A young Salvadoran publicist finds meaning in helping other migrants.
MS13 and 18th Street are rival gangs in El Salvador, splitting the country into heavily monitored areas. The gangs are unkind to those who cross into opposing territory. John was working in MS13 territory but living in an 18th Street controlled neighborhood. Once this was discovered, he had no choice but to pay the gangs their “rent.” Four years later, the rent was not enough to guarantee his safety, so John fled to Mexico in the hopes of eventually reuniting with his mother in the US.
John arrived at the café sporting trendy clothing, with a fitted t-shirt, colorful sneakers, thick- rimmed glasses, and hair slicked back with gel. As I went over the consent form and explained our project, he warned me his story was not the saddest or most dramatic, perhaps expecting some disappointment from me. I assured him I was interested in learning about all different migrant experiences, and therefore, drama was not a qualifier for an interview. After a few exchanged pleasantries, he seemed excited to get started. I am from El Salvador and have lived in Tijuana for three years and in Mexico for five. Back in El Salvador, I was a publicist in charge of design and production. I also had another job, with the Ministry of Culture, in a multi-choral voice project. I was in publishing for ten years and made, on average, $450 a month. I grew up with my grand- parents and lived with them until their deaths. In our household, my grandfather, my brother, and I all worked. When my grandparents died, my brother and I split all the expenses. We only had bills and food to pay for since the house was an inheritance, so I had enough money left over to buy clothes and appease my vanity.
Starting in 2001, there were organized, armed groups with intelligence in government agencies and civil society. They divided the country into territories, split among the major gangs. I lived in a colony that belonged to 18th Street and worked downtown, in a territory that belonged to MS13. On May 12, 2012, I received a visit from one of MS13’s members while at work. He said his bosses were coming to collect a rent (‘renta’) of $50 a month. I decided to pay because, ultimately, you are paying for your life, and if you can afford it, you should pay. This is living securely in the midst of insecurity. Two days later, I had to pay my first month’s rent. On the second day of every month, someone different would come to my office to collect it. They didn’t look like gang members. They were well dressed and wearing long sleeve buttoned shirts like they belonged in the office. It was just like paying rent on a house.
On September 15, 2016, things got out of hand. A young boy, probably around fifteen years old, with a baseball cap and Adidas shoes – typical dress code of a gang member – came knocking at my door and said I had 72 hours to leave because his gang had found out I worked in enemy territory. My mom had left El Salvador to live in the US in 1989 when I was five years old. We didn’t have much communication with her while I was growing up but had reestablished communication in re- cent months. I knew she was sick, and she knew I was dealing with a tough situation in El Salvador. So, following this incident, I immediately wrote my mom and she told me to head to the US. That’s when I made the decision to leave.
I didn’t know much. When you come to these countries [Mexico, the United States], you tend to look for a coyote to take you, but since the move caught me by surprise, I had nowhere to go and no idea how to get here. I looked up how to get to Guatemala on the internet, which buses to take. My brother stayed behind because the gangs had an issue with me, not him. I had no other ties to El Salvador. I had no kids, no wife. I did have a girlfriend, but I left her behind. My brother did have ties to El Salvador – a daughter. I had no issues traveling to Guatemala because, as a Central American, I could travel through Central America freely with my ID.” This has since changed with the recent rise of the ‘caravans,’ or large groups of migrants moving through Central America together. “Once I arrived at the Mexi- co-Guatemala border, I Googled what to do next. I knew I had to take a raft made of tires and wood once I arrived at Tecun Uman to cross the river. I knew I would also have to pay to cross from Mexico to the US. As luck would have it, before I arrived to Tecun Uman, I met a Honduran person at a bus terminal. This person said he had his residency card and regularly crossed the border. He had just forgotten his residency card a home. I don’t know if this was true or not, but he seemed to know what to do to cross the border. He said that we would arrive at a house in Tecun Uman, rest, and get up at 5:00am to cross the border. At 5:00am on the dot, the lights of the house where we stayed began to flicker on and off. The man I was with said, ‘You see? These people are taking care of us, and by flickering the lights, they are telling us, ‘It’s time to leave. If we stay any longer, bad people will come and mug us or even kidnap us. Remember, even criminals sleep.’
This man warned me that after we cross in the rafts, there would be criminals watching, awaiting those crossing, and observing if they are worthy of being mugged.” By ‘worthy of being mugged’, John meant looking like someone who has money. “Without a doubt, this man had crossed multiple times and knew his way. At the same time, fear crept in, as I thought maybe he was the criminal and was trying to take advantage of me. Thankfully, we crossed the river, and everything was fine. I was lucky – the rafters only charged me 10 GTQ ($1.30). According to the Honduran man, rafters can charge as much as 100 GTQ ($13.01). On the other side of the river, we disembarked at a market, where we got on a bus that would take us to Tapachula.
Taking a bus when you are a migrant, carrying luggage is not a good option. There are check- points along the way, so it is risky. I took the risk, got on the bus, and just pretended I was asleep whenever we stopped. I did observe the behavior of other people and how much they were paying for things in order to fit in and not have to ask any questions that would reveal I didn’t belong. The fare for the bus was 25 MEX ($1.24). Luckily, we didn’t come across any checkpoints. Usually, there are many along the way. I arrived in Tapa- chula by myself, not knowing what to do next. I walked around, looking for a phone to call my mother and tell her I had arrived in Mexico. She sent me money and asked me to find a place to stay as we figured out the next details, so I could join her in the US. So, I stayed in a hotel. I went to the park to listen in on conversations of oth- er migrants and pick up what to do. That’s how I learned about COMAR [Mexican Commission for Refugee Assistance]. The next day, I went to COMAR to get information on how to apply for asylum. They told me it would take about three months to receive asylum, and I would have to go sign paperwork every week. For me, those three months became a year. I started my process and was not allowed to work until it was completed, and I didn’t want to risk it. Luckily, I had the bless- ing of my mother’s help. I knew of people who would work over twelve hours a day and only make 200 MEX ($9.94) a week. They lived off eggs and bread.
I found out that I also had to apply for the humanitarian visa. Apparently, a requirement to obtain the humanitarian visa was to initiate a process with COMAR. If COMAR denied you asylum, then INAMI [Mexico’s National Institute of Migra- tion] would grant you the humanitarian visa. As luck would have it, COMAR eventually denied my asylum request and I received my humanitarian visa instead. On the other hand, gang members were also granted asylum because they wanted to leave the gang life. But those were the same people I was running away from. Who knows how many they killed!
While I waited for a resolution, I rented a room with the money my mom had sent me through MoneyGram and Western Union. I asked friends I made in town to help me access my money transfers, and they helped without charging me. One of those friends was a sandwich maker, and I repaid him the favor by eating his sandwiches almost every day! The man I rented the room from didn’t ask me for any documentation. He only requested I pay the first month’s rent. He charged me about 1,200 MEX ($59.62) a month, and that included water, electricity, and a bed. My mom sent me $100 a month. It was like a sabbatical year that I took!” John laughed. “The only problem was, I had fatigue from the immigration process. Every day INAMI had an excuse as to why they were taking so long.
When COMAR denied my asylum claim, they gave me the option to appeal, but I didn’t take it because I was angry and tired of waiting. That was my mistake. A very nice woman from UNHCR helped speed up the process for my humanitarian visa with INAMI. Without her help, the process would have been even longer because there were too many Cubans and Haitians. Back then, Cubans were given preference. They even had their own line, while Central Americans and Haitians had to wait in the regular line. My mom and I spoke every day, so I knew she was getting sicker. One night, I believe it was January 29th, 2017, my mom asked me to pray for her because she didn’t feel well. She had gone to the hospital after fainting. The next day, my sister called me to say my mom had died. It was all my sister’s negligence that killed her.
After my mom’s death, my plans changed. I was supposed to go to the US to be with her. My new plan was to call my uncle who lived in Tijuana and make my way to him. I received my visa a month after my mom died and immediately left for Tijuana. My first job was working at a poultry shop cleaning chickens, preparing them, and washing dishes. Walking with my uncle, I saw they were hiring. There are many employers who don’t want to hire you as soon as they hear your accent, but I’ve always had a way with words. So, I talked my way into the job. I only worked there for two months because my supervisor felt threatened by my growth. I was paid 1,200 MEX ($59.62) a week in cash. The humanitarian visa does not allow me to open a bank account, so I had to rely on cash payments.
After that, I went to work at a restaurant and bar called El Torito. I was in charge of cleaning the bathrooms and my payment consisted of tips. I was told I could make around 1,500 MEX ($74.52) a week or more if I sold loose cigarettes in the bathroom. I only had to work Friday through Sun- day, and each day I made 4,000 MEX ($198.72). Each day! I made around 12,000 MEX ($596.16) a week. I worked there for six months. I left only because I began to notice the irregularities that exist in those types of bars: drugs, a life of crime, etc. I felt I had become part of something that was harming others.
I was still living with my uncle but have always been a savvy administrator. So, although leaving a pay of 12,000 MEX ($596.16) per week hurt, I had a plan. With the money I had saved, I bought thirty pairs of shoes, five watches, and an immense amount of clothes. I am a vain man. I bought a refrigerator, washer, bed, toaster, and microwave. With that, I was ready to move out of my uncle’s place.
I used to frequent a hotdog stand, and one day I overheard the owner saying he was looking for someone to help him. I expressed my interest and he offered to pay me 1,500 MEX ($74.52) a week. It was a big change from 12,000 MEX ($596.16), but it was fine. I have been there ever since – almost two years now. However, I won’t celebrate my two years as a hotdog vendor be- cause I was offered the opportunity to work at an NGO supporting migrants as a coordinator. During the time I’ve worked as a hotdog vendor, I have not had to pay rent because my boss gave me a place to live rent-free. All I asked of the NGO was to give me a month to wrap things up with my current boss. The NGO will be paying me 3,500 MEX ($173.88).
My visa expired nearly two years ago, and I continue to wait for a window of opportunity to regularize my status. The laws in the US impact the laws in Mexico, making it increasingly difficult to find avenues for regularization here. However, if you are good, people will see that and will know you deserve to be here. No one ever asks me for my documentation because my behavior speaks louder than any piece of paper. That’s what they say about Haitians – that they deserve to be here because as soon as they arrive, they get to work. People like to compare Haitians and Hondurans who arrived with the caravan, saying Hondurans are demanding. But I remind them that when the Haitians first arrived, they too were victims of racism and discrimination. People would call them ‘monkeys with malaria.’ What I admire is that they remained silent through it all and simply showed Mexicans who they really are. Therefore, the only advice I can give to anyone you may talk to is to behave. Be loyal to the people who have helped you.
If people are looking for safety, they can find it here. If they are looking for a better life, they can find it here. And if people have the opportunity to regularize their status in Mexico, there is no need to pursue the American Dream. The American Dream is a lie that was conjured up in the ’70s. It never really existed. The real dream is to be somewhere you feel well. I feel well here, and I am not willing to risk my life to cross over to the US illegally. It would not be fair to my de- ceased mother, who worked so hard to get me here, for me to risk my life and join her in heaven. She wanted me to be well, and that is what I will do. I will now get the opportunity to help other migrants and Mexicans who have not been as blessed as I have and are seeking help through the NGO I told you about. That in itself is a great reward.”