Mexico's a hurdle for Central American migrants

CIUDAD HIDALGO, MEXICO -- The wide and shallow Suchiate River separating Mexico and Guatemala is no barrier. Men with rafts will take anything or anyone across it for about a dollar.

Each year, hundreds of thousands of illegal immigrants from Central America, most hoping to make it to the United States, cross the river on huge inner tubes and enter Mexico on the easiest part of an often-hellish journey.

Dennis Enrique Corea, a 17-year-old Honduran migrant, made the passage last week, hoping to travel on to Atlanta, where his aunt has lived for years.

But after setting foot on Mexican soil, Corea was shaken down by Mexican soldiers, who he says stole his money and -- perhaps more importantly -- his aunt's phone number and address. All he can remember of the number is that it starts with "404," an Atlanta area code.

"It's like they [the Mexican authorities] don't have any kids of their own," Corea said from a migrant shelter in nearby Tapachula. "It's like they don't know what it's like to suffer."

Immigration is certain to be a major topic when President Bush visits Mexico this week.

But as Mexican officials vigorously defend the rights of Mexicans in the United States, Mexico faces criticism of its own treatment of Central American immigrants, who often encounter corrupt officials and inhumane conditions.

And Mexico's inability to seal its chaotic southern border has long been a sticking point when it comes to negotiating immigration reform with the United States.

Bush and a newly elected Democrat majority support the kind of immigration laws Mexico would like to see passed by the U.S. Congress.

But before that happens, pressure is mounting on new Mexican President Felipe Calderon to fulfill his vow to fix his country's contradictory laws and bring order to Mexico's borders.

Once they arrive in Mexico, illegal immigrants face an army of corrupt and thieving officials, violent gangs called "maras," and dangerous rides on top of trains, which leave many dead or limbless.

Corea's first attempt at reaching Atlanta was cut short last year when he slipped off a moving train near San Miguel de Allende and cut open his foot. He was deported to Honduras after going to a hospital.

"I still have panic, but I have to go," he said of his latest attempt.

When it comes to enforcing immigration laws, Mexico is caught between two clashing pressures, said Carmen Fernandez, immigration expert at the College of the Southern Border.

On the one side is the pressure to enforce its southern border and stop the wave of Central American immigrants flooding north.

On the other are calls to respect the human rights of Central Americans. Officials know that mistreatment can leave them open to charges of crass hypocrisy if Mexico is then complaining to U.S. officials about treatment of Mexican migrants.

"For the migrants that try to cross the national territory, we can't give less guarantees than those we demand for Mexican migrants," Cecilia Romero, Mexico's immigration chief, said recently.

Calderon is expected to announce a series of changes, including an expanded temporary work visa program for Central Americans and improvements to immigration detention centers, which critics say can be dungeonlike. He has already formed new special border police forces.

But at the top of list of list for most migrant advocates is changing the penalty for entering the country illegally: up to two years in prison. Not only have Mexican leaders howled when U.S. Republicans proposed similar legislation, but observers say corrupt police officers often use the threat of prison to demand bribes from migrants.

With little money to cross the length of Mexico, just a small percentage of the illegal migrants reach their goal of working in the United States.

Francisco Aceves, local coordinator of Grupo Beta, the government agency charged with protecting migrants, thinks fewer than 20 percent make it.

For migrants such as Jose Fernandez Gonzalez, a baby-faced Salvadoran father of two, reaching the United States has become a vocation.

Fernandez, 24, has spent a quarter of his life attempting to reach Houston and a promised job with his uncle.

He's tried at least four times, and last year got as far as Laredo, Texas, before being getting caught by the U.S. Border Patrol.

Unlike Mexican immigrants, who are deposited on the other side of the U.S.-Mexico border, Central Americans face deportation back to homelands thousands of miles away.

Fernandez's eyes well up as he remembers the frustration of getting so close to his dream.

"I cried when they picked me up," he said fiddling with hands crisscrossed by scars from cutting sugar cane in El Salvador. "It cost so much effort to get there."