海角大神

Illegal immigration is an electoral lightning rod of the 2024 presidential race in the United States.

But debates over 鈥渃riminal鈥� migrants, mass deportations, and American sovereignty obscure a more complicated reality. In particular, who wants to come to the U.S. 鈥撀燼nd why 鈥撀爃as shifted massively in recent years.

Between 1999 and 2009, men聽from Mexico, often traveling alone as they jumped over the border or waded across the Rio Grande in search of jobs, made up some 90% of those arrested for trying to cross into the U.S. irregularly.聽

Over the past decade, global conflicts, natural disasters, and the COVID-19 pandemic have brought a much vaster and more diverse group of people to America's southern border.聽Today entire families flee political oppression, organized crime, war, natural disaster 鈥� and poverty. They鈥檙e coming not only from Latin America, but also from as far away as China and Sierra Leone.

Yet the discourse around immigration and asylum-seekers remains stuck in a stubborn binary: 鈥渂lack and white, legal vs. illegal,鈥� says Jennifer Van Hook, a professor of sociology and demography at Penn State and fellow at the Migration聽Policy Institute. The reality, she says, is 鈥渕urkier.鈥�

And that has implications for the way immigration is accepted, or not, and perceived in the U.S.聽鈥淭here鈥檚 a tendency to disregard circumstances in wanting to classify people,鈥� Dr. Van Hook says.

A complex portrait

Take Springfield, Ohio, which gained national attention this year after candidate Donald Trump claimed its growing Haitian population was 鈥渆ating鈥� the town鈥檚 pets.

Many immigrants there have temporary protected status 鈥� which grants provisional rights to work and live in the U.S. 鈥� yet the discourse centered firmly on America鈥檚 problem with 鈥渋llegal immigrants.鈥�

No group understands the diverse needs and motivations of the constantly changing immigrant population heading to the U.S. better than humanitarian workers in Mexico.

On a recent early morning in Mexico City, two men from the International Rescue Committee (IRC) secure聽tables, a medical privacy screen, and a satellite Internet kit to a flatbed truck with neon-green straps. These new 鈥渕obile units鈥� respond to migrants spread across the country, not just those hunkered at the northern border. They provide access to phone charging stations and information about migrant rights or new technology in the asylum process.

The unit pulls up to the back door of one of the oldest churches in the historic center of Mexico City. Nearby, hundreds of mostly African, Haitian, and South American migrants live in tent camps.

IRC protection officer Carolina 脕lvarez Barajas helps an asylum-seeker from the Republic of Congo, whose name we aren鈥檛 publishing for his privacy, download an application on his phone. But she needs help from someone on her team who can translate for her from French.

Although the app, called CBP One, is the first step for an appointment at a port of entry before filing for asylum, it is available only in Spanish, English, and Haitian Creole, languages that are essentially useless to scores of migrants here today from Africa who speak French or Portuguese.

The Congolese man, who says death threats forced him to flee home, selects Spanish on CBP One and screenshots the buttons he鈥檚 supposed to press to check in on the app daily until he鈥檚 assigned a date to travel to the border for an interview. He expects it could be months.

Not just an American challenge

Mr. Trump has long railed against undocumented immigration, going so far as to call migrants 鈥渞apists.鈥� Nearly 90% of his supporters favor mass deportation of unauthorized immigrants. Meanwhile, Democratic candidate Kamala Harris has faced widespread criticism for her perceived role in 2023鈥檚 record-high border crossings (which have since plummeted). She now says she supports a tougher crackdown.

But this isn鈥檛 an America-only challenge. Mexico is adjusting to record immigration numbers and its effects, too.

Over the past decade Mexico has formalized, under pressure from the U.S., the policing of migration on its southern border. As Border Patrol encounters have fallen since historic highs last December, apprehensions inside Mexico have grown: double in the first half of this year compared with the same period last year, according to the Danish Refugee Council and IRC.聽Amid restrictions on asylum-seekers in the U.S., Mexico has had to strengthen and expand its own system. It鈥檚 now among the top five receiving countries in the world for new asylum claims.

Hundreds of thousands of migrants are now coming to Mexico from across the globe and remaining longer 鈥� sometimes permanently. That has kicked up tensions in some neighborhoods in Mexico City and at the northern border.聽But unlike in the U.S., the population surge is met with more sensitivity in Mexico, says Eunice Rend贸n, Mexico coordinator of the Agenda Migrante initiative.聽Because of Mexico鈥檚 history as a country of migrants, 鈥渨e have more empathy around what is driving people to leave home,鈥� she says.

While anti-migrant voices in the U.S. focus on violence perpetrated by migrants, in Mexico they are clearly victims of it. In a migration reversal, amid an uptick in violence among cartels in southern Chiapas state, some Mexicans are crossing south into Guatemala for safety, says Rafael Velasquez Garcia, IRC鈥檚 Mexico country director.

Organized criminals target migrants to boost revenue by selling fake CBP One appointments or charging 鈥渆xit fees鈥� to move around the country, says Mr. Velasquez. They鈥檙e 鈥渘ow finding even greater opportunity with what we estimate [are] about a million people stranded in Mexico.鈥�

鈥淎nywhere else in the world where you have a million people stranded in an environment like this, we would recognize it as a humanitarian crisis and respond to that,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut right now, there is no humanitarian response plan. 鈥� The majority of the response is on the shoulders of local civil society.鈥�

A family affair

In 2014 came a notable uptick in children and families arriving at the U.S. border from Central America, many fleeing violence and intentionally turning themselves over to border agents. That trend has only grown since the pandemic 鈥撀爓ith huge implications for humanitarian work in Mexico.

When a church in Mexico City, La Parroquia de la Santa Cruz y Nuestra Se帽ora de la Soledad,聽began opening its imposing, hand-carved doors to migrants in 2017,聽volunteer Claudia Torres says they were still aiding mostly young men who were just passing through. By 2020, they were helping entire families with young children. Now they work with volunteer midwives who help deliver babies, sometimes even under the church鈥檚 roof.

鈥淔amilies are more complicated,鈥� says Ms. Torres, who sits on the church patio registering arriving migrants, including a young mother from Ecuador who walks in seeking to bathe her two sons.

Once the family walks away, Ms. Torres gestures for another volunteer to come near. 鈥淚t was that little boy鈥檚 seventh birthday earlier this week. We鈥檒l sing him the ma帽anitas,鈥� she tells her, referring to Mexico鈥檚 iconic birthday tune.

By the time the boy鈥檚 mother has scrubbed behind his ears, there鈥檚 an impromptu party, complete with a tray of chocolate-covered marshmallows and a small crew of volunteers singing and cheering.

The boy beams.

This scene, as joyful as it is heartbreaking, bears little resemblance to the rhetoric on the American campaign trail.

Editor's note: This story was updated on Nov. 1, the same day as publication, to clarify the role CBP One plays in the asylum process.