Outside the migration office, Tito subtly pointed out the vigilant people smugglers leaning against a wall.
They had already tried to sell their services to Tito, who was headed to the US but, like everyone else there, was stuck in Tapachula, a city in southern Mexico that has become a global way station.
Tito, who gave only his first name, left Haiti for Chile in 2019, where he set up a business selling wooden pallets and met a Haitian woman, with whom he had a daughter, but the pandemic prevented him from going into business. He left for the US and promised his family that he would send money home.
That was two years ago.
“It hurts me to see these people with their children,” Tito said, pointing to a nearby campsite, where grubby legs stuck out of the tent flaps. “I couldn’t bear my child doing this to me.”
Related: Migrants are getting stuck in transit as Mexico becomes the US immigration enforcer
Near the border with Guatemala is Tapachula, where Mexico has sought to contain migrants moving north, acting as the U.S. migration enforcer. Yet newly elected President Donald Trump is now demanding that Mexico do more – threatening a 25% tax on all imports if the country fails.
“This tariff will remain in effect until drugs, especially Fentanyl, and all illegal aliens stop this invasion of our country!” Trump roared last week.
After a phone call with Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum, Trump claimed that she had “agreed to stop migration through Mexico” and that this “effectively closed our southern border.”
Sheinbaum clarified that Mexico had no intention of closing the border, but assured Trump that Mexico is already “taking care of” migrant caravans, several of which have left Tapachula since he won re-election in November – the latest on Monday.
In reality, Mexico has been controlling migrant flows on behalf of the US for years.
While migrants traveling through Central American countries simply receive a document that allows them to travel through the country, in Mexico they face a complex and changing migration bureaucracy that limits their mobility.
This currently revolves around the US smartphone app CBP-One, which people must use to request an appointment that will allow them to cross Mexico, enter the US and seek asylum.
People without an appointment who are intercepted by Mexico’s militarized police, the Guardia Nacional, may be bused back to Tapachula, while those who reach the U.S. border are often unable to seek asylum.
Mexico’s efforts, which have intensified over the past year, have helped reduce arrivals at the U.S.-Mexico border by 40% from a record peak in December 2023.
Although there is no official figure, local human rights organizations estimate that there is currently a floating population of perhaps 50,000 migrants in Tapachula, with a population of 350,000.
There are three large shelters, which together can house approximately 1,000 people. The rest live in hotels, houses, tents – or in the elements. “The truth is that there is not the capacity to care for everyone,” said América Pérez of the Jesuit Refugee Service.
Tito arrived in Mexico 15 months ago and says he has been waiting for a CBP-One appointment on and off since then. About 1,450 copies are issued per day, but the criteria are inscrutable. “Some people come to make an appointment the next day,” Tito said. “I can’t understand it.”
Tired of waiting, he managed to reach Monterrey, on the border with Texas. “I thought about crossing with A coyote,” said Tito, referring to a human smuggler. “But it is dangerous.”
A week ago, migration officials arrested him and sent him back to Tapachula. “I haven’t made any progress,” he sighed. “I’m just older.”
But people like Tito have become an exploitable source of economic life for the city itself.
For businesses, this captive population means cheap labor. Tito periodically earns 250 pesos (about £10) for informal 11-hour shifts in construction.
Meanwhile, the service sector overcharges migrants. “I’ve had two Mexican fares in the last week,” said one taxi driver. “It is thanks to the migrants that we have work.”
In the city center the hotels are full and the travel agencies busy. “You would almost think this is a tourist destination,” says Raúl Caporal of Casa Frida, an organization that supports LGBTQ+ refugees.
The need to make money from migrants has drawn crime and violence to what was once a relatively peaceful part of Mexico.
It is now the rule that migrants are briefly kidnapped during the short journey between the border and Tapachula, and released in exchange for a fixed amount of money, before having their wrist stamped to indicate they have paid.
In Tapachula itself, people are surrounded by a swirl of false information about the migration routes to the US, sometimes spread by scammers or coyotes who then offer their services as an alternative.
The risk of a prolonged kidnapping followed by extortion of relatives in the US is always present. “There are people standing guard in the public areas of Tapachula,” Pérez said.
Sometimes family members post advertisements for missing migrants on Facebook groups, or contact local human rights organizations for help. “But there is no figure for how many people disappear along the way,” Caporal said.
All this has placed Tapachula at the top of the list of cities with the greatest perception of insecurity in Mexico.
“You have to be very careful here,” Tito said. ‘Don’t do business with anyone and always make sure you’re home before dark.’
The growing presence of organized crime, combined with the military’s use to control migration, created the conditions for a massacre when soldiers shot at a smuggling vehicle just outside Tapachula on October 1.
According to the army, soldiers first heard explosions and then responded by opening fire. Of the 33 migrants, six were killed and twelve injured. The government is investigating, but human rights groups have raised concerns about their lack of access to survivors.
“There is a policy of silence to control the narrative of events so that there is no independent version of what took place,” Vidal said.
The Executive Commission for Victim Assistance in Tapachula, the government agency that advises survivors, did not respond to a request for an interview.
The increasing risks of staying in Tapachula and Trump’s re-election have accelerated the number of migrant caravans heading out. At least seven, some several thousand strong, have left in recent weeks. “People look for safety in numbers,” says Enrique Vidal of the Fray Matías Human Rights Center.
But Trump’s demands for Mexico to redouble its efforts as a U.S. migration enforcer could worsen desperation and predation in Tapachula, deepen the humanitarian crisis and give more money and power to organized crime groups.
“People are afraid that CBP-1 will cease to exist, that there will be more restrictions,” Pérez said. “But again, they are very clear about their goal. They know they want to go to the US – and they will.”
