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Visuals by Alejandro Cegarra
Text by Annie Correal
Jan. 18, 2025
In the weeks and days before Donald Trump was to take office as president, promising a crackdown on illegal immigrants, groups of migrants were still setting out on foot from Tapachula, in southern Mexico, hoping to somehow reach the northern border by Jan. 20, inauguration day.
They joined small caravans like one that called itself “Éxodo Trump,” or “Exodus Trump.”
Migrants resting in Escuintla, in the state of Chiapas, and on the move in Mapastepec.
Many of these caravans, which are made up of a few thousand people, do not make it far. Some get stuck for weeks in Tapachula awaiting authorization to travel through Mexico. Others are broken up by Mexican officials mere days into their trek.
Unauthorized crossings at the U.S. border have plunged after new restrictions on asylum by the Biden administration and increased enforcement by the Mexican authorities on the migrant route. About 46,000 people crossed illegally in November, the lowest monthly figure in the last four years.
A migrant packing her clothes as a caravan prepared to depart in Escuintla.
Most Americans first heard of migrant caravans during Mr. Trump’s first term, when a large caravan that formed in Honduras became the focus of his anti-immigrant messaging in the run-up to the midterm elections. He claimed it was filled with criminals, members of the gang MS-13 and “Middle Easterners.”
The news media rushed to cover the caravan, and a different picture was revealed: mothers with babies, older people, migrants trudging forward on foot, even when they had to use crutches.
A migrant wearing an American flag bandana, and Susan Gonzales with the Bible she carried from Peru.
Caravans have formed every year since, though over time, they have grown both more frequent and smaller, in an effort to attract less attention.
The nationality of the people in the caravans has also shifted. In 2018, most people came from Central America. More recently, in a reflection of changing migration patterns, Venezuelans have made up the largest single group. People from other South American countries can be found, too. One woman in a recent caravan had carried her Bible from Peru.
Resting along a roadside in Chiapas.
Migrants join caravans in many cases because they cannot afford to pay smugglers or, they say, to pay bribes to the Mexican police.
In recent years, as southern Mexican states like Chiapas have become more dangerous for migrants, some have also viewed the caravans as offering the prospect of greater safety.
Cartels in the region have been known to extort, kidnap and kill migrants.
Blisters and sores can affect migrants and their pets on the long walk.
In most places, caravans encounter kindness. In the tiny towns of Chiapas, people who are often themselves poor emerge from their homes to offer used clothes, snacks and water.
“God and the help of the people,” said Henry Cifuentes of Guatemala. “That’s all we have.”
Mobile medical units appear in central squares to bandage blistered feet and treat the colds and flus that often spread through groups as they march.
Migrants in Tapachula waiting for a permit allowing them to travel to a U.S. port of entry.
Tending to the needs of migrants, including children, became a fact of life in Mexico in recent years, as hundreds of thousands of people from around the globe migrated north toward the U.S. border.
Walking for hours in weather that can alternate between scorching heat and torrential downpours can leave people exhausted.
Enduanyerly Nazaret sitting next to her child as a caravan rested for a day in Escuintla.
The sheer distance between towns or other resting points in Mexico can come as a surprise to many after they have sped through Central America on buses or hitched rides.
Some migrants compare the difficulty of walking through southern Mexico to that of crossing the perilous stretch between Colombia and Panama known as the Darién Gap.
Many people quit walking after a few days.
Taking a break on a highway, and waiting by a police patrol in Huixtla.
The other great challenge of joining a caravan is the waiting, migrants say, something that has been even harder recently. “We’re in a hurry to get to the border quickly, before everything changes,” said Juan Gregorio Campo Mesas of Venezuela.
Groups are often loosely organized around leaders who announce the day’s schedule. Caravans can be held back by disagreements, or when people faint or families need to rest in the shade. Sometimes, caravans are stopped and questioned by the police.
Migrants in a caravan waiting to regroup with others near a police patrol.
In January, anxiety coursed through the caravans that had set out from Tapachula or were waiting for their chance to head north.
People wondered if Mr. Trump was going to seal the border off entirely, and people’s early optimism began to fail. “It’s a fear I have,” said Carlos Reina of Venezuela.
Many migrants fell away. Some turned back in the direction of their home countries alone, carrying the flags and signs they had made to wave as they walked.
For all, a new stage of waiting had begun.
