HUIXTLA, Mexico: A deportee from the United States trying to get back to the life he spent more than a decade building. A woman whose soldier husband already is in the US with their 4-year-old son. A teenager desperate to earn money to support his diabetic mother back home.
The caravan of Central American migrants traveling through southern Mexico — estimated at around 7,000 people, nearly all Hondurans — has attracted headlines in the United States less than two weeks before Nov. 6 midterm elections.
But most of those walking through blistering tropical temperatures, sleeping on the ground in town squares and relying on donated food from local residents are unaware of US political concerns or even that there’s a vote coming up.
While they commonly cite the same core reasons for migrating — poverty, violence — their stories are deeply personal.
“My record is clean“
David Polanco Lopez, 42, is a former anti-narcotics officer from Progreso, Honduras. He’s traveling north in the caravan with his daughter Jenifer, 19, and his 3-year-old granddaughter, Victoria, whom the adults take turns pushing in a stroller.
Polanco came to the United States 13 years ago and applied for asylum after he was threatened by drug traffickers over his police work. He was given a court date, but he acknowledges he never showed up — in part because he didn’t understand the court document’s instructions, which were in English.
Polanco put down roots in Arizona: He married, and got a home. He thought that as long as he stayed out of trouble, he’d be fine.
“If they catch me committing a felony, then go ahead and kick me out,” Polanco said. “But my record is clean.”
He came to the attention of US immigration authorities three months ago when he caught a ride to work with a friend and Arizona police stopped them. Immigration officers later visited his home, he said, asked him to come outside and arrested him.
After being deported, he immediately turned around and headed back toward the United States with the caravan in hopes of rejoining his wife, who is from Mexico.
“I came (to the United States) fleeing the drug traffickers. The US police know that. They told me I qualified for asylum. But they didn’t give it to me,” Polanco said as he rested in the shade of a gas station in the far southern Mexican state of Chiapas. “I can’t live in Honduras because my life is in danger.”
Polanco said he will never give up on trying to return to the US That’s where his home, his family, his land are. He said he’s been paying US taxes for 13 years and never invested a cent in Honduras because “it’s unlivable, dangerous.”
“If they deport me I’ll just come back,” Polanco said, “because my place is there.”
“It's too much“
It’s been seven months since Alba Rosa Chinchilla Ortiz, a 23-year-old from Amapala in Honduras’ Valle department, has seen her 4-year-old son.
The boy’s father is an ex-soldier who — like Polanco — received death threats because of his job. Three times he survived attempts to kill him, Chinchilla said. He has applied for asylum in the United States and she’s trying to join him and their son.
Life on the road has been demanding. At one point, Chinchilla worried she was too exhausted to go any farther. She’s still moving forward, but fears dangers that may lie ahead — such as Mexican cartels, which have been known to kidnap, hold for ransom and kill migrants.
The separation has been almost more than she can bear.
“The desire to see my son is too much,” she said, speaking in the Mexican city of Huixtla, surrounded by dozens of fellow migrants and Mexican Red Cross workers.
Breaking into sobs, she wiped tears from her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.
“It’s the only thing that drives me,” Chinchilla said, “my son.”
’Treatment for my mother’
Reuniting with family in the US is something those on the road north frequently speak of. Marel Antonio Murillo Santos is doing the opposite — leaving his loved ones behind in Copan, Honduras.
After his parents separated five years ago, Murillo became the primary breadwinner for the family at age 13. His mom is diabetic, leaving her weak and missing a toe on each foot.
Dressed in a brown V-neck T-shirt, Murillo said he left with just 500 lempiras (about $20) in his pocket, a bit of clothing and a spare pair of shoes. He heard about the caravan from a friend, and decided on the spot to take off for the United States where he hopes to spend five years working and saving.
“What I want more than anything is to pay for treatment my mother needs for her health,” Murillo said. “Build a home for her, have a bit of money in the bank and also, if I’m able, invest in something or start a business for my mother to run.”
Mile after mile, this baby-faced young man, now 18 with a whispy black chin-beard, is constantly thinking of home and his mom and 5-year-old brother.
“When I go to eat, I wonder if they have eaten, where they are, if they are in good health,” Murillo said. “I spend all day thinking about them, until I close my eyes and sleep.”
’They're going to kill you’
If there’s any doubt about Honduras being a dangerous place, one need only talk to Joshua Belisario Sanchez Perez, a soft-spoken young man who worked odd jobs in the capital, Tegucigalpa. Back home, he had the misfortune of living in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in a city full of them.
He spoke with The Associated Press in an interview this week that aired on TV back home, and afterward gang members showed up at his mother’s home angry that he had talked about the violence that forced him to flee.
“Because I had talked about all the gangs, and all the crime,” Sanchez said.
“My mother said, ‘They came to the house and they saw you on the news,’” he continued. “’If you come back they’re going to kill you.’“
For Honduran migrants in caravan, the journey is personal
For Honduran migrants in caravan, the journey is personal
- The caravan of Central American migrants traveling through southern Mexico has increased from 2,000 to 7,000 people, nearly all Hondurans.
- While they commonly cite the same core reasons for migrating — poverty, violence — their stories are deeply personal
Top UN court to hear Rohingya genocide case against Myanmar
THE HAGUE: Did Myanmar commit genocide against its Rohingya Muslim minority? That’s what judges at the International Court of Justice will weigh during three weeks of hearings starting Monday.
The Gambia brought the case accusing Myanmar of breaching the 1948 Genocide Convention during a crackdown in 2017.
Legal experts are watching closely as it could give clues for how the court will handle similar accusations against Israel over its military campaign in Gaza, a case brought to the ICJ by South Africa.
Hundreds of thousands of Rohingya Muslims fled violence by the Myanmar army and Buddhist militias, escaping to neighboring Bangladesh and bringing harrowing accounts of mass rape, arson and murder.
Today, 1.17 million Rohingya live crammed into dilapidated camps spread over 8,000 acres in Cox’s Bazar in Bangladesh.
From there, mother-of-two Janifa Begum told AFP: “I want to see whether the suffering we endured is reflected during the hearing.”
“We want justice and peace,” said the 37-year-old.
’Senseless killings’
The Gambia, a Muslim-majority country in West Africa, brought the case in 2019 to the ICJ, which rules in disputes between states.
Under the Genocide Convention, any country can file a case at the ICJ against any other it believes is in breach of the treaty.
In December 2019, lawyers for the African nation presented evidence of what they said were “senseless killings... acts of barbarity that continue to shock our collective conscience.”
In a landmark moment at the Peace Palace courthouse in The Hague, Nobel Peace laureate Aung San Suu Kyi appeared herself to defend her country.
She dismissed Banjul’s argument as a “misleading and incomplete factual picture” of what she said was an “internal armed conflict.”
The former democracy icon warned that the genocide case at the ICJ risked reigniting the crisis, which she said was a response to attacks by Rohingya militants.
Myanmar has always maintained the crackdown by its armed forces, known as the Tatmadaw, was justified to root out Rohingya insurgents after a series of attacks left a dozen security personnel dead.
‘Physical destruction’
The ICJ initially sided with The Gambia, which had asked judges for “provisional measures” to halt the violence while the case was being considered.
The court in 2020 said Myanmar must take “all measures within its power” to halt any acts prohibited in the 1948 UN Genocide Convention.
These acts included “killing members of the group” and “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.”
The United States officially declared that the violence amounted to genocide in 2022, three years after a UN team said Myanmar harbored “genocidal intent” toward the Rohingya.
The hearings, which wrap up on January 30, represent the heart of the case.
The court had already thrown out a 2022 Myanmar challenge to its jurisdiction, so judges believe they have the power to rule on the genocide issue.
A final decision could take months or even years and while the ICJ has no means of enforcing its decisions, a ruling in favor of The Gambia would heap more political pressure on Myanmar.
Suu Kyi will not be revisiting the Peace Palace. She has been detained since a 2021 coup, on charges rights groups say were politically motivated.
The ICJ is not the only court looking into possible genocide against the Rohingya.
The International Criminal Court, also based in The Hague, is investigating military chief Min Aung Hlaing for suspected crimes against humanity.
Another case is being heard in Argentina under the principle of universal jurisdiction, the idea that some crimes are so heinous they can be heard in any court.
