PATROLLING ALONG BORDER WHERE HOPE MEETS DESPAIR
We travel to Texas and see what agents & immigrants face
LAS LOMITAS, Texas — Border Patrol supervisor Rene Quintanilla followed a trail of kids’ clothing and empty water bottles down a makeshift trail to the edge of the Rio Grande, then squinted into the morning sun as he took a long look around.
“Some people were just here. Look at that child’s underwear and that tennis shoe,” said Quintanilla. “These footprints look fresh.”
Quintanilla took a couple of steps toward the vast river separating the United States from Mexico and spotted a lone fisherman on the opposite bank.
“Probably a lookout. The fish here aren’t known for tasting good,” he said, looking for more remnants of human activity in the dense foliage along the river.
“We see a lot of pieces of clothing like this left behind. But these days it’s quiet.”
Just over a month ago, Quintanilla and about 3,000 of his fellow Border Patrol agents along the Rio Grande Valley sector couldn’t keep up with the flood of immigrants — most from Central America — fleeing violence and poverty. These days, the flow of migrants making the dangerous trek has decreased significantly. There were 14,712 apprehensions along the Rio Grande in June, down from 17,492 in May, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection figures.
There were 5,420 immigrant families detained by border agents along the Rio Grande in June compared with 6,660 the month before.
In addition, there were nearly 300 fewer children traveling alone in June — 2,576 — compared with 2,862 in May, according to the latest data available from the agency.
Along the entire Southwest border, there were 34,114 apprehensions in June compared with 40,338 the previous month, a drop of about 15%.
“We are seeing slow traffic these days,” Quintanilla said. “We would spot them. They really don’t hide because they want to get caught and apply for asylum.”
Some border activists say the Trump administration’s “zero tolerance” policy is working, deterring larger numbers of immigrants from crossing into the U.S. Even after President Trump signed an executive order reversing his controversial separation of families policy, many immigrants worry about reunions that still haven’t taken place.
“They are afraid that their children may be taken away from them. I don’t think a child should spend a night away from their parents,” said Victor Maldonado, who runs the Ozanam shelter for immigrants in Brownsville, Texas. “It’s having an effect.”
Maldonado pointed out a shelter room with mostly empty beds.
“Immigration trends go up and down. Right now it’s down, mostly because of fear,” he said. “They see that this administration has a more aggressive immigration stance.”
Quintanilla, the father of a 6-year-old and 2-year-old who grew up in the area, said agents can’t let politics affect their work, and must follow the mandates that come from Washington.
“I’m a father, too. Yeah, it’s hard, but again, we got a job to do and we’ll continue to do the job. We live in these communities. We do want to keep them safe. We do have kids of our own,” he said keeping his eyes on the road. “We rescue people every day.”
After nearly three hours of driving along the river, Quintanilla’s radio scanner began to crackle.
“We have activity,” he said, stepping on the gas of the white and green Chevy Suburban.
He headed to a dirt road next to the Rio Grande, where two young men were spotted by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agents who radioed the Border Patrol for backup. Quintanilla pulled up and found the pair sitting side by side under a beating sun.
“Where you guys from? Guatemala, both of you?” Quintanilla, speaking Spanish, asked in a friendly tone.
“Yes,” the men replied, keeping their eyes on their shoes.
“Did you guys just cross?”
The men told him that after a 20-day trip, they crossed the border early in the morning with four others. Just as Quintanilla predicted, the men had looked for agents so they could apply for asylum.
“I came here because I want to work,” said Carlos Velazquez, 33. “There is no money in my country. The volcano affected us in Guatemala. I want to apply for asylum. I just want them to let me work at least two years here. We need a lawyer to help us.”
A deadly eruption in early June covered homes with ash and lava that devastated everything in its path, and though Velazquez said he heard about the Trump’s administration hard-line immigration stance, he had to try.
“I can’t survive there anymore,” he said.
Quintanilla inspects the men for weapons and asks them to climb into a van that will transport them to a McAllen, Texas, detention center.
Others, like Elmida Gonzalez, 26, said they’re happy to run into Border Patrol agents. Days after being detained and released, Gonzalez waited patiently for a bus in McAllen cradling her sweet-faced, 7month old daughter, Shayra.
She explained that she plans to stay with relatives in Kentucky until a judge hears her case, and hopes to apply for asylum after the volcano ravaged her town in Guatemala.
“I was afraid because of everything we heard. But they were nice to me,” she said, smiling at baby Shayra in her lap. “It is scary facing immigration officials. But there’s nothing for me back home. I had to come here, for my daughter.”
Not everyone wants to get caught.
Two days earlier, David Sosa, 30, hopped aboard an old tire to make it across the Rio Grande in the middle of the night. A smuggler promised the Honduran immigrant to get him across for $300.
“I saw two truck lights coming our way. The smuggler told me to stop in the middle of the water and be quiet. I felt so afraid that they were going to catch me,” he said. “It felt like an eternity to cross it. I was halfway and I thought we hadn’t advanced much. We held our breath and waited for the border patrol truck to drive by.”
This is Sosa’s third attempt trying to make it to Houston. He dreams of working as a mechanic. Like many others, he fled to escape poverty and violent gangs, he said.
“I have never seen Housonly ton, in pictures. It looks beautiful,” he said with a shy smile. I hope to see it one day in person.”
After turning over the men from Guatemala, Quintanilla signed paperwork and then climbed back into his pickup truck. He turned on the scanner and drove on, looking out the window and searching for other fresh footprints or movement in the tall grass, where immigrants hide.
“It’s a cat-and-mouse game,” said Quintanilla. “They will keep coming and we will keep doing our job. We have been doing this job for decades. And we will continue to do it for decades to come. This is going to go on forever. It’s part of life here.”