Before dawn broke on October 1, 2025, the streets of Tapachula, a bustling city near Mexico’s southern border with Guatemala, came alive with the footsteps of about 1,200 migrants. Their destination: Mexico City. Their goal? To finally legalize their immigration status and find the work opportunities that have eluded them for months—sometimes even years—of waiting in limbo near the border. For many, the journey north is less about reaching the United States and more about escaping the bureaucratic bottleneck and economic stagnation that have defined their lives in southern Mexico.
According to the Associated Press, the majority of these migrants are Cubans, but the group is a diverse tapestry that also includes people from Honduras, Ecuador, Brazil, and Haiti. Unlike the highly publicized migrant caravans of years past, which sought to cross into the United States, this cohort has a different strategy: they want to pressure Mexican authorities to speed up asylum processing and allow them to move northward within Mexico, away from the border towns where jobs are scarce and hope is even scarcer.
The current wave of migration is shaped by shifting policies and dashed hopes. Losiel Sánchez, a Cuban migrant who arrived in Tapachula with his wife in November 2024, embodies this sense of frustration and resilience. Initially, Sánchez and his wife pinned their hopes on the U.S. government’s CBP One app, a digital platform that, in theory, would have allowed them to schedule an appointment to cross into the United States, request asylum, and likely be paroled while their case unfolded. But as reported by AP, that path was abruptly closed when former U.S. President Donald Trump ended the CBP One program, leaving tens of thousands of migrants stranded and uncertain about their next steps.
With the U.S. option off the table, Sánchez made the difficult decision to stay in Mexico and seek asylum there. Yet, despite numerous visits to Mexico’s asylum agency—known as Comar—he and his wife are still waiting for an answer about their status. The process, he says, is riddled with obstacles and pitfalls. In one particularly painful episode, Sánchez was scammed by someone posing as a lawyer who promised to expedite their case for a fee. “Everything is expensive and I can’t pay rent,” Sánchez told reporters. “There’s no work, they don’t want to give you work if you don’t have papers.” His words echo the sentiment of many in the group: without legal status, stable employment remains out of reach, and basic necessities like food and shelter become daily struggles.
Another migrant, Anery Sosa, has faced her own set of challenges. Also from Cuba, Sosa has been living in Tapachula for about a year. Her attempt to secure asylum was derailed when someone stole her documents—a devastating setback that has left her in bureaucratic limbo. Sosa has a daughter with a Mexican citizen and dreams of finding someone to care for her child during the day so she can work. But for now, her husband’s earnings alone are not enough to cover rent and food. “It’s very hard to survive here without papers,” she shared, a sentiment that resonates throughout the encampments and shelters of southern Mexico.
The group’s march northward wasn’t orchestrated by any single leader or organization. Instead, it was a spontaneous movement, organized through social media platforms where frustrated migrants rallied each other to take action. This grassroots approach is a testament to the growing desperation and resourcefulness of migrants who feel abandoned by both Mexican and U.S. authorities.
In previous instances, Mexican authorities have allowed such groups to walk for several days before intervening—sometimes offering help with documents or transportation. This pattern has created a kind of informal negotiation, where public demonstrations of need and determination are met with limited, often temporary, relief. The hope among the current group is that their visible, collective action will prompt officials to finally address the backlog of asylum applications and provide them with the legal status necessary to start rebuilding their lives.
The migrants’ predicament is rooted in a complex web of international policies and local realities. In the past, many would have continued northward, aiming to cross into the United States and request asylum there. But with U.S. border policies tightening and programs like CBP One suspended, more migrants are opting to seek refuge in Mexico. However, Mexico’s own asylum system is under strain, with thousands waiting months or even years for their cases to be processed. The bottleneck is especially acute in southern cities like Tapachula, where the sheer volume of applicants has overwhelmed local resources and infrastructure.
For many migrants, the choice to stay in Mexico is not so much a preference as a last resort. The promise of work and safety in the U.S. has become increasingly elusive, and for those stranded at the border, the daily grind of survival in Tapachula offers little in the way of hope. As Sánchez put it, “There’s no work, they don’t want to give you work if you don’t have papers.” This catch-22—needing legal status to work, but needing work to survive while waiting for legal status—has left thousands in a state of perpetual uncertainty.
Despite these challenges, the migrants remain determined to press on. Their march to Mexico City is both a protest and a plea: a demand for dignity, recognition, and the chance to build a better future. Whether their journey will end in success or disappointment remains to be seen, but for now, they walk together—united by a shared sense of purpose and the hope that, this time, their voices will be heard.
As the sun rose over Tapachula on October 1, the sight of hundreds of migrants moving northward was a stark reminder of the human cost of stalled policies and broken promises. For Sánchez, Sosa, and the thousands like them, the road ahead is uncertain, but the need for action is urgent. Their journey is a testament to the enduring spirit of those who, in the face of adversity, refuse to give up on the dream of a better life.