As Chile’s presidential run-off election looms on December 14, 2025, a sense of mounting anxiety and uncertainty grips the country’s large undocumented migrant population. Along the sun-baked desert border with Peru, dozens of migrants—many from Venezuela—line up under the relentless heat, desperately searching for a way out before a potential political sea change upends their lives. The reason for their urgency? Far-right presidential candidate Jose Antonio Kast, now the frontrunner, has pledged to expel hundreds of thousands of undocumented migrants if elected, a promise that has sent shockwaves through migrant communities and ignited a regional humanitarian dilemma.
According to reporting by The Economic Times and AFP, the number of undocumented migrants in Chile has soared from an estimated 10,000 in 2018 to roughly 330,000 by 2024, with Venezuelans making up the majority. Many of these migrants, having fled turmoil and hardship in their home countries, now find themselves caught in a cruel bind: facing the threat of mass deportation in Chile and closed borders to the north.
“Kast said he was going to remove foreigners who have not been regularized,” explained Milbayajaira Rivas, a 56-year-old nurse from Venezuela, in an interview with AFP. For Rivas and countless others, the prospect of forced removal is terrifying—not just for themselves, but for their children and families who have started to build lives in Chile.
For those seeking an escape, neighboring Peru might seem like an obvious choice. But on November 28, 2025, the Peruvian government declared a state of emergency along its border with Chile, stepping up military surveillance to block migrants from crossing. Peruvian Foreign Minister Hugo de Zela was unequivocal: Peru would not accept any more irregular migrants. “Peru doesn’t want any more Venezuelans,” Rivas lamented. “We don’t know what we’re going to do.”
The border crackdown is not without precedent. In April 2023, Peru enacted a two-month state of emergency along the same stretch, responding to a surge in undocumented crossings—again, mostly Venezuelans. This time, however, the sense of urgency is heightened by the political climate in Chile and the scale of the potential exodus.
At the border, the humanitarian situation is growing increasingly dire. Peruvian police stationed in the desert offer water to migrants to help them cope with the searing heat, but they remain firm in denying entry. Stranded on the Chilean side, families and individuals face not only the physical challenges of the harsh environment but also the psychological toll of uncertainty and fear.
Diego Paco, the regional governor of Chile’s Arica border area, voiced his concern to AFP about the welfare of those stuck in limbo. “Among these 100 people, there are children. There are people who could get sick from how cold it gets at night,” he said, highlighting the vulnerability of those exposed to the desert’s dramatic temperature swings.
Despite their undocumented status, migrants in Chile have been able to access health services and enroll their children in public schools—a lifeline for many. Yet, the increasing visibility of migrants has sparked tensions within Chilean society. Some residents blame the influx for a perceived rise in crime, even though Chile remains one of the safest countries in the region by most measures. The debate over migration has become a political flashpoint, with Kast capitalizing on public unease to bolster his campaign.
For migrants like Billy Gonzalez, a 48-year-old optical technician from Venezuela, the situation is especially frustrating. “I understand that criminals have come from my country, but so have good people who just want to work,” Gonzalez told AFP. Facing the threat of deportation, he offered a practical—if desperate—solution: “At least bring us a bus, let everyone pay for their own ticket and take us to Ecuador so we can continue on the route to Venezuela.” His words reflect both the resilience and resignation of many migrants caught between inhospitable borders and political promises.
Chile’s migration story is not unique in Latin America. Regional instability, economic hardship, and political crises—particularly in Venezuela—have driven millions to seek better lives elsewhere. Chile, with its relative stability and economic opportunities, became an attractive destination. But as the numbers swelled, so did political and social tensions. The current crisis at the border is the latest flashpoint in a broader debate about national identity, security, and humanitarian responsibility.
Peru’s hardline stance, as articulated by Foreign Minister Hugo de Zela, reflects a growing fatigue among transit and destination countries in the region. With resources stretched thin and public opinion turning, governments are increasingly resorting to militarized responses. The humanitarian cost, however, is borne by the migrants themselves—many of whom are families with young children, elderly relatives, and few resources. The image of border police handing out water but refusing passage captures the paradox facing policymakers: compassion at the margins, but closed doors at the gates.
The upcoming Chilean election has become a referendum not just on migration, but on the country’s broader social compact. Kast’s tough rhetoric on law and order has resonated with segments of the electorate concerned about crime and cultural change. Yet, as The Economic Times notes, Chile remains one of the safest countries in the region, complicating claims that migration is driving a crime wave. The reality, as ever, is more nuanced: while some migrants have run afoul of the law, the vast majority are seeking work, stability, and a future for their children.
For now, the fate of thousands hangs in the balance. As the presidential run-off approaches, migrants along the Chile-Peru border wait—some with hope, others with despair—for clarity on what comes next. Will the new government follow through on mass deportations? Will regional neighbors offer refuge or reinforce their borders? And what of the children, shivering in the desert night, whose only crime was to dream of a better life?
In the end, the story unfolding at Chile’s northern border is not just about politics or policy. It’s about people—families, workers, and dreamers—caught in the crosshairs of history. Their journey, fraught with risk and uncertainty, is a stark reminder of the human stakes behind the headlines and the choices that will shape the region for years to come.