, which works with immigrants. “We need the help of all nongovernmental organizations, religious groups and international groups to meet the challenge.”
Fernando Garcia, executive director of the El Paso-based Border Network for Human Rights, isn’t convinced the Mexican federal government is doing enough.
“Mexico’s decision was, once again, political,” he said. “It is shameful that both countries are undermining international protocols” by not allowing migrants to apply for asylum.
Venezuelans interviewed say the visas program touted by Mexico and the United States disqualifies poorer Venezuelans, many of whom lack the required paperwork and know no one in the United States. The program also disqualifies anyone who entered Panama or Mexico after Oct. 19, which means many of those who were moving toward the U.S. border.
Mistrust is palpable.
A shelter opened by the Mexican government closed last week because, Rocha said, they couldn’t find enough Venezuelans to house. Venezuelans say they remain dubious about Mexico’s efforts.
Many worry that they may be forcibly removed from the country, and staying together keeps them safer. Ukrainians, they add, inspired worldwide empathy, sympathy and the program was opened to an unlimited number of people. Venezuelans say they feel treated as pariahs, political pawns and more importantly, the Venezuelan version of the program is capped at 24,000.
Along the banks of the Rio Grande, the number of Venezuelans fluctuates, sometimes with more than 1,000 during the daytime and a few hundred in the evening, sleeping in dozens of tents, across the U.S. side, according to nonprofit organizations. Hundreds more return to shelters. The “Little Venezuela” on the Mexican side is filled with children playing and worried parents eyeing their offspring, and pleading with Border Patrol agents across the river to let them in.
They have no portable restrooms or showers. They rely on donations from Juarenses who line up in cars to provide food, toys and clothes. One lady made dozens of burritos and handed them out. El Pasoans also cross into Juárez carrying food, tents, jackets, sweaters and diapers. A pro bono lawyer from El Paso walked around polling Venezuelans. One man lay under covers, coughing. Other Venezuelans walked in and out of a state government office to charge their cell phones. Bachata music floated in the distance.
Among those stranded is Luís Bermudez, his wife and a toddler. They live in a tent across the river from a processing center run by the U.S. Border Patrol. Bermudez said he has family in Oklahoma. He said he is fleeing political persecution in Venezuela where he was sentenced to 12 years in prison for participating in a protest against the government of Nicolás Maduro. His presence on the Rio Grande is his form of protest for the “injustice we face,” he said.
Bermudez said he and his family have decided to stay where they are and wait out the U.S. midterm elections. They hope the “situation, the anti-immigrant rhetoric will calm down so we at least have an opportunity,” adding his family in Oklahoma has documentation needed to prove he’s a political refugee.
Others rely on their faith. Last week, Juan Luis Colmenares, his wife Barbara and family were sprawled out on Juárez Avenue, which connects to an international bridge, where they begged for money. Colmenares tried working as a day laborer but quit when he found out Mexicans were making twice the salary.
“I still have some dignity. I will not work for free,” he said.
At night, they would cross the street to rent one room in a motel — popular with prostitution activities — to protect their children from the falling temperatures. By the weekend, the family was out of money and temperatures were falling quickly.
Last Sunday, out of desperation and on a wing and a prayer, Colmenares and his wife took their children, ranging from age 16 months to 12 years old and marched across the Rio Grande. They turned themselves in to U.S. immigration authorities. Agents processed them, and he expected to be returned to Mexico. Instead, he found himself at a shelter on the U.S. side. He found other Venezuelan parents with children. He has no family in the United States but has friends who arrived last month in New York City and have jobs. They promise to loan them the money needed for airline tickets.
“Hope is the last thing that dies,” he repeated. “When you made it that far from home, you just rely on your faith to push you forward. When the agents allowed us to cross, all I thought was ‘this is a miracle.’ "
Freelance photographer Luis Torres contributed from Ciudad Juárez.
