The crisis abroad:
Terror, Violence, and Desperation
SAN PEDRO SULA, HONDURAS—Waiting in desperation for complete darkness to set in, Luis Garcia hurried to gather his belongings, packing only as much as he could carry. With only 2,000 Lempiras on hand—roughly equivalent to $82—the 42-year-old and his wife booked the earliest bus ticket they could find to the western border of the country.
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There, the couple planned to cross into Guatemala with the little funds that remained. While Garcia knew, that even then, they wouldn’t be safe from the impending threat they were evading, his only concern for the time being was to escape his hometown of San Pedro Sula, alive—and time was running out.
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“This was a matter of life or death,” Garcia explained dejectedly over the spotty video chat. His downcast eyes signaled the weight that the memory brought him.
His decision to flee was sudden. In fact, it was made just days after Garcia received a call from the local morgue, requesting that he and his wife come to identify a deceased person that had been discovered. Upon his arrival, he came face to face with a sight he dreaded to see: the bloodied and beaten body of his brother-in-law, who had been missing for several days. It wasn’t difficult to find out who was responsible.
Just a month prior to the disappearance of his brother-in-law, members of the 18th street gang—more commonly known as Mara-18, or “el dieciocho”—arrived at his workplace, a local chile pepper business. Pressing a gun to his neck, one of the gang members announced to Garcia that the chile business would have to begin paying “la renta,” or a monthly extortion tax of 20,000 Lempiras (approximately $820). Immediately, Garcia declared that he only administered the business and wasn’t the owner.
“He told me that they had been targeting me for a while and knew where I lived.”
Even as the mere manager of the chile business, the local gang members continued to terrorize him, still demanding the monthly tax, and periodically sending him menacing letters. It wasn’t until the brutal murder of his brother-in-law, however, that Garcia realized the extent to which he was in danger. He knew that either he or his wife would be next.
“That’s why after the burial that we gave my brother-in-law, we had to leave Honduras, immediately.”
From 2006-2011, the national Honduran homicide rate soared from 41 to 83 homicides per 100,000 people, making the country one of the most dangerous in the Western Hemisphere.
This story of terror and violence isn’t exclusive to Garcia, or his wife—it’s a pattern that’s emerged over decades and decades of U.S. foreign policy and intervention, resulting in grinding poverty and the proliferation of transnational gangs; the rise of “Mano Dura” (iron fist) security policies, which marginalized impoverished communities and assisted in the vicious evolution of gang leadership; and more recently, as a consequence of the regional drug war, which displaced drug operations from Mexico and into Central America, stimulating the battle over trafficking territory among criminal organizations. Each of these complex social and political forces has contributed to this inescapable reality, experienced by millions.
Just next-door to Garcia in El Salvador, Carlos Rodriguez recounted an all too similar experience. An industrial mechanic by trade, the 50-year-old lived his entire life in Quezaltepeque—a relatively large municipality, situated near the capital of San Salvador.
“The reason why I migrated was because a brother of mine was killed by members of Barrio-18,” Rodriguez pronounced solemnly. He adjusted his headphones and leaned closer to the asylum shelter’s computer screen to give us more details.
Prior to his death, his brother had been dating a woman who previously had a child with one of the members of Barrio-18. When the woman’s ex-partner found out, he sent one of his fellow gang members to shoot and kill the brother. Of course, Rodriguez eventually found out who was responsible, and immediately filed a report with the Salvadoran authorities.
“I came forward as a key witness, and well... that’s when the threats started. They were looking to kill me.”
At one point during the trial, he was kidnapped in the middle of the day by some of the gang members, where they proceeded to take him to a secluded area and beat him, violently smashing his head against the ground, and breaking both his pelvis and femur. They’re request: that he withdraw from the case as the key witness. If not, they promised that they would find him, and then kill him.
Frightened, but desiring to continue forward, Rodriguez remained as the key witness. Up until the final court date, the judge assigned him protection from the Salvadoran National Guard. However, as soon as the case concluded, and the gang member was sentenced to prison, he knew there would be consequences.
“I left my home last minute. I moved to another department [region] within El Salvador, but because it’s a small country, they have total control. They have eyes everywhere, everywhere.”
However, within months of safely moving to one of the country’s other 13 departments, members of his new neighborhood’s Barrio-18 eventually found him at his workplace. With a little bit of financial help from his family based in Canada (where they received asylum in the late 1980s amid the Salvadoran Civil War), he quickly made arrangements to move yet again. This time, he planned on migrating somewhere the gangs wouldn’t be able to find him—north, to the U.S.
A family mourns at a crime scene in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.
Both Garcia and Rodriguez were victims of these vicious cycles of violence, forcing them to flee from home. However, these experiences were not only limited to adults; sometimes they involved whole families.
Amelia Lopez recounted her flight from San Pedro Sula, Honduras—the same hometown of Garcia—with her husband and two children, ages three and five. Back in San Pedro Sula, Lopez worked as a Catholic school teacher, where she eventually earned a high administrative role. Her husband, on the other hand, was an industrial engineer.
Before diving into her story, she shared an old memory: “In our minds, we never, never, thought to migrate. We would always see foreign news about migrants fleeing from our country, and we always said that we never would.” She expressed this as she held back tears.
“I criticized, I strongly criticized mothers that fled from this country with their children. I saw on the news how they were separated from their children and I always criticized them, that is, until it was our turn to pass through a difficult time,” she said as her voice cracked.
She vividly recalled the instances in which her family had fallen victim to gang violence—all of which took place in a span of a week. The first, about two years ago, took place when she had been home alone with her children. A couple of gang members arrived at her home, posing as the owners of the local territory, and demanding that she begin paying a monthly extortion tax.
“Thank God, we were helped out by our neighbors. They came to make sure they [the gang members] would leave peacefully.”
The men left when they settled on a date to pick up the cash. However, just a few days later, as Lopez was returning home from a medical appointment with her two children, she was violently attacked by another one of the gang’s affiliates. Placing his gun to one of the children’s head, he threatened to shoot if she didn’t give up her wallet and the rest of her belongings.
LEFT: An Honduran mother walks her daughter to school past MS-13 graffiti, signaling their hold over the local territory. RIGHT: An Honduran mother holds her child close.
Photo Credit: LEFT Agence France-Presse
RIGHT Unknown
Although Lopez and her children survived the encounter, this wouldn’t be the last time they were terrorized. About five days later, now in the company of her husband, they were approached by two hooded men, both of which were heavily armed.
“They threatened to kill us. They let us know where we lived, where we worked, and they told us exactly everything they knew about our lives, even our daily routine. It was in that difficult moment that we knew there was no choice but to leave, immediately from the city, and then from our country.”
Having departed from San Pedro Sula that same night, the couple planned for a much longer journey north. They withdrew every cent they could from their savings and immediately put up their two cars for sale.
“Fear constantly accompanied us. But we hoped to keep our two young children alive.”