Undeterred by deportations, Hondurans keep coming
Honduras relies on money sent back from those who reach the U.S. and get work. But there's a huge price to pay.

By Pamela Constable, Washington Post

Last update: June 30, 2007 – 7:41 PM

TEGUCIGALPA, HONDURAS - Almost every day, another unmarked jet from Houston lands at the international airport in this Central American capital and disgorges a new batch of deportees from U.S. immigration custody. More than 1,800 last month. More than 13,700 since January.
The passengers file out uncertainly, pausing to grab the paper or plastic bags holding their few belongings, and enter a low building with a sign that says: "Welcome Home, Brothers." Those who found menial jobs in the United States say they sent far more money home than they could ever earn in Honduras, but most say they were caught within days of sneaking across the border and have returned with empty pockets. Two out of three say they intend to try again.

"I was getting older and I wanted to try once more, to help my children," said Matias Miranda, 42, an illiterate farmer who has made two attempts to enter the United States for work. "But already I am back without a single peso. All I got was this Bible, and I still have the one they gave me last time."

Illegal migration is a crucial safety valve for Honduras, a chronically poor country of 7.5 million where 40 percent of the populace earns less than $3 a day, and just over half the workforce has a sixth-grade education. Money sent directly to Honduran families from relatives working in the United States, both legally and illegally, provides nearly one-third of the national income -- $1.8 billion in 2005, $2.3 billion last year.

In 2005, 18,941 Hondurans were deported; in 2006, 24,643 were deported; and by mid-June 2007, the figure had exceeded 13,700.

The debate over immigration reform in the United States, where an estimated 12 million illegal immigrants live, has caused hope and anxiety here, because it held out both the promise of legalizing tens of thousands of Hondurans now in the United States and the threat of a harsher crackdown near the border. About 90,000 Hondurans attempt to cross it illegally each year. The Senate's defeat of a comprehensive immigration bill last week means the hope and anxiety will continue.

Meanwhile, the steady rise in deportations is met here with a mixture of alarm and relief. Officials worry that the current flow of cash remittances to families -- expected to reach a record $2.8 billion this year -- will start to lessen and that the economy will not be able to absorb a sustained influx of jobless returnees.

On the other hand, Honduran society has paid a high price for this economic antidote. Experts here say illegal immigration destroys families during long separations and lures fatherless youths to crime and gangs. It also fosters dependency on handouts from abroad and a tendency to fritter cash windfalls on luxury goods.

"Honduras today survives on remittances, but mass migration also causes enormous damage," said Julio Velasquez, an official of the Honduran National Human Rights Commission. "Those who manage to reach the U.S. can lift their families a little out of poverty, but often the families fall apart and the kids end up in gangs or on drugs."

Dario Cardona, the deputy minister of labor, said a variety of factors has contributed to the exodus. The minimum wage here is only $3.50 a day, and many Hondurans earn far less as seasonal field hands or street vendors. Although the economy is growing and inflation is down, Cardona said, progress has been hampered by corruption, poor public education and lack of investment.

"The poor who leave subsidize the poor who stay," he said. "Depending on other countries is a short-term help for us, but it is not a long-term solution. Our country is exporting its youth and its labor force, and after a few years many of them come back with nothing."

Some look sullen with failure or haggard with exhaustion; others grin and whoop with defiant relief. A few young men with tattoos, possible signs of gang membership, curse at visitors. One man pulls out a snapshot of his wife and daughter, left behind when his factory was raided in New Jersey. Another complains angrily that his landscaping boss in Texas betrayed him to avoid paying his salary.

"I not criminal guy," says Santos Canales, 30, struggling to explain himself in English. "I work hard. I have wife and five kids. The boss know I am illegal. I ask for my money. He call police, not pay me."

In the next room, immigration officials call the deportees one by one for brief interviews. They answer two pages of questions that provide revealing profile of the motives and fortunes of many illegal migrants from Central America. Among the questions:

How many times have you been deported? Many say twice, some say more. Are you planning to go back? Many in their 20s and 30s answer yes; most in their 40s and 50s shake their heads and say no.

"For me, it was definitely worth it," says Hidalgo Fuentes, 30, who quit his local factory job and was caught in May trying to reach Missouri on a cargo train. "Here, the best I can earn is about $30 a week. The last time I went north, I earned $500 a week washing dishes, and my family was able to build a house."

Asked if he expects to try again, he just smiles.

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