ATOTONILCO DE TULA, Mexico — Dayana Castro’s heart sank when she learned that her anticipated asylum appointment with U.S. authorities, which she had been waiting for more than a year, was abruptly canceled. Her decision was swift and resolute: her family would continue their journey north no matter the obstacles they faced.
The 25-year-old Venezuelan, along with her husband and their two young children aged 4 and 7, felt they had no option but to push forward. They had already bravely traversed the treacherous Darien Gap, a dense jungle that separates Colombia from Panama, while fending off threats from criminal groups that target migrants. Castro was one among tens of thousands of migrants who had scheduled asylum appointments in the U.S., which stretched into February. The abrupt changes initiated by the new U.S. administration, including a series of executive actions focused on tightening border security and reducing migration flows, impacted many. Notably, one order put an end to the CBP One app, which had enabled almost a million individuals seeking asylum to enter the U.S. legally since the start of 2023.
“We can’t give up now,” Castro expressed while resting in a modest shelter in central Mexico near a freight train route they intended to use for transit. “After everything we’ve endured, returning home is not an option.” Migrants like Castro have begun to reevaluate their plans amid this new and uncertain landscape. Many remain resolute in their quest to reach the U.S., opting for perilous methods such as riding freight trains, employing smugglers, and evading law enforcement. Others are lining up in refugee offices in Mexico to pursue asylum, while some consider going back to their origin countries.
In a recent declaration, a national emergency was announced at the U.S.-Mexico border, accompanied by plans to deploy U.S. troops and enforce stricter measures on refugees and asylum seekers. This directive comes in the wake of a decline in illegal crossings seen in recent months.
Supporters of the CBP One app claim it introduced a degree of order into a chaotic situation at the border, while detractors argue it merely attracted more individuals to come north. Analysts like Adam Isacson, who focuses on human rights issues, noted that although the crackdown on illegal immigration might deter some migrants in the short term, it could also lead to wider humanitarian repercussions. Valid asylum claimants may face dire situations in their home countries, and those fleeing volatile nations such as Venezuela, Cuba, and Haiti, lacking viable return options, may find themselves vulnerable and adrift throughout parts of the Americas. Isacson also pointed out that these policies could escalate the demand for smuggling networks and push migrants—many being families and children—into riskier territories to evade capture.
By the next day, Castro was beginning to process her new reality. Continuing her journey after the cancellation of her appointment on February 18 meant putting her family at risk; cartels were increasingly involved in extorting and kidnapping vulnerable individuals. “There are constant demands for payment from the train networks, cartels, and immigration police,” she explained while sharing bread with her children in their shelter. “But if we don’t take these risks, we may never reach our destination.”
Meanwhile, in Tapachula, along the southern border with Guatemala, another group of migrants was trying a different strategy. Rosalí Martínez, a Cuban migrant, patiently waited outside the Mexican Commission for Refugee Aid while traveling with her child. She had aspirations of reuniting with her husband in the U.S., but now found herself contemplating the possibility of permanent asylum in Mexico as American restrictions shifted. Like many Cubans who have sought refuge in recent years, Martínez was escaping an escalating economic crisis back home. “I’ll remain here and see what unfolds,” she affirmed. “There’s no chance I’m returning to Cuba. If necessary, I’ll become a Mexican citizen.”
Experts like Enrique Vidal Olascoaga, who oversees the Fray Matías de Córdova human rights center in Tapachula, remarked that the new policies have caused migrants to rethink their options. He noted that many are expressing uncertainty about their next steps, with some even inquiring about services to assist their return trips. Jomaris Figuera, 42, and her husband found themselves ready to abandon their quest to build a new life outside Venezuela. After spending years working in Colombia and considering a traversal of the Darien Gap, they had ultimately waited for a legitimate entry into the U.S. for nearly a year and a half while living amidst crime in a migrant camp in Mexico City. With no passports and limited finances, they believed their only recourse might involve returning south through the very same treacherous paths they had crossed before. “Anything would be preferable to remaining in Mexico,” Figuera stated. “It feels like we’d be forsaking everything we’ve gone through.”
