From the White House to the Rio Grande

The long, winding drive from San Antonio to Eagle Pass, through the flatlands of Southern Texas, is, for most, uneventful. To an outsider, a passerby, or a commuter, a drive down State Highway 57 is characterized by sprawling ranchland, miles of cacti and underbrush and farms, and the occasional herd of longhorn cattle. There are two towns on this two-hour trip, Batesville, and La Pryor, and other than these, there is not much to see – that is, if you aren’t sure what to look for. But to any migrant who has managed to overcome every insurmountable obstacle, that comes before, during, and after they meet the unforgiving waters of the Rio Grande, this unassuming land can become a graveyard.

At an Exxon gas station in Batesville, Jessica Vasquez, the Texas-born and raised gas station clerk, says down the road there’s a rancher who takes the backpacks abandoned by migrants and hangs them on his fence. She tells the story of her experience in Batesville of frequent, dangerous high-speed chases as Texas troopers attempt to stop migrants and smugglers, in which sometimes, people die. She details a period in which her child’s school went on lockdown frequently as a result. It’s abated some since late fall and early winter, she said, speaking in April 2024.

We continue past Batesville. Down the road, past the roadside memorials, between the Lone Star State flags and signage in support of the Border Patrol and Texas Department of Public Safety, we find the rancher’s fence, standing tall, and adorned with around 80 backpacks that sway in the humid Texas breeze. Our team of student journalists who stop to capture pictures are immediately confronted by a Texas law enforcement officer, who says we can’t stop there. He determines we are journalists, and as he leaves, he mentions that there are enough backpacks in these vast Texas ranches that you could “line them all the way to Eagle Pass.” They are left, he claims, “by the people you don’t want here,” referring to people with criminal histories or who were already deported.

“These are human lives that we’re dealing with,” says Judge Ramsey English Cantú, Maverick County Judge, and former mayor of Eagle Pass. “We want to make sure that we are giving them the same amount of respect that any other regular U.S. citizen would receive in this case.”

Cantú was serving as mayor in 2019 when Eagle Pass experienced one of the first surges of immigration. Around 3,000 Hondurans traveled across the border at that time, according to Judge Cantú. He worked closely with the mayor of Piedras Negras during this time. Piedras Negras, Mexico, is the sister city to Eagle Pass, connected through a quick trip across a bridge.

“As a Democrat, I am not in agreement with everything that [Texas] Governor [Greg] Abbott does, but at the end of the day if that message would not have been sent, we still would have had that problem,” says Judge Cantú.

“For all of these years, going onto my 19th year in public service, officials, Congress, everybody talks about it, but nobody does anything about it,” says Judge Cantú. Cantú then details the tragic reality of what happens to many once they get over the border.

“Some of them have documentation on them, and for some of them, it’ll get washed away. There are times when if they’re not found in the river, they’re found in an open ranch somewhere. They get dehydrated and found that way,” says Cantú.

At a barbeque restaurant in Eagle Pass, we meet a man who works for a local funeral home. He explains how migrants often become lost and disoriented. The landscape is vast, dry, and looks exactly the same for hundreds of miles. Migrants often die of dehydration, which is one of the leading causes of death and is increasing. The second, when dealing with the river, is drowning. The man, who wished to remain anonymous, tells us of a woman who drowned with her infant child strapped to her chest.

Far from the legal offices of Washington D.C., the reality of the situation at the border is one that is grueling. The backpack-covered fence was one of the first signs we encountered of the ongoing crisis, a tangible visualization of the problem. But when heading south, the fence would be far from the last.

Entering Eagle Pass

We are now entering Eagle Pass, Texas, the center of the national border debate, where images have flooded social media of migrants crossing the river.

Eagle Pass has an intensive military presence, due to the Republican governors from both Texas and other states, such as Florida, that have dispatched National Guard soldiers to help. Several miles outside the Eagle Pass city limits, we pass a border control checkpoint, but we are not made to stop on the way in.

Our team of student journalists spent three days in Eagle Pass, interviewing the Maverick County Sheriff, local business owners, religious leaders, migrants, and community members who have a different perspective on how the situation at the border has impacted them and their community. Those of us that could conducted many of the interviews in Spanish.

Eagle Pass has a population of 28,255, 96.4% of which is Latino, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. When discussing Eagle Pass in regards to the immigration crisis, many people miss how deeply the community is intertwined with Mexican culture and even, Mexico itself. Eagle Pass maintains a close relationship with its sister city, Piedras Negras, the thriving commerce area on the other side of the bridge. The relationship between Piedras Negras and Eagle Pass is positive, based on community, with hopes for promoting a common connection between the two towns.

The Maverick County Sheriff, Tom Schmerber, says he frequently goes to Mexico for breakfast. Schmerber, an Eagle Pass native, previously worked as a Border Patrol officer. In 2013, he was elected sheriff.

“We are in the frontlines, Schmerber said. “We are not fighting, but we are in the frontlines. Piedras Negras is like an extension of Eagle Pass.”

Schmerber speaks more about the role his law enforcement plays in the immigration crisis.

“We are taking care of all of these people that are coming through. Not all of them are coming for work, some are coming for drugs and so forth. We have to take care of the country. We are doing the best we can.”

Schmerber’s jurisdiction, despite its location, plays much less of a role in immigration enforcement than what is perceived. The crisis is handled more on the federal level. In March 2021, Abbott launched Operation Lonestar, which deployed the Texas National Guard and the Texas Department of Public Safety to the Southern border. Additionally, Governor Ron DeSantis sent the Florida State Troopers in February 2024 to help reinforce the border. The border crisis is repeatedly in the national media, a conversation on social media, and a hot-button issue that never stays out of the public eye for very long.

The year 2023 was the deadliest on record for the border. There were a recorded 8,000 deaths, and since most migrant deaths go unrecorded, the true statistic is unknown, according to the Migrant Data Portal. After the most recent, large-scale incident in December 2023, in which an unprecedented number of migrants tried to cross the river, the numbers have taken a drastic decline. In January 2024, 124,000 border encounters were reported, a dramatic drop from the 224,000 reported in December 2023, according to the PEW Research Center. Despite the decline, the U.S. Border Patrol is still reporting hundreds of crossings every day at various points.

Where Are the Migrants?

Many social media platforms, such as TikTok or Instagram, feature recycled videos that imply the migrant crisis is still acute in Eagle Pass. In these videos, people are often cutting razor wire, flooding over the river, chaotic, frantic and terrified.

The U.S. government reports that there were 1.17 million Border Patrol encounters in 2024 so far, compared to just over 310,000 in 2017. The numbers peaked in 2022. Criminal non-citizen encounters with the Border Patrol numbered 10,337 in 2024, compared to 8,531 in 2017, the government says.

However, in April 2024, it is difficult to find migrant people in Eagle Pass. Recent developments in the law and on the border have made it difficult for migrants to pass. If they do get across the border, they immediately move farther inland than Eagle Pass itself.

Locals in Eagle Pass and Piedras Negras have a couple of theories on the decline in numbers and the lack of a known migrant population in Eagle Pass. They believe that once migrants are on this side of the border, they are moving to other areas, such as San Diego or Juarez. People working with migrants on the Mexican side of the border believe the American government pressured the Mexican government to stop migrants internally so they never reach the border. They say there are “vigilantes” working on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande to keep migrants from reaching it.

The most important voices in the story of immigration are the migrant people experiencing the complications of the issue. Unable to find a migrant in Eagle Pass’ shelters, churches, parks, businesses, and law enforcement, we were told to visit Quemado, a tiny town 20 minutes away. Just like in Eagle Pass, the known migrant population is nonexistent.

Dan Jaeger, a pastor and store owner in Quemado, says that he and his wife saw four Honduran migrants walking near their home. One of the migrants approached Jaeger and asked if Jaeger could call the Border Patrol. After clarifying the migrant’s request and making absolutely sure that is who the migrant wanted to speak with, he called the Border Patrol. At the time of the occurrence, people from Honduras and other select countries could claim amnesty.

“They are people who are usually hungry, thirsty and are either hot or cold. Because I am a Christian, I try to help them with their needs,” Jaeger said.

Business owners in both Quemado and Eagle Pass have encountered migrants, and done their best to help where they can. Susana Rivera, who runs Orly’s BBQ in Eagle Pass, said that her business has been doing very well.

Rivera sees many politicians and elected officials. When politicians came to town in late February, a flood of reporters followed, bringing in lots of business for Orly’s BBQ, according to Rivera.

Rivera also has migrants and their families come to eat at her restaurant. She says that migrants have not caused her or her business any problems.

“I would always offer them free food,” Rivera said. “They would come in and I would feed them what they asked for because I felt bad. I went up to them and offered, and they said no, we have money to pay for the food. They always pay for their meals.”

With the 2024 presidential election on the horizon, the topic of immigration has been a flashpoint for the political debate. On the right, immigration is typically viewed as an economic and law enforcement security crisis, and on the left, a humanitarian catastrophe.

When visiting Eagle Pass and other border towns, however, the nuance of dealing with this large-scale issue becomes clear. There is something to be considered from all angles; legal, moral, environmental, and security. Speaking with the migrants, the communities, and the officials in charge, the challenge of handling the border crisis runs as deep as the almost 1,900 hundred miles of the Rio Grande.

In addition to Eagle Pass, we would spend time in Piedras Negras, Mexico, Eagle Pass’ sister city, as well as Laredo, Texas, a border town farther south of Eagle Pass. Each place handles the border crisis in a slightly different way, a testament to the uniqueness of an issue that is often spoken of in a broad, all-encompassing way.

Crossing the Border Wall, No Passport Required

Eagle Pass’ border security is a complex issue. A perfect example of the way the perception of border security can become skewed is former President Donald Trump’s border wall. According to U.S. News, around 55 miles of the wall has been built in Texas. Up close, however, the wall is full of gaps, interrupted due to private property. Additionally, it is 200 yards away from the border, so it does not prevent anyone from accessing U.S. soil. It is hollow on the inside, which makes it easy to cut through, and it is also, allegedly, easy to climb. We just walked around it.

The actual security in Eagle Pass is primarily in the river near the bridge, in places on the border such as Shelby Park, where armed National Guard members have taken over the area, and shipping containers with barbed wire prevent entry from the river.

In January 2024, Shelby Park was covered with hundreds of wooden crosses, each one representing a migrant who died in the river. Some crosses feature blue and pink paint, which signifies the life of a child. Additionally, several crosses are unpainted, which signifies those who lost their life while saving someone else.

The 700 crosses have since been removed from the park, and around 40 are now on a lawn located near the Eagle Pass City Hall. The creator of the project, Dan McCuistio, an Eagle Pass local, in partnership with Amerika Garcia of Border Vigil, created the crosses to draw attention to the needless deaths in the Rio Grande.

“I was asked to make these crosses to memorialize the immigrants that just tried to cross the border,” McCuistio said. “These are people that have drowned, died in the desert of thirst, died in car wrecks while being chased around by border control. There are a number of ways they die just getting across the border because of the poor immigration system, so we mourn these people.”

Shelby Park is a major contention point among locals. Many residents of Eagle Pass feel their hometown park was forcefully taken from them, and there are rising concerns about the environmental aspects of a large-scale military occupation. The Eagle Pass Border Coalition feels that the government is destroying the park and the natural beauty of the riverbank.

Epi’s Canoe and Kayak Team was founded in 2015 as a joint effort between the city of Eagle Pass, the City Main Street Program, and Jessie Fuentes, a local member of the Eagle Pass Border Coalition. The goal was to bring positive light to the Rio Grande, and the first four years of operation featured canoe and kayak races, lessons, and tours, with participants from both shores. After the pandemic, however, Fuentes and his team faced rules and regulations that made it difficult to continue.

Fuentes watched as riverbanks and islands were bulldozed, and vegetation, destroyed. Now, he only takes journalists out on the water, so they can view what is happening to the river, which is silent, with the exception of the armed U.S. Border Patrol speedboats and helicopters overhead. On the Mexican side, you may see fishermen or federal agents, the occasional discarded pair of shoes, or a forgotten teddy bear.

“I was bringing attention to the river and its beauty, its ecosystem, its environment, and the culture and history of the river itself,” says Fuentes. “We had to change from showing positives to trying to be on the defensive, showing the ugliness. It’s a monster problem, and it’s going to get bigger. That’s what’s scary.”

With the impending election on the horizon, the fate of the situation in Eagle Pass hangs in the balance. The national media is a snapshot, a small fraction of what the locals have experienced, and, for every measure taken in border security, there is a local with a story of how their hometown continues to change, and not always for the better.

“To me, if democracy wins, hopefully, we’ll get our park back,” says Fuentes.

Piedras Negras, the Sister City

Piedras Negras, with a population of 163,595, is a bustling metropolitan city, with booming businesses, shops, and restaurants. It features a central city plaza, with plenty of art, history, and culture to experience, including a border museum that chronicles the complex history. Piedras Negras is the sister city of Eagle Pass, and the two cities have a good working relationship, based on community, camaraderie, and connection beyond the border wall.

Eddie Ayala is a 24-year-old fisherman originally from Galveston, Texas, whose family lives in the U.S. We found him fishing on the Mexican side of the border. According to Ayala, the barbed wire on the U.S. side of the river makes fishing impossible there. There were few migrants in Piedras Negras, but, much like the U.S. side there were signs of them; objects left behind, such as shoes, toothbrushes, and stuffed animals discarded in the brush.

Far on the outskirts of Piedras Negras, away from the bustling city, we found a large, stone building, painted with a mural of the Virgin Mary, plastered with missing persons and wanted posters, dating back to 2009. Casa Del Migrante, or House of the Migrants, is a Catholic shelter for migrants. There were around 20 people inside, including the children playing outside, kicking around a ball. Inside, a nun showed the features of the shelter, including barracks with bunk beds, a kitchen, and an office for psychological help and legal advice.

The migrants we found at Casa Del Migrante are waiting to enter the U.S. legally. It houses people from many different countries, most of whom are waiting to hear about the status of their legal inquiries to cross the border. The inquiries are made through a convoluted app that is difficult to use and understand. If an appointment is successfully made, the process can take a month. Sometimes, nothing comes from the appointments at all, and many people are turned back.

“This is a shelter for immigrants who’ve come across. Some of them are asylum seekers; they’re generally waiting for processing by the Border Patrol,” says Belinda Howell, a volunteer at Casa Del Migrante. Originally from Texas, she has lived in Mexico for several years.

“Getting appointments is very, very hard. There is an app, called CBP, for Customs and Border Patrol. The app requires, of course, that they have a phone, that they have tech skills, and they have language skills,” says Howell.

Howell outlines the problems with using one app to book border appointments. Additionally, there are various factors, such as children or updates within the app that could further prevent someone from getting an appointment.

She also emphasizes the danger associated with trying to cross the border. “They said that coming through Mexico is so difficult, almost 100% of people who have gone through Mexico have a story that is horrific,” says Howell. “There are young women raped by gangs, there are mothers with disabled children trying to get them safely through another country. International Law doesn’t allow these people to work. These are people who are hungry, who do not have adequate clothing, who may have been robbed along the way.”

The legal complications pose just another hurdle for migrants trying to cross the border. “For these people, when you’re trying to get through Mexico, you’ve come from your family, your home, where you were politically persecuted or there was sex trafficking or for whatever reason you were threatened, and then you have to deal with all these odds,” says Howell.

Lizette Ferrebus is a migrant woman from Maracaibo, Venezuela, a town that is a few hours away from Colombia. In Venezuela, she worked as a manicurist and businesswoman. Lizette has four children, who are 13, 11, 7, and 4, and she left Venezuela six years ago, citing hunger as one of the many problems she faced there. She then moved to Ecuador, where she lived for five years, but gangs there tried to extort her.

Through the course of her migration, she got sick in the jungle between Colombia and Panama. One of the ligaments on her leg became swollen for five days, and her husband had to carry her. She almost drowned in the river.

Lizette decided to apply for asylum to come to the U.S. on December 13, 2023. She lives with her children at Casa Del Migrante while they await their asylum appointment in July.

“I want to give my children better opportunities to study and a better quality of life,” says Lizette. “We want to enter legally. I would be happy coming to the U.S. because I could achieve my dream.”

Another migrant, Carlos, speaks of his struggles in coming to the U.S. Carlos left his home country of El Salvador due to gang activity and violence. Carlos mentions a prior president of El Salvador who would sponsor the gangs. He owned a bakery and had to pay $300 monthly, and when he could not pay, the lives of his wife and son were threatened. Carlos’ wife and son are now currently in the U.S. because they got their appointment, but Carlos is still waiting to be seen.

“I dream of having a house in the U.S. and being able to work,” says Carlos, growing emotional over the separation from his family.

“It’s an incredible thing how many people help,” says Howell. “It’s also an incredible thing how many people don’t help.”

Traveling to Laredo

Laredo, Texas, is a drastically different experience than that of Eagle Pass. Unlike the heavily militarized border in Eagle Pass, there’s no wall or fence in Laredo. Binational River Park is directly on the Rio Grande, and despite the Border Patrol presence, there is almost nothing between the park and Nuevo Laredo. An anonymous border control agent informs us that they see hundreds of border crossings a day, and, because this part of the river is so shallow, many of the illegal crossings happen when people run across. He says it takes them 15 seconds to make it across the river and up onto the road behind the park, where they are usually picked up in a vehicle by someone waiting.

The Laredo town square is eerily quiet, save for the sound of church bells from the famed St. Agustin Cathedral. Most storefronts are empty, however, there are a few clothing stores and restaurants, as well as a cultural center.

The remaining business owners in Laredo face many challenges the businesses in Eagle Pass do not. Maggie Salasa is the owner of “The Fashion Outlet” in downtown Laredo. One of the biggest problems Salasa faces in running her business is crime. She frequently has to spend hundreds of dollars fixing her front windows. She also details that she has witnessed many crimes in broad daylight, in front of her store. When she calls the police, they do nothing.

“We could be doing better if we received the help,” says Salasa.

Around the corner from the cathedral is a restaurant called “El Pasillo de San Agustin.” It is run by sisters Sandra and Laura Bernal and their cousin Miguel Rodriguez. The restaurant was started by their immigrant parents almost 30 years ago. Their mother is originally from Guadalajara, Mexico, and their father is from Monterrey, Mexico.

Sandra Bernal references the dangers of Nuevo Laredo, citing the cartels as the defining problem.

“It’s been very hush, hush, but everyone knows it’s there,” says Bernal.

She also expresses a want for more community in Laredo.

“You still have the old community that wants it the same way and they don’t want to bring anything new,” says Bernal. “But we have got to revive the downtown.”

One Last Stop, Leaving Eagle Pass

Eagle Pass is a city full of rich history and a sprawling community. The immigration issue is layered with the nuance of a community disrupted, of hundreds of lives lost to the Rio Grande, of an impossible problem. What does it mean to have a home? How is it possible to define place, to define identity, when the concept is corrupted?

When consuming national media, it is important to remember the river, the hundreds of painted crosses in Shelby Park, the families in Eagle Pass, the restaurants in Laredo, and the asylum seekers just outside of Piedras Negras. The border towns are filled with individual stories of families, of good people helping good people. Politicians pass through Eagle Pass without talking to locals or learning anything about the history.

The start of the solution to this large scale lies in the positive relationship between Piedras Negras and Eagle Pass, in the bridge over the border, whose structure is supported by humanity that exists far beyond the boundaries of Washington D.C. and its legal technicalities. The frustrating reality is that the members of the border communities are far too often used as an election tool, politically charged bullets loaded into weapons disguised as “democracy.” It’s truly difficult to remember that the clause of our humanity defines one simple truth: what happens at the border, happens to us all.

As you drive out of Eagle Pass, a few miles back down Highway 57, you are stopped by a long line of cars. The border checkpoint does not stop anybody coming in, but everyone must stop and get assessed on the way out. When the Border Patrol comes to your car window, they don’t ask for your name, your story, your passport, or ID. All they ask is one, defining, complicated, impossible question:

“Are you an American citizen?”

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This project was created through a journalism class at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s Journalism, Advertising and Media Studies Department. This work was made possible through the support of MPC Endowment Ltd., the philanthropic affiliate of the Milwaukee Press Club.