Around the World

GUATEMALA CITY, 5 March 2022 - Guatemala has been a crossroads for generations of immigrants looking to make their way north to the U.S. border. The country has long been characterized as dangerous with strife, gang-related violence, drug trafficking, and kidnappings. These stereotypes have been exacerbated by the recent surge of immigration and have painted both a negative image of the country and the migrants that traverse it.

In the Spring of 2022, I decided to book a flight to Guatemala City during my university's Spring Break to witness firsthand this so-called immigration crisis. My good friend from the Dominican Republic, Gabriel, accompanied me, and we arrived at our hostel in Zone 4 of the city early one March morning. The heavy tropical humidity was a nice pivot from the brisk Michigan winter as we set out for the day to take in the sights and sounds of the city the locals call "Guate."

To be transparent, I had initially fallen victim to the previously stated negative connotations of the country. I had read the stories and been warned by family members, which left me slightly uneasy upon my arrival. I had already traveled extensively to other places deemed unsafe, but the stories were too stark to disregard completely. This uneasiness quickly evaporated as we experienced the hospitable and warm nature of the locals in Guatemala City. After taking our initial survey of the city's atmosphere, I was keen on understanding why this country had received such a bad reputation. We returned to our hostel for the night and invited the workers and fellow guests to join us on the patio for a drink. This is where my intent to meet with a true caminero was realized.

One of the guests at the hostel, Frank, was on his long journey north to the United States. Frank was a Nicaraguan citizen who had twice previously made the trip to the U.S. and subsequently been deported twice by U.S. Customs. We talked until daybreak neared, as his life had been filled with trials, errors, and triumphs. He had a girlfriend in Florida with whom he was trying to reunite and had arrived in Guatemala City that day after a long trek from San Salvador. All he had with him was a large backpack filled with clothes and $200 that he had received in the mail from his girlfriend to make the voyage.

Frank had grown up in a small Nicaraguan town near the capital of Managua, working on his family's small farm. He faced adversity since a very young age. His father and older brother had been killed by gang violence, and he had repeatedly been pressured to join the conflict. Apart from the gang warfare and drug trafficking that wreaked havoc on Frank's community, his family farm had consistently yielded less as the years went on. This was due to the changing climate characterized by heavier rainy seasons and longer subsequent droughts. In addition, he had to leave school at 9 years old to take care of his mother and sisters while attempting to work the land and livestock.

Frank was endangered and impoverished and decided to move his family to find work in the United States at the age of 17. If he stayed in Nicaragua, he risked falling victim to a similar fate as his father and brother. He took the long trek north with his two sisters and mother, handsomely paying a coyote to get them there. Coyotes are those who exploit migrants with high prices and dangerous tactics to cross the border. Their existance is the result of U.S. policy and the militarization of its border. They endured long distances walking in the desert with little food and water, constantly wary of thieves and animals along the way. Frank and his family had to swim across the Rio Grande, which was booby-trapped with floating spiked barriers.

The trip, however, was successful and they initially resided in Texas. Frank worked as a farmhand, spending long hours toiling in the sun, harvesting the produce, and receiving severely low wages. This was still more income than he had ever achieved while in his home country, and his family was relatively secure for the first time.

This security lasted barely a year before the unpaid wages racked up for over three months. Frank and a group of workers had voiced their concerns over the unpaid work, and the next day, Frank was rounded up by U.S. Customs and Immigration Control (ICE) and promptly deported to Mexico. Frank now had a mission to reunite with his family, who had luckily been left in the United States.

With nearly all his money, he again paid another coyote to get him across the dangerous border. This time, he rounded up his family and headed for Florida as he had a childhood friend who could assist him with obtaining a job at a factory that produced doors. The hours and conditions were grudging, but the money was good. This is where he met his girlfriend, a Venezuelan native who had likewise left her home country in search of a better life.

Again, Frank would be deported when ICE made an unannounced visit and detained many workers at Frank's place of employment. This time, Frank was deported to his home country of Nicaragua and was determined to undertake a third trip north.

This is where our paths crossed. Truthfully, while I listened to him speak, I felt guilty for my privilege to hop across international borders easily. For me, it was what one could consider a vacation despite my motives for being there, but to Frank, it was truly life or death. He clamored that he did not care how many times the United States would deport him, that he would ultimately resume the treacherous voyage back to give him just a sliver of a chance at a better life for his family. He would endure getting deported a thousand times if it meant he could make enough wages to feed his mother in between deportations.

The way he saw it, there was no other option. Life was simply not viable in Nicaragua, nor elsewhere in the region that dealt with similar socioeconomic conditions. I could sense the urgency in his voice and the fire in his eyes. He was a talker, and I gratefully heard what he had to say. The stories of gang violence and futile crop seasons made me see the immigration crisis differently. It was not a crisis in the sense that it was plaguing my way of life, that of comfort in the U.S., but rather a humanitarian crisis of seismic proportions. There was so much more than what is claimed by those who wish to deter immigration to the United States; he was not bringing crime and drugs with him, rather, a strong work ethic and family-oriented values to my country. To him, drudging along with the long march, hard hours, and undesirable jobs was simply his only choice.

I could not help but think it was my country that was responsible for these push motives of immigration from the region. The United States is one of the largest contributors to the climate crisis and does not have to deal with the impacts of deteriorating farming suitability, as does this delicate region. The U.S. has a strong history of intervention in Nicaragua, supporting a right-wing dictatorship, the Somoza family, from 1936 until 1979. The U.S. also supported the violent contras in the 1980s revealed by the Iran-Contra scandal during the Reagan administration. Since the scandal, the U.S. has continued to enforce economic sanctions up to the present day that limits Nicaragua's capability to remedy its position.

This is just a small glimpse into the long history of American intervention and action that has subsequently created push factors of immigration away from the region. The story is unfortunately very similar to that of other Latin American countries that see much outward migration due to similar socioeconomic factors.

After this long discussion, Frank decided to pause his journey the next day and spend some time with Gabriel and me, as we enjoyed each other's company. We took a bus to El Puerto San José, a black sand beach on the Pacific coast. We chatted and enjoyed the sunshine for a few hours. Frank ordered a bucket of Corona beers, and we fought him over payment, but he insisted on covering our drinks. He handed the waiter $20, and I could not help but imagine what else that could have bought him. He was generous and a ray of light, despite the darkness that accented his life story.

The next day, Frank woke up early before the rest of us and, without a word, continued on his walk north. I kept this encounter close to my heart as I truly hoped the best for him. After what I had learned I knew the danger that awaited him.

I returned to my comfortable life that consisted of classes and the hardest decision being which brand of almond milk I wanted to buy from the grocery store. I was grateful for my encounter with Frank in Guatemala, but I could not help but feel off. There was such a divide between how two people lived, despite having never done anything to determine where we were born. Yet this was a deciding factor on the life that was to be led, an arbitrary happening of location of birth. I still think about Frank to this day, hoping he has reunited with his family and girlfriend in Florida. Maybe at the time of my writing, he has already been deported again and made plans for a fourth trip north. One thing I do know is that Frank's spirit will never be broken.