In Mexico, migrants turn to 'The Beast' after highway raids

The train known as "The Beast" is once again rumbling through the night loaded with people headed toward the U.S. border after a raid on a migrant caravan threatened to end the practice of massive highway marches through Mexico

A long freight train loaded with about 300 to 400 migrants pulled out of the southern city of Ixtepec on Tuesday. They sat atop rattling boxcars and clung precariously to ladders alongside the clanking couplings. Most were young men, along with a few dozen woman and children. Mothers clambered up the railings clutching their infants. Migrants displayed a Honduran flag from atop the train.

The train known in Spanish as "La Bestia," which runs from the southern border state of Chiapas into neighboring Oaxaca and north into Gulf coast state Veracruz, carried migrants north for decades, despite its notorious dangers: People died or lost limbs falling from the train. Mexican authorities started raiding the trains to pull migrants off in mid-2014 and the number of Central Americans aboard the train fell to a smattering.

Central American migrants cram into a freight train during their journey toward the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. "They're riding the train again, that's a fact," said migrant rights activist Rev. Alejandro Solalinde, who's shelter now houses about 300 train-riding migrants. "It's going to go back to the way it was, the (Mexican) government doesn't want them to be seen. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

But about a week ago, a longtime migrant rights activist, the Rev. Alejandro Solalinde, noticed a change: Large numbers of migrants started getting off the train in Ixtepec, the Oaxaca town where his Brothers on the Road shelter is located.

Many had waited weeks for Mexican visas that never materialized, and simply decided to head north without papers. Others were part of a 3,000-person migrant caravan that was broken up in a raid Monday by federal police and immigration agents on a highway east of Ixtepec.

With dozens of police and immigration checkpoints dotting the highways, many migrants now view the train as a safer, albeit still risky, way to reach the U.S. border.

A Central American migrant climbs on a freight train on is way to the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca state, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. The train known in Spanish as "La Bestia" has carried migrants north for decades, despite its notorious dangers. People have died or lost limbs falling from the train. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

"They're riding the train again, that's a fact," said Solalinde, who shelter now houses about 300 train-riding migrants. "It's going to go back to the way it was, the (Mexican) government doesn't want them to be seen. If the migrants move quietly like a stream of little ants, they'll allow them to, but they are not going to allow them to move through Mexico publicly or massively" as they did with the large caravans that began in October. In fact, Solalinde predicts "they're not going to allow caravans anymore."

In Monday's raid, federal police and agents detained 367 people, wrestling men, women and children into patrol trucks and vans and hauling them off, presumably to begin deportation proceedings. Many other migrants abandoned the road and fled into the surrounding countryside.

The decision to turn to "The Beast" derives from several reasons, all related to the crackdown.

Honduran migrants Jose Francisco Mendez, left, Denis Funes, center, and Jose Mendoza stand on top of a freight train during their journey toward the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. Funes says he saw a fellow Honduran knocked off the train the previous night by a low-hanging branch that caught the man in the face and sent him hurtling to the tracks below. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

With throngs of police pickups and small immigration vans parked at checkpoints up and down the narrow waist of southern Mexico, hitchhiking, taking buses or walking is no longer an option. Truckers, warned by the government that they could face fines, no longer give rides to the migrants as they did last year. Migrants are pulled off buses, and rounded up off the sides of highways when they stop to rest.

"Now we're going by train because we can't go on buses, because they won't let us through," said Rudi Margarita Montoya, the wife of a Honduran carpenter, who was perched atop a freight car with her young son and daughter and her husband.

It's not as if the migrants think the train is safe; they acknowledge the dangers of riding through the darkness perched high atop the freight cars. Just like increased U.S. border protection, Mexico's increased enforcement efforts push migrants into using more dangerous means of travel.

Central American migrants climb on a parked freight train during their journey toward the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. Mexican authorities started raiding the trains to pull migrants off in mid-2014 and the number of Central Americans aboard the train fell to a smattering. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Carlos Marroquín, a mechanic from El Salvador, and his wife Brenda Gómez, 24, clambered onto the train with their son, 5 and daughter, 10. Marroquin ticked off the dangers facing them on the rails: "There are drug traffickers, gangs, thieves, but we're putting everything into this, because it means everything."

"If we can't walk, if we can't take the bus, we'll go on the train," Marroquin said.

Denis Funes, a migrant from central Honduras whose sun-beaten skin and leathery hands betray his past as a farmworker, says he saw a fellow Honduran knocked off the train the previous night by a low-hanging branch that caught the man in the face and sent him hurtling to the tracks below. Funes and his companions could do nothing to help the man; the train was moving too fast to jump off. "He's still back there somewhere," Funes said. But he remains undeterred. "We're going to rely on the train, despite everything we know that can happen to us."

A Central American migrant runs to climb on a passing freight train on his way to the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca state, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. With throngs of police pickups and small immigration vans parked at checkpoints up and down the narrow waist of southern Mexico, for the migrants hitchhiking, taking buses or walking is no longer an option. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Gomez and many others were also driven to desperation by another change in Mexican policy. Whereas in late 2018 and early 2019 authorities were handing out humanitarian visas and processing asylum requests, they have now largely stopped doing so, instead making migrants wait weeks in the southern town of Mapastepec for visas that never seem to come.

Gomez said "They lied to us, they made us spend a month at the shelter, they told us they were going to give up papers but they never did."

Enrique Valiente, a 19-year-old roofer from El Salvador who came to the U.S. at 3, spent much of his life in Nevada and was deported last May after a traffic stop. He said Mexico had flatly refused to consider him for asylum. He is afraid to return to his native country — which he knows little about and where he has almost no remaining relatives — because he isn't familiar with complex rules of getting along with street gangs in El Salvador, and could fall afoul of them.

A Central American migrant takes a nap in the shade under a freight train car, during his journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. Whereas in late 2018 and early 2019 Mexican authorities were handing out humanitarian visas and processing asylum requests, they have now largely stopped doing so, instead making migrants wait weeks in the southern town of Mapastepec for visas that never come. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

He doesn't even plan to sneak back into the United States; his dream is to use his perfect English to find work at a call center in the border city of Tijuana. But he can't do that without papers.

"I asked them to consider me for asylum and they just said 'No, you've been rejected."

The train was popular for years, back when "caravan" just meant small Holy Week demonstrations by migrants on the Guatemala-Mexico border. Now, the train is popular once again. Solalinde compared it to trying to squeeze off a leaky garden hose: Wherever Mexican authorities crackdown, the migrants find an alternate route.

Central American migrants grab bags of bread before climbing on a north bound freight train during their journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. Just like increased U.S. border protection, Mexico's increased enforcement efforts push migrants into using more dangerous means of travel, like the freight trains running north known to them as "La Bestia". (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

"Nobody is ever going to be able to stop the flow of migration," Solalinde said.

A Central American migrant climbs atop a freight train on his way to the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca state, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. The train known in Spanish as "La Bestia" has carried migrants north for decades, despite its notorious dangers. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Central American migrants ride atop a freight train during their journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. With dozens of police and immigration checkpoints dotting the highways, many migrants now view the train as a safer, albeit still risky, way to reach the U.S. border. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Central American migrants ride atop a freight train during their journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. It's not as if the migrants think the train is safe; they acknowledge the dangers of riding through the darkness perched high atop the freight cars. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Honduran migrants flying their country's flag, ride atop a freight train during their journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. The once large caravan of about 3,000 people was essentially broken up by an immigration raid on Monday, as migrants fled into the hills, took refuge at shelters and churches or hopped passing freight trains. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

A woman and her son, from Roatan, Honduras, ride on a north-bound freight train on their way to the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca state, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. Many Central American migrants had waited weeks for Mexican visas that never came, and simply decided to head north without papers. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Central American migrants ride a freight train on their way to the U.S.-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca state, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. A number of the migrants riding the train were part of a 3,000-person migrant caravan that was broken up in a raid Monday by federal police and immigration agents on a highway east of Ixtepec. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

Central American migrants dodge a tree branch as they ride atop a freight train during their journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. It's not as if the migrants think the train is safe; they acknowledge the dangers of riding through the darkness perched high atop the freight cars. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)

A Central American migrant waits on the train tracks during his journey toward the US-Mexico border, in Ixtepec, Oaxaca State, Mexico, Tuesday, April 23, 2019. "Nobody is ever going to be able to stop the flow of migration," migrant rights activist Rev. Alejandro Solalinde said in a recent interview. (AP PhotoMoises Castillo)