How the remote, roadless Darién Gap became a route for 400,000 migrants

The remote Indigenous village of Bajo Chiquito can only be reached through muddy tracts that are impassable when it rains, or by motorboats light enough to navigate the shallow waters of the Turquesa River.

But over the past five years, this isolated community in eastern Panama has become a busy, often hectic transit point for migrants and refugees from around the world hoping to reach the United States. 

It’s the first place that thousands of thirsty and exhausted people encounter as they emerge from the grueling Darién Gap, the roadless and mountainous rainforest that stands between South and Central America.

“It was a terrible journey,” says Jessica Tovar, a Venezuelan woman moving in a group of 17 people that included her husband, her two children, and members of their extended family. She describes crossing rivers with deadly currents and passing multiple lifeless bodies during the trek.

Despite its dangers, so far this year, 400,000 people have come through the rainforest on their way to the U.S., according to Panamanian officials. It’s a record that overshadows the 250,000 crossings registered in 2022. 

Economic, political, and security crises across Latin America – and the world – have driven migration north through the Americas in recent years. Visa requirements prevent many from flying to countries in Central and North America, forcing a growing number of people who seek protection in the U.S. to take this dangerous overland route. Attempts by the U.S. and Mexico to deter migrants with more restrictive immigration policies have yet to generate change.

It’s creating a humanitarian crisis in Panama and other countries to the north, as governments struggle to provide health services to migrants, or help those who get stranded. And the vast transit of migrants here is having effects beyond border crises: In this small stretch of the journey, migration has boosted local economies in long forgotten and isolated communities, changing the way of life of the Indigenous Embera people, the original inhabitants of the Darién Gap, as well as increasing pollution and destruction of the rainforest.

Manuel Rueda

Hundreds of migrants from around the globe camp outside Bajo Chiquito each day, as they wait to be registered by Panamanian officials and line up for boats that will take them on the next leg of their journey, Sept. 16, 2023.

A “wake-up call”

The Panamanian government has long dealt with migration by implementing a “controlled flow” policy, which enables migrants to cross the country quickly on supervised buses. More recently, Panama has started working to dissuade migrants from crossing the Darién Gap. The border police, SENAFRONT, launched a social media campaign this year called “Darién is a jungle, not a route.” It shows videos of common dangers migrants face, such as falling from steep cliffs or drowning in treacherous rivers.  

“The migrants are being fooled by smugglers [in Colombia] who promise them this is an easy two day trek,” says Reiner Serrano, a brigade commander for SENAFRONT. While his agency can’t turn people away at the edge of the rainforest, it is trying to limit the number of routes migrants take, he says. SENAFRONT is also targeting groups that charge migrants to bring them across.

Government data shows 55% of migrants crossing the Darién Gap this year are Venezuelans. For some, it isn’t their first choice, but a decision made after struggling to make ends meet in other South American countries.

Jacob Turcotte/Staff

Eliana Rivas is from the Venezuelan state of Merida and says she was working as a manicurist in Colombia the past two years, making a little above the nation’s minimum wage of $250 a month. It barely covered food and rent. 

“I want to do better than that,” Ms. Rivas says of her motivation to try to reach the U.S.

A report published in September by the International Organization for Migration and its partners in the Americas found that of the 6.4 million Venezuelan migrants and refugees currently living in other Latin American countries, 4.4 million are struggling to access basics including shelter, food, education, and healthcare.

The current situation reflects, in part, the difficulties many migrants have had in integrating or making ends meet in South American countries, says Caitlyn Yates, an expert on immigration at the Strauss Center for International Security and Law, and who lived in villages along the Darién Gap for six months.

“It’s a wake-up call,” she says, “that if you try to focus [solely] on enforcement to reduce the numbers of individuals arriving at the U.S. border [it] does not work.”

Manuel Rueda

Bajo Chiquito in Panama is the first village that migrants encounter after they make the risky trek across the Darién Gap, Sept. 16, 2023.

South American countries have done a “commendable” job at regularizing Venezuelan migrants in recent years, says Zachary Thomas, one of the report coordinators. But the struggle for Venezuelans to cover their basic needs in places like Peru, Colombia, or Ecuador could continue to drive immigration to countries in North America through the Darién Gap, he says.

“There has been a global cost-of-living crisis that countries in the region have not escaped from,” Mr. Thomas says. “Migrants are sometimes the most vulnerable in these situations, because they lack access to support networks.”

Migrants from Ecuador and Haiti are the second and third biggest nationalities crossing the Darién this year, making up about 22% of those making the trek. The remainder come from dozens of countries that include China, India, Angola, and Afghanistan, which fell to the Taliban two years ago. This year, 2,500 Afghans have crossed the Darién Gap on their way to the U.S., many first flying to Brazil on humanitarian visas.

Opportunity – and damage

In Bajo Chiquito, hundreds of migrants line up each day for several hours under the sun to get transit permits from Panamanian immigration officers. 

While they wait, locals wave water bottles and set up stalls on the village’s main streets selling new shoes for migrants whose boots have taken a pounding in the Darién jungle. Others charge phone batteries for $1.50 and sell internet access. It has the feel of a chaotic street market, where many languages are spoken. In September, more than 2,000 people arrived here daily, according to Panamanian officials, most sleeping in tents along the river and under local homes built on stilts.

Just a decade ago, this community of 400 was a quiet village whose economy relied mostly on earnings from small banana farms, says Nelson Aji, an Embera farmer who also serves as the village’s traditional leader. 

“Many people are no longer tending to their farms” or hunting, Mr. Aji says. “There is too much business with the migrants.” 

Once migrants are able to register with Panamanian officials they take small boats to a government-run camp where they can board buses to the border with Costa Rica. 

“We have to make the most of this,” says Elvis Pacheco, who has a fully stocked store selling soft drinks, snacks, menstrual products, and basic medicine. “It’s a good time for those who know how to invest their money.”

But some locals worry about the long-term impact the massive movement of migrants could have on the environment and communities here. 

Manuel Rueda

Migrants line up outside a shop that handles money transfers, outside the Panamanian government-run Lajas Blancas camp, Sept. 16, 2023. Many of these formerly isolated communities near the Darién Gap are facing drastic changes in their traditions and economy.

Everyday at least 130 motorboats take people from Bajo Chiquito to the government camp. Boat captain Cono Ortega says that the Embera depend on river water to wash their clothes, cook food, and bathe. Their villages lack pipes and running water and are accumulating trash left by the thousands of people passing through.

The sharp increase in migration is causing “irreversible” damage to the rainforest, Panama’s minister of security said during a recent visit to the Darién Gap. UNICEF has set up water processing plants powered by solar panels in some villages and the camp to increase the supply of safe drinking water.

“This should be an opportunity for the government to take a serious look at how to invest in our communities,” says Leonides Cunampa, the main chief of the Embera Wounan territory.

Seeking alternatives

To encourage migrants to head to the U.S. legally – and avoid routes like the Darién Gap – the U.S. recently opened Safe Mobility Offices in Colombia, Costa Rica, and Guatemala. In Colombia, 30,000 individuals have applied for interviews through the Safe Mobility initiative.

The offices, which are staffed by international organizations, refer qualifying applicants to the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program, and put them on an “expedited” track for resettlement, a State Department spokesperson says. 

Some 4,000 migrants have been referred so far (1,000 from the Colombia office), with another 4,500 people applying for other permissions or programs that could allow them legal access into the U.S.  

Wait times are long, and the program’s website has crashed several times as it struggles to keep up with demand. 

That means that for many currently in South America who are seeking immediate safety or want to rebuild their lives in the north, the overland route across the Darién Gap is still their preferred option.

The Biden Administration has promised to swiftly deport those who do not qualify for asylum and issued a five-year ban in May for those who cross into the U.S. illegally. Last week, the administration reached a deal with Venezuela’s troubled government to resume direct deportation flights. 

“Only god knows how far we’ll get,” says Ms. Tovar, the Venezuelan migrant. “We just have to have faith and try our best.”