Enrique's Journey

Enrique’s Journey underscores the dangers migrants face on the road to the United States. Chapter 3 focuses on the trip through Chiapas—the beast—where migrants must contend with bandits, corrupt police officers, and immigration agents. Much of the journey takes place atop freight trains. Speaking from first-hand experience, Nazario vividly describes migrants running beside trains moving as fast as 25 miles per hour, grabbing hold of ladders, and hoisting themselves up. Minor miscalculations can send migrants tumbling to their deaths. Enrique is well-aware of the dangers of boarding:

Enrique always chooses a ladder at the front. If he misses and his feet land on the rails, he still has an instant to jerk them away before the back wheels arrive. But if he runs too slowly, the ladder will yank him forward and send him sprawling. Then the front wheels, or the back ones, could take an arm, a leg, perhaps his life (66).

Although Enrique never falls, he sustains injuries that leave him with four jagged scars on his shins.

Those who manage to board the trains face many dangers. Some migrants sit on the compressors at the ends of the hoppers, with their feet dangling directly above the train wheels, where one false move can result in death. Others stand on narrow ledges barely big enough for their feet, their hands turning numb after hours of hanging on. Enrique prefers sitting on top of hoppers 14 feet above the ground, where he can grab hold of the grates running along their rims. Regardless of where migrants position themselves, riding the trains is dangerous. Derailments are common, occurring about three times a month and often killing migrants. Enrique rarely expresses fear, but past experience has taught him to respect the danger associated with trains:

Enrique was once on a train that derailed. His car lurched so violently that he briefly thought of jumping off to save himself. Enrique rarely lets himself admit fear, but he is scared that his car might tip. El Tren de la Muerte, some migrants call it. The Train of Death (71).

Riding the trains is particularly dangerous for women and children. Grupo Beta Sur, a migrant rights group in Chiapas, estimates that 20-30% of those boarding trains in Tatachula are 15 or younger. Enrique encounters many children on the trains, the youngest of whom is nine years old.

Immigration officials regularly stop and search trains, presenting yet another danger to migrants. They force migrants off the trains, take them into custody, and put them on buses to Guatemala. Running does not guarantee safety. Although la migra is barred from carrying firearms, many migrants are chased and shot while traveling through Chiapas. Some agents torture migrants; Enrique meets a man whose chest was branded by a migra agent using cigarettes.

Traveling through Chiapas on foot presents its own dangers. Many migrants encounter madrinas, plain-clothed civilians who rob migrants before turning them over to the authorities. According to human rights activists and police agencies, these machete-wielding men commit some of the worst crimes toward migrants, including rape and torture. Some madrinas ride the trains pretending to be migrants and report back to the authorities. Immigration officials then know exactly how many migrants are on the train and where they are hiding. The police incentivize madrinas by allowing them to keep a portion of what they steal from migrants.

Bandits present yet another threat to migrants traveling through Chiapas. Migrants recount being attacked by bandits, who threaten to kill them if they run. Bandits press their machetes against migrants’ throats before forcing them to strip and lay facedown on the ground. The bandits then tear open waistbands, collars, and cuffs looking for hidden money. They keep everything of value, including belts, watches, and shoes. Migrants who resist are beaten or killed. Locals often see groups of naked migrants walking down dirt roads. Grupo Beta Sur reports that many bandits are current or former police officers. Thus, they operate with impunity: “If they are arrested, they pay bribes and are quickly released. Witness statements against them mysteriously disappear. Migrants can’t wait around for months until the trial. Bandits long ago intimidated any La Arrocera residents who considered testifying” (76).

Many female migrants are raped or sexually assaulted when they travel through Chiapas. An abandoned house in La Arrocera, a town ridden with street gangsters, is the site of multiple rapes: “The house is notorious […] Women are raped here, most recently a sixteen-year-old assaulted repeatedly over three days” (77). According to Grupo Beta Sur, gang rape is common in Chiapas. The victims include minors and pregnant women. Survivors are left seriously injured and traumatized:

They arrive at local hospitals with severe internal hemorrhaging and long scratch marks on their buttocks. Some get pregnant. A few go mad. In one Chiapas shelter, one raped woman paces, her arms tightly crossed in front of her, a blank stare on her face. At another shelter, a woman spends hours each day in the shower, trying to cleanse herself of the attack (77).

Compassion and generosity are as important to Nazario’s narrative as danger. In Chapter 3, for example, she introduces Olga Sánchez Martínez, the director of the Shelter of Jesus the Good Shepherd who has devoted her life to providing migrants with safe harbor and especially medical care. Compassion also features prominently in Chapter 4, which describes attitudes toward migrants in Oaxaca and Veracruz. This establishes a clear contrast with other areas like Chiapas and Mexico City, where residents are much less inclined to extend kindness or compassion. In Oaxaca and Veracruz, however, people help migrants, often at great risk to themselves. They tend to view migrants as vulnerable, not as illegals who must be deported. Enrique’s experiences bear this out:

In the states of Oaxaca and Veracruz, he discovers that people are friendly. They wave hello and shout to signal if hostile police are lying in wait for them in an upcoming town. People living along the tracks are put out when migrants take clothing from laundry lines, a police chief says—but only because they don’t ask first (103).

Enrique encounters many compassionate people on this leg of his journey, notably a brickmaker who offers him work and advice, and a trucker who lies to police officers to get him through a checkpoint. The truck driver even feeds Enrique, buying him eggs, beans, and a soda. His hitchhiking experience is markedly different from the perilous train journey: “Riding a truck, Enrique figures, is a dream” (133).

The theme of compassion is more complex in Chapter 5, as evidenced by Enrique’s relationship with El Tiríndaro. The coyote helps Enrique by giving him a meal card and showing him how to sell discarded clothing. However, his actions are not entirely altruistic. Only by helping Enrique earn enough money to call his mother can El Tiríndaro secure Enrique as a customer. He charges $1,200 to smuggle migrants across the border. Regardless of El Tiríndaro’s motives, however, Enrique benefits from the coyote’s help.

The costs and dangers of journeying north do not deter migrants. For children like Enrique, the desire to find their mothers overshadows all other considerations. Enrique escapes from prison, survives a vicious beating, and struggles with hunger and loneliness, all for the chance to see his mother. Enrique loves his mother so much that he tattoos her name next to his on his chest. He was five years old when his mother left Honduras, but he is almost a man when he reaches the US border. The journey physically marks his body such that his reflection angers him, but it also makes him more determined than ever to push northward.