Officials scramble as surge builds under Del Rio bridge
DEL RIO — Temperatures reached triple digits as more than 10,000 migrants, largely from Haiti, Cuba and Venezuela, were sprawled across a large makeshift camp under the Del Rio International Bridge on the U.S.Mexico border.
Families have constructed tents out of the carrizo cane plant, an invasive species that grows along the river banks. Women braid each other’s hair. People keep watch over the jerry-built structures where groups have stored their backpacks and other supplies.
The camp is contained by border officials, who call out migrants’ numbers for when it’s their turn to leave and be processed. Many will head on to their final destinations via bus, meeting up with family and friends in American cities.
The migrant camp in Del Rio surpassed 12,000 people Friday morning, according to U.S. Rep. Tony Gonzales, who has urged that Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas deploy “the necessary number of
agents and resources needed to contain this crisis.”
The Department of Homeland Security did not respond to a request for comment. “We will address it accordingly,” Mayorkas said Friday on MSNBC.
Though migrants are prevented from venturing further on the U.S. side, the camp extends back into the Rio Grande. There, men and women wade freely back and forth between the U.S. and Mexico in knee-deep water, on a part of the river where a cement platform makes it easy to cross. People bathe and brush their teeth in the water. Young men carry water bottles and large boxes of Styrofoam noodle cups from Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, into the camp.
Exode, 37, from Haiti, sits on the river bank in Acuña, where he’s waiting while his phone charges along a chain-link fence. His wife and son are still in the camp under the international bridge, where they’ve been waiting for three days. He said even though the camps are given food and drinks, many folks go back into Mexico to bring stuff back to have enough between meals.
Though originally from Haiti, Exode came to the U.S. after having lived in northern Chile for about three years. He asked to use his first name only for security reasons.
“I’ve always looked for a place that’s more safe where there’s more work,” he said in Spanish. But his plan to build a life in Chile went bust after his visa applications had been denied, despite his attempts to go through formal immigration channels.
“I couldn’t build a life for myself like I wanted to because I didn’t have papers,” Exode said. Going back home to Haiti wasn’t an option either.
“The politics in my country are in a serious crisis,” Exode said. Haitian President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated in his private residence in the capital, Port-au-Prince, on July 7, and the country has been in political and economic crisis.
While he was facing immigration roadblocks in the U.S., Exode had heard about other Haitians making their way to the U.S. Even if it was a painful journey, he could work in the United States and make a living. The family left in April.
He said he met up with Haitians on the journey and they shared information about how to live on the road and where to go. He has friends he’s hoping to unite with in Florida.
For now, he and his family will wait for their names to be called by border officials so they can be processed. He said the camp has grown each of the three days they’ve been there, to a point where it’s overwhelmed with people. He hopes the process will speed up.
In 2021, more than 42,000 Haitians have been apprehended in Panama for entering the country without authorization, according to government statistics. That number exceeds Haitian apprehensions by Panamanian officials from 2010-2020. Most of the 42,000 have made their way to the United States.
Up the bank in Acuña, locals sell food, water and other supplies to migrants on the streets.
A pickup pulls up. Volunteers from Westover Hills church in San Antonio hand out chair padding, baby carriers, clothing, rice and lentils as crowds form around the truck, eager to receive donated supplies.
“With something little, we can (do) a lot,” said Chris Zamora, who was there with his wife handing out supplies.
He said he’s seen crowds like this in Piedras Negras, but he was surprised by the scene in Acuña.
In Del Rio, Tiffany Burrow, operations director of the Val Verde Border Humanitarian Coalition, has been working directly with migrants who have left the camp and been processed.
She runs a small respite center that offers short-term shelter where a team of a few dozen volunteers helps migrants catch buses and flights to their final destinations.
“It's really focusing on that travel component so that they can figure out how to get from point A to point B,” Burrow said.
But Burrow said there are a lot of humanitarian needs at the camp, especially care for expectant mothers.
They have set up an Amazon wish list so they can continue providing sack lunches to incoming families.
But the humanitarian needs in Acuña are not limited to the border. Shelters around the city are filled with Central American families, many of whom have been there for months.
One Honduran woman, who asked to go by her nickname “La Negra” for security reasons, said she’s frustrated that Haitians and others are being processed by immigration authorities and allowed to proceed into the United States.
She said she fled Honduras after she was kidnapped. Three of her kids have been murdered back home. She carries photos of them and news of their murders in a folder at the shelter.
She has a message for President Joe Biden: She hopes he also sees that Central Americans need humanitarian aid and the chance to seek asylum in the United States.
“We’re all brothers and sisters and children of the same God,” she said. “Why is the door closed for us?”