“Volunteer work is proof of the State’s shortcomings”
Migrants gather in the courtyard at CAFEMIN. Photo courtesy of Rafael Esteban Ruiz Blancas/CAFEMIN
Volunteers at an overcrowded migrant shelter north of Mexico City perform the work that authorities neglect, confronting tragedies of others while struggling to care for themselves.
Editor’s note: The interviews featured here took place during a visit to CAFEMIN on Oct. 25, 2023. This article reflects shelter conditions at that time.
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MEXICO CITY — Three blocks before you arrive at the migrant shelter, you know you are approaching it. On the sidewalks of this working-class neighborhood north of Mexico City, improvised tents housing a single person, a couple or a family begin to appear, sporadically at first, then in clusters. Once at the shelter, you must navigate through a throng of people to reach the entrance and knock on the door of Casa de Acogida, Formación y Empoderamiento para Mujeres Migrantes y Refugiadas (Safe House, Training and Empowerment for Migrant and Refugee Women), known as CAFEMIN. There, a couple of volunteers are tasked with telling those who inquire that sorry, but no, there is no room for another family today either, but hopefully there will be soon.
Most migrant shelters that operate in transit countries like Mexico have something in common: they are run by either secular civic organizations or religious groups. “Countless individuals perform duties that should fall to negligent States, through volunteer work, with limited resources and without receiving a salary, shouldering the personal consequences this entails.” Being in the company of people who have endured losses and violence takes a psychological and emotional toll.
Volunteers conduct integrative community therapy with migrants at CAFEMIN facilities. Photo courtesy of Samantha Hernández Cerón
“This shelter is a heart. You have to take its pulse constantly. Volunteers come with the best intentions in the world, but they don’t have access to psychological or therapeutic support before, during or after their shifts; we don’t have the resources to offer it,” says Samantha Hernández Cerón, a communications and outreach coordinator and assistant to the director of CAFEMIN. “The first day they walk out crying; many break the first week, because the brutality of the violence inflicted on the bodies of migrants has intensified.”
The violence that Samantha refers to increased under Mexican president Felipe Calderón, whose administration militarized public safety toward the end of 2006, using the alleged war against drugs as justification. The situation has grown worse in the last five years due to the tightening of migration control within Mexican territory, per a demand from the U.S. government, accepted by current president Andrés Manuel López Obrador, to prevent migrants from reaching the border between the two countries.
‘It is important that, from the beginning, volunteers understand that there is life here and that people are more than catastrophes.’
The increase in migrants from Haiti and Venezuela arriving in Mexico, the obstacles to crossing the U.S. border, and the COVID-19 pandemic have resulted in masses of people in transit and a sustained increase in asylum requests in Mexico City. The Mexican Commission for Refugee Assistance received nearly 30,000 requests for asylum in the country’s capital in 2023, more than double the number that it fielded in 2022. The situation has created greater need at the 12 migrant shelters throughout the city, but CAFEMIN, by far, receives the largest number of people. They do so without belonging to any government initiative, which does not exist. Volunteers address the tragedy and the pain the migrants bring with them, and it often blows up in their faces.
In 2023, the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) in Mexico issued a statement recommending that the Mexico City government open additional shelters that are safe and provide basic services. The international agency emphasized that such care is primarily provided by civil society, particularly shelters, which it considers the “backbone of the humanitarian response.” This effort falls upon Nederith, Jaqueline, Jonny, Radharani — the volunteers at CAFEMIN — as well as all the other volunteers at this and all migrant shelters in Mexico.
Volunteers work together to serve meals to migrants at CAFEMIN. Photo courtesy of Samantha Hernández Cerón
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Nederith Tercero, international relations specialist, 26. Volunteer for six months:
“I had no idea what I would be facing. Then, they had me work with children. They were really young; they didn’t even know how to hold a crayon. It has been the most beautiful and enriching experience I have had so far. But out of everything I’ve experienced here, what touched me the most has been a story I heard from a young Colombian girl who is the same age as my niece. I remember when I left here that Saturday, I took the Metro and cried; knowing this young girl no longer wanted to live shattered me. I was looking forward to seeing her the following week. When I found out she had left, I was deeply hurt. The only way I can handle it is talking about it at home and writing about it, to understand that it was beyond my control. The only thing I was able to give that young girl were a few hours of drawings, of laughter, of listening to her. Every chance I get, I pray for her. And every Saturday, her name comes to mind and I say, ‘It’s for all those kids and it’s for her. I do it for her.”
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CAFEMIN opened its doors in 2012 in an expansive three-story building in the borough of Gustavo A. Madero. Its facade is covered in colorful murals and features a white gate out front. Behind the murals, hundreds of people from more than 20 countries, who speak six different languages, find refuge. All of them hope to get to the United States sooner or later. In 2023, the overcrowded shelter received an average of 500 people per day, five times its actual capacity, which is between 80 and 100 people.
‘Of course, civil society will change the world, but only if it is politicized. My aspiration is to have a politicized volunteer corps, a critical volunteer corps.’
The Congregation of the Sisters of St. Joseph, led by Sister Magda Silva, conceived of CAFEMIN as a space for women, migrant youth and refugees, offering stays ranging from a month to a year. There, they are given food, medicine, clothes and legal and psychosocial assistance, in addition to training to start their own businesses or to work. While there is no limit on how long they can remain at the shelter, people who arrive are truly desperate to get to the northern border, Samantha explains. “There are very, very few who wish to stay (in Mexico City),” she adds. Those who stay do so because their psychosocial health is deeply affected or because they are pregnant women.
With a smile on her face, the coordinator takes a walk round the shelter’s interior: the kitchen, where a group of young migrants learns how to bake bread; the dormitories, under lock and key during the day; and the courtyard, where a pair of volunteers set up activities for the children. What one learns here, she says, is not taught in universities: “Here, the analytical perspective (statistical measurements) of the researcher don’t help. This is about establishing closeness and listening.”
Children participate in activities organized by CAFEMIN volunteers. Photo by Rafael Esteban Ruiz Blancas/CAFEMIN
Samantha was 21 and pursuing a degree in Latin American Studies when she began working at the shelter; that was 11 years ago. She knows the internal working of this place as well as anyone, and understands that the material and human resources are not enough to address every need. That’s why, without having an official title, in practice, she has spent years coordinating volunteer work: a hundred people, 90% of them women; the shelter’s engine and heart.
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Jaqueline Quintana, international relations specialist, 26. Volunteer for five months:
“It’s really hard, but when I was working with the teenagers, I saw another perspective. I really enjoy doing crafts, and once, a girl, who was around 13, told me: ‘Teacher, I want to make a butterfly.’ I started searching so that, the following Tuesday, I could show up with the butterfly, right? I got there and we made it. When she finished, she was the happiest girl and her joy was infectious for all of us.”
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It’s no coincidence that, when a volunteer arrives at CAFEMIN, their first stop is the courtyard: the place to watch and learn. Above it is the crafting workshop with its sewing machines, the classrooms where children take classes that span various grades, the classroom for teenagers – which is off-limits to adults — a computer room and a garden on the roof where migrants farm. The courtyard is the heart of the shelter. It is surrounded by walls adorned with colorful murals: migrants crossing the Darien Gap from Venezuela, guided by Mary, Joseph and Jesus; Our Lady of Guadalupe; children’s hands alongside the phrase “upon a train, dreams travel, unafraid to cross borders.” And, within these walls, the courtyard encompasses dozens of mattresses stacked against a wall, the stage where volunteers create large-format drawings, the tables and chairs where men and women wait for mealtime, and the area where children run, play, and spend time just being children.
Migrants participate in a craft activity organized by CAFEMIN volunteers. Photo courtesy of Samantha Hernández Cerón
“It is important that, from the beginning, volunteers understand that there is life here and that people are more than catastrophes,” Samantha explains. “Of course there are smiles here, but 98% of the people who are here, have had serious crimes committed against them, and at times there are aggressors inside too. Here, we need to be mindful of what is witnessed, we need to be mindful of words; we always need more companions who are there, lending their eyes and ears, asking questions. When the situation deteriorates outside, when we know there are possible cases of trafficking, when there are aggressions or tensions with neighbors, we must mobilize volunteers: they should arrive at certain hours and be vigilant at the door so that they do not leave those people (who could be victims) outside.”
Sociologist Amarela Varela, a professor of communication and culture at the Autonomous University of Mexico City (UACM, per its Spanish acronym), and an expert in migration, believes that, given increasing needs at shelters, society urgently needs to attend to those who are making up for the State’s inadequacies and develop strategies for emotional care for workers in these places. "We need to make time to focus on their own mental health, self-care and labor rights so that (they can) intervene in these lands marked by death,” says Varela.
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Jonny Liberato, communications professional, 24. Volunteer for eight months:
“What goes on outside affects me the most. I get here and, before they open the door for me, three or four people come up to me asking if there's room, if they can come in. And then you have to answer: There's no space. It's very hard because, in here, for better or for worse, we try to create a safe space, but it's a space that can't accommodate everyone who needs it. You go to the store and see more people. You go to the ice cream shop two blocks away and see even more people. And the people never stop coming. And in here, there are still a lot of people. The only hope is thinking: "If one family leaves, another can come in.”
Migrant families relax on mats at one end of CAFEMIN's central courtyard. Photo courtesy of Samantha Hernández Cerón
Radharani Regalado, historian, 27. Volunteer for 10 months:
"The first days when I was doing social work, I heard everything. There we collect information from people and ask them questions about their journey. The first few times, I was troubled to learn about the things they go through. That they come on foot, across I don't know how many countries, crossing the Darien Gap, and they tell you as if it's normal: 'Yes, we saw corpses; yes, we saw dead people.' When I finish, I keep thinking that I do the best I can with what we have. We can't do more because there is no more financial or material support. And, well, even less from the government."
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Samantha wonders how to transition from a heartfelt approach to social justice to politicizing the work they are doing. She explains what she means by this: “That a person doesn’t come here just because it’s good to help or because we want to change the world. Because this is framed within a specific political context and there is State responsibility. Of course, civil society will change the world, but only if it is politicized. My aspiration is to have a politicized volunteer corps, a critical volunteer corps.”
In recent years, anticapitalist activists have reclaimed the term “political act,” not as an action taken by the government, but as a series of actions designed to spark change in society. “Politics is also everything that produces an impact on the community and the world we live in,” lawyer and peace activist Camila Villalobos writes in an article. The answer to Samantha's question lies in society recognizing that volunteer work, that political act with heart, is proof of the State’s shortcomings.
In a Refugee Day activity organized by CAFEMIN volunteers, migrants and volunteers placed their handprints alongside drawings created by children at the shelter. Photo courtesy of Jonny Liberato
Among nonprofit, religious, professional and other organizations that advise individuals who come into contact with victims which includes not only volunteers but also social workers and journalists, there is a basic principle: these individuals must have support groups and individual therapy. Samantha believes that the best way to protect volunteers is with access to material resources and formal administrative tools — such as contracts that provide some form of compensation for volunteers, larger teams or psychological support, among others — so that they can protect and assert their rights.
“Yes, of course, we have to take care of ourselves, but without the notion of self-care denying us the right to anger, to rage. Understanding the concept of collective responsibility is fundamental; that the aggressions that take place in social settings are the responsibility of that society; and that society as a whole is also a victim,” Samantha notes. And she concludes: “We need to create more programs specifically for strengthening civil society. Because, religious or not religious, with little that they are given, these are the people (the volunteer force) who are not going to be shaken. These are the bravest people in the country.”
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In February 2024, Samantha Hernández Cerón left CAFEMIN to work for the Network for the Documentation of Migrant Defense Organizations (REDODEM), a civil organization that consists of 24 facilities in 15 states in Mexico, and supports people in transit within said country. The network includes shelters, homes, cafeterias and organizations.
Eileen Truax is a veteran journalist who specializes in migration and politics. Originally from Mexico, in 2004 she moved to the United States, where she lived for 18 years. Her work has been published in several media outlets in the U.S., Latin America and Spain, such as La Opinión, The Washington Post, Vice, and Newsweek, among others. She’s the author of three books, the most recent We Built the Wall: How the US keeps out asylum seekers from Mexico, Central America and beyond (Verso, 2018). Eileen is content director of the Congreso Internacional de Periodismo de Migraciones, a yearly event celebrated in Spain, and she teaches courses and workshops for universities and NGOs in the Americas and Europe, including the United Nations. She’s a professor of Literary Journalism and Communication and Gender at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, where she currently lives. @EileenTruax
Wendy Selene Pérez is a freelance journalist with a two-decade career spanning various media outlets in Mexico, Argentina and the United States. Her work focuses on social justice, victims of violence, government accountability, transparency and immigration. Wendy’s articles have been featured in El País, Gatopardo, Proceso, The Baffler, Vice and Al Día Dallas/The Dallas Morning News. She has held positions such as bureau chief of CNN Mexico, editor of Domingo magazine (El Universal) and multimedia editor of Clarin.com. Previously, she served as the chief multimedia editor of the newspaper Mural (Grupo Reforma). Wendy holds a Master’s degree in Journalism from Diario Clarín-Universidad de San Andrés-Columbia University, with her thesis titled “La Tierra de las Fosas,” a data-driven journalistic investigation. She has been honored with the National Journalism Awards in Mexico (2019, 2022), the Walter Reuter German Journalism Award (2020) and the Breach-Valdez Human Rights Award (2022, 2023). @wendyselene
Nathalie Alonso is a Cuban American journalist based in Queens, New York, where she was born and raised. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications, including National Geographic, Outside, Refinery29, AFAR, and TIME for Kids. She is also the author of several forthcoming books for children, including “Hispanic Star: Sonia Sotomayor” and “Hispanic Star: Ellen Ochoa” (Roaring Book Press, 2023); “Old Clothes for Dinner?!” (Barefoot Books, 2024); and “Call Me Roberto!” (Calkins Creek, 2024). She is on the faculty for the Highlights Foundation. Since 2006, Nathalie has worked as an editorial producer, translator and reporter for LasMayores.com, the official Spanish language website of Major League Baseball. She received a B.A. in American studies from Columbia University. Learn more about her work at NathalieAlonso.com. @Nathalie_Writes