Photographers' Blog

Looking for an American dream

Honduran immigrant Jose Humberto Castro, 26, clings to a freight train on his way to the border with the United States in Orizaba in the state of Veracruz November 3, 2010. Every day, hundreds of Central American immigrants try to cross from Mexico to the United States, according to National Migration Institute of Mexico. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

When I began this project about immigrants, I found a totally different world, where every immigrant had a unique story but in the end had a common objective: reach the American dream, which for many turned into the American nightmare.

Coming from so much misery, where the governments of their native countries have completely forgotten about them and where opportunities don’t exist, they have little choice but to risk taking the train in search of a better life. But for many the only thing they find is bad luck.

A Honduran immigrant stands on board a freight train on his way to the border with the United States in La Patrona near Cordoba in the state of Veracruz November 3, 2010. Every day, hundreds of Central American immigrants try to cross from Mexico to the United States, according to National Migration Institute of Mexico. REUTERS/Eliana Aponte

The day finally arrived for me to get on the train. It’s a story that requires a lot of time, patience and persistence because you never know when or how many immigrants will get on.

The people who help immigrants always told me: “be careful, it’s not easy, why don’t you dress like a man? There are a lot of rapes and robberies.” It’s gotten to the point where female immigrants travel with condoms and are prepared for something like rape to happen.

But, that day I was with a freelance photographer and a person from the Mexico Migrant Network who knew the route of the train very well. We were covering a caravan of Honduran mothers who were visiting migrant shelters along the rail lines from Tapachula, Mexico to the capital Mexico City, looking for their disappeared children, who went missing on their search for the American dream. One of the mothers, Emeterea Martinez, fights every day for her daughter to return home, even if 20 years passes, she still keeps faith that she will return…

Nobody to trust in Mexico’s north

The first version of the killings came from Mexico City media. “Massacre in Tamaulipas State,” said the news anchorman. Seventy-two corpses had been discovered on a ranch in San Fernando municipality, all showing signs of a mass execution.

A ranch is seen in San Fernando in Tamaulipas state where according to a Mexican navy statement 72 bodies were discovered by Mexican marines in San Fernando, Tamaulipas state, in this handout photo released by the Attorney General's office August 26, 2010. The corpses were found by Mexican marines at the remote ranch near the U.S. border, the Mexican navy said on Wednesday, the biggest single discovery of its kind in Mexico's increasingly bloody drug war. REUTERS/Tamaulipas' State Attorney General's Office/Handout  

 The blindfolded and hand-tied bodies of people thought to be migrant workers lie at a ranch where they were discovered by Mexican marines in San Fernando, Tamaulipas state, in this handout photo released by the Attorney General's office August 26, 2010. REUTERS/Tamaulipas' State Attorney General's Office/Handout

News of executions, macabre assassinations and kidnappings are commonplace in northern Mexico, but this headline was not. With journalists’ reflexes we began to plan a trip to what suddenly became the bloodiest theater in the drug war. In the past two months a candidate for governor was gunned down, two mayors assassinated, grenades exploded on city streets and the cousin of a media mogul kidnapped. In one weekend 51 people had been murdered in infamous Ciudad Juarez.

People walk past a covered-up body of a dead man on a street near a shopping center in Ciudad Juarez August 15, 2010. REUTERS/Claudia Daut

My editors asked me if I wanted to go to Ciudad Victoria, where the government announced it would send the 72 bodies for identification. I knew the routine. In less than an hour I was headed out the door to the airport with my equipment and a hastily-packed suitcase, just as my youngest daughter arrived from school.

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