Border Pastors Adapt to New Realities Amid U.S. Border Policy Shifts

By Elket Rodríguez

As the U.S. presidential election looms just four weeks away, the landscape along the U.S.-Mexico border has changed dramatically—both in policy and in the rhythm of migrant flows. In recent months, border pastors who compose Fellowship Southwest’s immigrant relief ministry have seen their work adapt to the new conditions Notably, the number of migrants entering the U.S. has significantly decreased, and shelter dynamics in northern Mexico continue to evolve.

Border crossings have sharply decreased to their lowest in four years. Yet, the Biden administration's ongoing asylum restrictions have intensified challenges for those seeking refuge. On Monday, President Biden issued a proclamation extending the suspension of asylum at the southern border. For restrictions to be lifted, unauthorized crossings must stay below an average of 1,500 per day for 28 consecutive days—an increase from the previous requirement of one week. Now, even unaccompanied minors from any country are counted toward the daily total, further tightening access to asylum.

Currently, U.S. Border Patrol reports an average of 3,700 unauthorized crossings per day, far exceeding the required threshold. In the past six years, only July 2020 saw fewer than 1,500 crossings per day, during the height of the pandemic. This new reality places unprecedented strain on shelters across northern Mexico, where the pastors of Fellowship Southwest’s network serve.

Pastor Rosalío Sosa, who coordinates the Red de Albergues Para Migrantes (Migrant Shelter Network), observes that the faces of those seeking refuge may change, but the mission remains constant. “For us, everything is the same,” Sosa says. “We continue to receive people.” His network of shelters spans the state of Chihuahua, with most located in Ciudad Juarez, just across from El Paso, Texas. But it also extends as far as Puerto Palomas, a remote village about 100 miles west in the desert, across Columbus, NM.

“Currently, we’re at 60% capacity in all our shelters,” Sosa explains. He highlights two distinct groups of migrants: those waiting for a U.S. entry appointment through CBP One with confirmed appointments. “The flow has slowed significantly.”

CBP One is an app that allows migrants to schedule appointments at official border crossings to apply for asylum, aiming to reduce illegal entries. However, demand surpasses the daily limit of 1,450 slots, with no plans to increase availability.

A key trend is that migrants securing appointments through the CBP One app typically spend only a few days in shelters, as they often have travel plans prearranged within the U.S. However, there’s an increasing number of Mexicans fleeing organized crime, who often have fewer resources than non-Mexican nationals. Another trend indicates that migrants scheduling appointments in non-border cities often receive quicker appointments than those arriving in border cities like Ciudad Juárez, where wait times can extend to 6-8 months.

In Tijuana, Pastor Juvenal González, who supports two shelters housing over 135 refugees, shares a similar story. "The number of migrants has remained stable for a while, but it’s not like last year," González said. "It’s down about 20%, but we’re seeing an increase in migrants from other countries." González noted an uptick in Russian, Ukrainian, and Afghan migrants, as well as Mexicans displaced by violence in southeastern Mexico. "Cartels are fighting for territory in Chiapas (Mexico’s southernmost state), threatening locals—those who don’t cooperate are killed, and entire families have been wiped out. Their homes are being taken over by the narcos."

In Piedras Negras, 1,200 miles southeast of Tijuana across from Eagle Pass, Texas, Pastor Israel Rodríguez has shelters at full capacity. Together with Primera Iglesia Bautista, they host around 200 migrants, mostly Venezuelans and Hondurans, across two facilities. "We’re full," said Rodríguez. 

For years, his church has housed Central American and Caribbean refugees and was one of the only shelters open during most of the COVID-19 pandemic. Now, Rodríguez sees the same patterns as Sosa—migrants waiting for their appointments or passing quickly through the shelters. "We have 40 people, mostly Hondurans, who have been stuck here for four months, unable to get an appointment," Rodriguez said. "Yet, (those with confirmed appointments), most already have their appointments. They’re here for two or three hours, then they leave. Every day, 25 or 26 leave for their appointments in the morning, and 13 or 14 in the afternoon."

Meanwhile, Pastor Carlos Navarro of Iglesia Bautista West Brownsville has adjusted his ministry due to the reduced number of migrants released in Brownsville. While his church runs a respite center, he now focuses on feeding and sheltering those who remain, as well as transporting others to the airport. "The city receives 350 migrants daily, and we assist about 130. Before, we were receiving 1,300 a day," Navarro explained. "We provide dinner to 41 migrants and transportation for around 60 each day—about 430 people a month from Brownsville to Harlingen airport."

Navarro also observes the same trends as his colleagues: many migrants already have their travel plans in place. "Ninety percent of them fly out to reunite with their families. They’re paying for their own flights, except for some Mexicans from Zacatecas, Michoacán, and Guerrero (southwestern Mexican states affected by violence)."