Ecuadorian Emigration

I have started posts on Ecuadorian immigration and emigration too many times to count. Several drafts sit in my queue, unfinished. They include anecdotes from taxi drivers, stories about friends who I advised not to go (and have since left), musings on the world of American ex-pats in Ecuador. The topic is so complicated that I found myself paralyzed, caught between facts and feelings.

I finally decided to start over. And to try to keep it simple.  

I'll start with the facts:

More Ecuadorians are leaving their families to immigrate to the US than ever before. 

It is hard to get reliable numbers, but US Border Patrol reported detaining 12,000 Ecuadorians at the southern border in November 2022; this is triple the number from August of 2022 and twenty times the number from one year ago.

Ecuadorians cite rising economic hardships since the COVID-19 pandemic, increasing crime and violence related to cocaine trade, and recent national strikes. My friends point to overwhelming debt as their primary motivation for leaving. 

From our tiny La Josefina (population ~400), at least 16 people have left in recent months, several of whom I have personally advised against making the trek. Several have returned, either of their own volition or because they were deported by Mexico en route.

Ecuadorian migrants are generally traveling into bordering Colombia and Panama, through the dangerous Darien Gap and then through Central America and Mexico, paying coyotes via bank deposits at various stages of the journey, usually $3000 to $8000 USD per stage. The total cost ranges between $15,000 and $40,000 USD.

For perspective, the current minimum wage in Ecuador is currently $450/month. Public school teachers  earn an average of $860/month. 

In January, an Ecuadorian woman and her five-year-old son were rescued in the Rio Grande after the child's father drowned attempting to cross the river with the boy on his shoulders.  In February, a bus containing immigrants fell over a cliff in western Panama, killing nine Ecuadorians (39 people in total).

In Mexico, drug cartels frequently extort traveling Ecuadorians on their journey northward, holding them for a period of days until additional deposits are made by family members. Most recently a group from La Josefina, had to come up with $3,000 per person to be released by the cartel.

Whereas the Biden administration made policy changes in January to reduce illegal immigration from Venezuela, Cuba, Haiti, and Nicaragua, existing treaties allow most Ecuadorians who claim asylum at the border to enter the United States after a brief period of detainment. 

Once released into the US, most Ecuadorian immigrants make their way to New York and New Jersey, where upwards of a quarter million Ecuadorians reside.

In many cases, states are sponsoring buses and/or airplanes to transport immigrants out of Texas and into their desired destination. Several of my friends have used these free tickets to get to New Jersey.

This word is out. Every single Ecuadorian I talk to about migrating he US -- and we are literally talking about this every single day --  knows that for those who arrive at the US border, after about a one to week period in detention in Texas, they will be permitted to enter the country.

Unfortunately, most of the rural Ecuadorians I know have little understanding of what awaits them on the journey, much less on their arrival to the US. None speak English. Most have never left the country, much less travelled thousands of miles across continents.  All are convinced there are jobs and opportunities, certain that the economic benefit will be worth the sacrifice.

Okay, so I admittedly inserted a few opinions/commentaries into the facts above. It was impossible not to. I apologize. 

***

Now here are my feelings:

I am deeply sad (and honestly kind of mad) that people are leaving. I remember feeling similarly in 2000 when there was an exodus to Spain during Ecuador's financial and political crisis.  Somehow this wave feels more desperate, less thought-out, and more risky; plus, as far as I can see, there is no current clear crisis. I worry, in particular, about parents leaving their children behind (many have) and the trauma of prolonged family separation. I cannot imagine leaving my kids unless I was absolutely forced to do so. 

Who am I to judge? I am a highly educated white woman of privilege and means. I hold a US passport, which grants me visa-free entrance to 144 countries in the world. I do not worry about opportunities for advancement for my children, though I do have real concerns about American society's direction and safety.

I love Ecuador. It is one of the kindest, most gentle, gorgeous, diverse, resource-filled, culturally rich, naturally gifted places I have ever been. La Josefina in particular has long held a special place in my heart: it is the river I go when I am instructed to find a place of peace in guided meditations; it contains so many people I love -- the closest thing I have ever had to an intact extended family. The land here giveth -- of bananas and yuca, oranges, feed-grass for cows. corn. The people here do not go hungry. They are also surrounded by their beloved family, a mild climate, daily afternoon football matches, and a plethora of rich cultural traditions

I don't want to romanticize life here. There is poverty. There is inequity. There is some violence, particularly in the larger cities. There are not clear paths to employment and economic opportunity, even for educated young people. There is structural racism and anti-indigenous sentiment. There is extortion. The current president is problematic. COVID was hard, really hard. The healthcare system, while offering universal care, is extremely resource-limited. Maintaining intact infrastructure of roads and electricity and potable water in a tropical country that spans the Andes is constant work.

But there is abundance in Ecuador. And what feels like limitless possibility. At least to me.

I fear for what is lost when Ecuadorians leave the only home they have ever known for the unknown promise of the "American dream" instead of staying to advocate and strive for change in their home country -- though I understand, or at least I think I do, that such work is exhausting and may seem futile. I fear that what is gained by going north is not worth the cost of what is relinquished. In particular, the loss of precious, irreplaceable time with loved ones and the unmeasurable loss of belonging. I fear for what women and other vulnerable people are subjected to on the journey and once they arrive. I fear that those who are left never recover from being left. And. finally, I fear for what immigrants encounter in our racist, unjust, unstable society, where there is no path to legality and no guarantee to respect for their common humanity.

To be sure, as the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants, I have long believed that I benefited greatly from my forbearers' suffering under not-too-different circumstances. A few years ago, when I met my Newfoundland family, the very descendants of those who stayed behind, I was filled with doubts. Was it worth it? I wonder, perhaps naively, now, is this any different? Or is this the price that immigrants pay in search of something better? And who is to say what is actually better?

***

I apologize for the messiness of my thoughts on this topic, for I know they are not perfectly articulated, and there are likely big gaps in my words and thinking. But I have been chewing on this subject matter for nine months now, and it was time to put something on paper and hit "publish".