San Diego Union-Tribune (Sunday)
Cloaked by fog, migrants swim to U.S. soil
After seeing social media posts on Monday about how roughly 50 migrants from Colombia, Brazil and other Latin American countries attempted to cross from Tijuana into San Diego, I asked my editors if I could explore the border on the San Diego side of the fence.
Specifically, we’d heard that the migrants had waited by the border fence for hours for Customs and Border Protection to process them, and I wanted to see if I could witness the same thing happening to other groups.
I knew the chances were slim, but I had hoped it would be a good learning experience as I’m covering the border more and more as one of the Union-tribune’s visual journalists.
I walked about a half-mile along a dirt road near the Tijuana River Valley Regional Park and then followed a chain link fence that ran parallel to the border fence when a Border Patrol agent came up on an ATV.
I asked if he had been having a busy day. He said that he had been at the beach helping apprehend people who had tried to cross earlier in the day.
I quickly ran back to my car, drove to nearby Border Field State Park and walked toward the border where it meets the sea.
The fog was heavy that morning, and I could barely see 10 feet in front of me. After about two hours, I had given up hope of seeing anyone and started trying to just take pictures of the fog and large flocks of terns that were squawking and swirling above me.
As I got closer to the fence, I saw a life jacket and a few swimming fins. Then I noticed a group of people looking from Tijuana toward the U.S. and thought it was strange but dismissed the feeling. I noticed they had wetsuits, fins and some sort of flotation devices and were heading toward the water.
As I started the trek back to the car, I called our immigration reporter, telling her that I had no luck finding anyone. As I paused, I saw a man jogging toward me. I started taking photos because I thought it might come in handy for weather art, and it just looked pretty with the fog. I told him I’m a journalist and had taken his photo. He said he spoke English but started jogging off before I could ask his name. I shouted, “Wait! Como te llamas?” and he shouted back “Juan.”
Moments later I saw four more people exiting the water and walking to shore. I did the same thing — started snapping away. As they got closer, I gave the same spiel, but this time they said they didn’t speak English. I asked one man, “Vives in Tijuana?” and he responded a firm, “No, San Diego.” Then they all started running.
I realized in that moment I had just witnessed people crossing the border.
A few minutes later I came across three flotation devices abandoned on the beach.
I made a call to the reporter, and she explained to me that such crossings are common in foggy conditions because it’s harder for agents to spot people.
When I returned to the border fence there were two Border Patrol agents chatting at the top of the hill, oblivious to Juan and the others making their way farther into the United States.
Reflecting back, the ocean seemed angry that day, and most people wouldn’t have attempted to swim in such conditions — at least not recreationally. It’s one thing to read about the extremes people take crossing the border or even look at a photo, but to see it in person made an impression on me that was deeper than I’d anticipated.