At the border — few victories, but a lot of reward | Opinion
The border is a complex place of misconceptions, where cultures and nations collide, where a few miles of land can separate worlds of experience. In my work as an immigration lawyer, the border is especially prescient.
As part of my volunteer work with Al Otro Lado, (The Other Side), I was recently part of the daily work of trying to demystify what lay ahead for the migrants who came to look for information about entering the United States.
I was also tasked with walking 11 unaccompanied minors, UACs, to present themselves to U.S. immigration officials.
I was questioned and harassed by U.S. border agents. They wanted to know why I was there, but ultimately, all 11 children got in.
Some of the brave children I met were from Honduras, Guatemalan, Guinea, Cameroon, Haiti and Mexico. The week after I left, a few children tried to present themselves alone, and were turned back by Customs and Border Protection, showing the importance of having an observer with them to ensure that immigration authorities comply.
Reaching the Mexican side of the U.S. border is a strange place in the migration journey. After days, weeks, months of adrenaline pumping through you, survival instincts propelling you forward. Then you wait and wait and wait. Depression, PTSD, and existential angst sets in, as you question your future, your present, your past; as you try to gather your strength for potentially being separated from your child or spouse, detained for a long period of time, being sexually assaulted and possibly dying, as we keep see happening.
One place that we see Mexico and the United States working together is the asylum waiting list put in place about one year ago. That Mexican and U.S. authorities are in collaboration is an open secret. Citing capacity issues, the United States doesn’t take in all migrants asking for asylum at the port of entry.
Instead, migrants wanting to legally ask for asylum in the United States must place themselves on a list. First thing at 7 a.m., asylum seekers put their names on the registry and get a number or to check which numbers are being called that day. Those with numbers called will be taken onto U.S. soil and ICE custody and immediately placed into la hielera (the freezer). Anywhere from 10 to 40 people a day are taken into U.S. custody, depending on what Customs and Border Protection will tell Grupo Beta, the humanitarian arm of the Mexican national migration institute that administers the list.
La hielera indeed is freezing. It is the first stop on the immigration detention journey. People describe the room as barren, with no beds, and people sitting on the floor or laying on the floor. Most people say they stayed about four to five days, during which, at some point an immigration official called them for their credible-fear interview, or a CFI. The CFI is when a migrant speaks to an asylum officer who determines if there is any chance for the asylum claim to survive in immigration court.
For those waiting for their numbers to be called, it can take anywhere from four to seven weeks. During this time, people are forced to stay in Tijuana. Some are fortunate to find food and lodging in free shelters but spend their days too scared to go outside because they don’t want to get detained by Mexican immigration authorities or by the persecutors they fled in the first place.
I will never forget my interactions with a young Haitian girl, a sign the refugees arriving at the border don’t come not only from Latin America. This 15-year-old girl traveling alone took me back to where she was staying. It was essentially one large room with small wall separations, and the only others I saw staying there were Haitian and African men. She had left her country alone at age 14.
After meeting up with two young Guineans in the forest between Colombia and Panama, they kept her safe all the way up through Central America and Mexico. But now all alone, she came looking for me, since she heard I spoke French. I took her shopping. She chose a pair of closed shoes, as she only had flip-flops.
After volunteering for 10 days and hearing horror stories, at least I know I helped a young girl walk into her new life in a pair of new and comfortable shoes.
Maya Ibars is a staff attorney with Catholic Charities Legal Services in Miami.
This story was originally published July 23, 2019 at 2:43 AM.