Migrants Sent Back by US Dumped in Monterrey, Mexico

The bus carrying dozens of Central Americans from the Texas border arrived in the northern Mexican city of Monterrey late at night and pulled up next to the station. Men and women disembarked with children in their arms or staggering sleepily by their sides, looked around fearfully and wondered what to do.

They had thought they were being taken to a shelter where they could live, look for work and go to school. Instead they found themselves in a bustling metropolis of over 4 million people, dropped off on a street across from sleazy nightclubs and cabarets with signs advertising "dancers."

The Associated Press witnessed several such busloads in recent days carrying at least 450 Hondurans, Guatemalans and Salvadorans from Nuevo Laredo, bordering Laredo, Texas, to Monterrey, where they have been left to fend for themselves with no support in finding housing, work or schooling for children, who appear to make up about half the group.

Mexico has received some 20,000 asylum seekers returned to await U.S. immigration court dates under the program colloquially known as “remain in Mexico.” But there had been no sign of such large-scale moving of people away from the border before now.

In response to a request for comment, Mexico's National Immigration Institute, or INM for its initials in Spanish, said in a two-paragraph statement that the agency cooperates with consular authorities and all levels of government to attend to returnees. It said Mexico abides by international law and is working to upgrade shelters and immigration facilities “to improve the conditions in which migrants await their processes in national territory.” The INM did not address specific questions about the AP’s findings.

Maximiliano Reyes, deputy foreign relations secretary, acknowledged last week that migrants were being removed from Nuevo Laredo and said it was for their own safety. He did not explain why they were dropped off in Monterrey or provide any further details.

Nuevo Laredo is located in the state of Tamaulipas, a region plagued by violence and drug cartels, so much so that the U.S. State Department warns against all travel there due to kidnappings and other crime.

“It’s clearly important to move people out of very dangerous Mexican border towns,” said Maureen Meyer, an immigration expert at the Washington Office on Latin America, which advocates for human rights in the region. “But simply busing them somewhere else without any guidance on what’s awaiting them and without having the services available to house asylum-seekers and support them, the Mexican government’s really exposing them to further risk.”

This account is based on in-person interviews with more than 20 migrants who made the two-hour, 130-mile journey south to Monterrey in the week since the new practice began.

President Andrés Manuel López Obrador has promised to provide those things, but the reality in Nuevo Laredo turned out to be different.

The returnees were met at the crossing by Mexican immigration officials who handed them documents presumably allowing them to work and move about the country. Without further explanation they were then loaded at an immigration station parking lot onto buses with the logos of private companies with charter contracts with the INM.

The migrants were not forced to make the journey but said they didn’t see any other option. They know the dangers in Tamaulipas, where organized crime groups have been known to extort, kidnap and kill vulnerable migrants. In 2010, 72 migrants were massacred in the town of San Fernando.

In Monterrey they found a big, unfamiliar city where, unbeknownst to them, shelters were already overflowing, and it quickly became clear they’d have to make do as best they could.

Some asked the bus driver for advice on where to go. Others asked locals to borrow cellphones to beseech relatives for money or call their “coyotes,” or smugglers, to try to cross illegally again into the U.S.

“They have abandoned us here to get rid of us,” said Jazmin Desir, sitting on the floor of the bus terminal surrounded by her four sleeping children. The hair stylist and her husband, a mechanic, were waiting for relatives to send money for them to get back to Honduras, which they figured would take two years to pay off.

Within a half-hour only a handful remained at the terminal. The rest had melted away into the city.

Two days later, with money wired from relatives, a group hired a bus to take them to the southern city of Tapachula, near Guatemala. From there they would make their way home — essentially self-deporting at their own expense, about $100 each for the 1,000-mile (1,700-kilometer) journey.

“After suffering so much, this is what we long for,” said Neftalí Anael Cantillana, a Honduran teacher traveling with her 16-year-old son.

At least one other group arranged a similar trip according to Jorge Pérez, the driver who took them.

López Obrador’s government did not mention the busings on Monday when it presented a report halfway into a 90-day period during which it has agreed to reduce irregular transmigration as part of a deal to head off threatened U.S. tariffs.