Mexican cartels control migrant routes to the US, imposing fees and checkpoints along the perilous journey.
Every day, thousands of migrants attempt to make their way through Mexico toward the US border, hoping for a chance at a new life. But along this challenging journey, they encounter a hidden barrier: powerful Mexican cartels who dictate much of the travel from southern Mexico up to the border with the United States. For these travelers, passing through cartel checkpoints and paying fees is nearly as constant as facing the elements themselves.
One of the first stops for many migrants after entering Mexico from Guatemala is an enclosure they call “the chicken coop.” Here, in a fenced-off area under a large roof on a rural ranch, migrants must pay the cartel to continue their journey northward. This so-called “entry fee” is usually USD 100 per person, and those who cannot pay are held there until they or family members come up with the money. This rough system of confinement and payment has become one of the only ways to pass through cartel-controlled areas.
The rise in cartel involvement has come despite efforts from both US and Mexican authorities to stem the flow of migrants. In fact, migrant encounters at the US-Mexico border have reached their lowest in four years. However, the demand for migration remains high. And although the US has praised Mexican authorities for helping manage the flow of people to their shared border, organized crime has maintained firm control over who actually moves along these routes, often with more power than Mexican federal agents or the National Guard.
For migrants who can pay the USD 100, they receive a mark or “stamp” on their skin indicating that they’ve paid and can continue their journey. This mark is checked by cartel members at various points along the route. Those without it risk being sent back, detained, or worse. It is estimated that between January and August alone, Mexican immigration agents intercepted more than 150,000 migrants just in the southernmost parts of the country, though these are believed to be only a fraction of the actual number traveling.
Among the many migrants paying these “travel fees” is Luis Alonso Valle, a 43-year-old from Honduras. Traveling with his wife and two children, Valle and his family were stopped almost immediately after crossing the Suchiate River into Mexico, only moments after stepping off a raft made from truck tires and boards. Valle said that as soon as they set foot in Mexico, three men approached them on a motorcycle, informing them that they couldn’t proceed without permission. The men briefly hesitated when they noticed journalists nearby but stayed long enough to make their message clear.
Once in Mexico, Valle sought transportation to Tapachula, a city that serves as the main entry point for many migrants heading north. When Valle and his family boarded a van, the driver quietly asked journalists to stop recording, explaining, “They [organized crime] are going to stop me.” This kind of cautious communication is common for migrants moving through cartel areas; in many cases, the drivers and cartels are linked, with drivers paid to deliver migrants to cartel-run checkpoints or designated locations. At these locations, called ranches or “safe houses,” migrants are often held until they pay. Many must sleep on the ground without adequate food or shelter while waiting.
A Venezuelan woman, traveling with her husband and two children, described the conditions at one such checkpoint: “There were more than 500 people there, some had been there 10, 15 days,” she said. “Whoever doesn’t have money stays, and whoever decides to pay leaves.” In cases where families are unable to pay on the spot, they may be escorted to nearby banks or allowed to contact relatives for money. In one instance, a baker from Ecuador recalled how he was taken to a bank to withdraw funds while his family was held until he returned.
Once a migrant pays, they’re often marked with an ink stamp or other identifier to show they’ve paid the “fee.” In Ciudad Hidalgo, vans and taxis are often stopped by cartel members, who check passengers for these stamps. Migrants without them are frequently turned around. Some migrants, once they reach Tapachula, are advised to wash off the stamps to avoid conflict with rival gangs.
Enrique Vidal Olascoaga, director of a migrant aid organization in Tapachula, says that roughly a third of the hundreds of migrants they assist arrive with these cartel markings. For those unable to pay, the consequences can be harsh: many report being held for long periods, sometimes facing violence.
The two dominant cartels in Mexico—Sinaloa and Jalisco New Generation—have increasingly exerted control over migration routes, especially in the state of Chiapas, which borders Guatemala. This area is crucial for trafficking not only people but also drugs and weapons from Central America. Experts say that controlling these routes has become highly profitable for the cartels, possibly generating more revenue from migrant trafficking than from drugs.
Cartel activity in the region has also become a major obstacle for humanitarian workers. Earlier this month, a prominent priest in Chiapas was killed, and migrant aid organizations frequently report that cartels disrupt their work. Even when crimes against migrants are reported, progress is rare. Rev. Heyman Vázquez, who has spent over two decades advocating for migrant rights, claims that authorities are often complicit with organized crime. “They pretend they’re doing their jobs,” he said.
In response to these challenges, the Mexican government has begun experimenting with new methods to help migrants move more safely through the country. Recently, the US government expanded access to its CBP One online system to help migrants book asylum appointments at the border, and the Mexican government introduced “mobility corridors” allowing migrants with appointments to travel from southern Mexico directly to the US border. However, these efforts have been limited, with fewer than 1,000 migrants transported under the mobility program so far.
Many migrants traveling on their own continue to face obstacles and are frequently subject to extortion, sometimes missing critical CBP One appointments as a result. This could further complicate their journey, especially if policies change. Former President Donald Trump, for example, has stated he would eliminate CBP One and restrict other legal routes to the US if elected, a prospect that has added urgency for many migrants.
For migrants like Jeyson Uqueli, a 28-year-old from Honduras with an upcoming CBP One appointment, time is of the essence. Uqueli, who hopes to reunite with his sister in New Orleans, plans to make his way to Brownsville, Texas by November 6 for his appointment. His route involves a flight from Tapachula to Monterrey, followed by a bus to the US border, a journey he hopes will go smoothly. “Because Donald Trump is going to come in and get rid of [the appointments],” he explained.
As these complex systems of cartel control, government policy, and international agreements evolve, migrants face a perilous journey full of unknowns. For many, navigating through Mexico is a race against time, not only against physical and financial constraints but also against changing political tides.