Increasing Number of Migrants Risk Dangerous Journeys to Self-Deport

Around 40 individuals boarded a boat on Panama’s Caribbean coast, carrying their belongings wrapped in garbage bags and holding their children tightly as they prepared for a challenging voyage.

These migrants were not defying U.S. authorities by heading north; instead, they were returning to Venezuela—doing precisely what U.S. officials encouraged—even though it meant confronting renewed risks of robbery, kidnapping, and a dangerous journey.

Junior Sulbarán described the experience as a “shattered dream.” Like many others, he had fled Venezuela the previous year, traveling thousands of kilometers with his young daughter through the treacherous Darién Gap rainforest.

Sulbarán and his family reached Mexico City before the start of President Donald Trump’s second term and soon heard the government’s message loud and clear. Kristi Noem, then Homeland Security Secretary, warned in a White House video in February: “If you are thinking about entering the United States illegally, don’t even try. If you come to our country and break our laws, we will pursue you.”

There is no clear data on how many migrants have chosen to leave the U.S. or abandoned attempts to enter, though migration at the southern border had already declined sharply prior to Trump’s second term.

However, a sign that some migrants are returning to South America is reflected in more than 10,000 people—almost all Venezuelans—traveling by boat from Panama to Colombia since January, according to Panamanian officials who report weekly departures are increasing.

While this number is small compared to the hundreds of thousands of Venezuelans who entered the U.S. and Mexico in recent years, the growing boat route back to South America indicates that the U.S. government’s tough policies are having an impact, according to migrants, officials, and human rights groups.

“The world is receiving our message that U.S. borders are closed to those who break the law,” said Tricia McLaughlin, a spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security. “Migrants are now turning back even before reaching our borders.”

For those already inside the U.S., she added, “voluntary departure with a payment of $1,000 is an easy option,” referring to the government’s offer of “voluntary self-deportation.”

Despite official claims of success, experts warn that many migrants face numerous obstacles to returning home, making it extremely difficult even for those willing to go back.

“They are trapped wherever they are,” said Juan Cruz, who served as the lead advisor on Latin America during Trump’s first term. He noted that many migrants live in poverty, carry debt, and lack travel documents. Venezuelans also face a hostile government at home toward those who left for the U.S.

Cruz suggested that while the U.S. administration may not be concerned about how migrants return home, ignoring the barriers they confront “is not the way to encourage more departures.” “They have nothing working in their favor.”

Among those leaving, Venezuelan migrants particularly feel targeted by the government, which recently ended deportation protections and sent hundreds of men accused of gang affiliation to prisons in El Salvador.

In Texas, buses heading south are filled with Venezuelans fearful of being detained due to their tattoos or separated from their children. In Mexico, a desperate months-long competition exists for flights to Caracas. Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Colón, Panama, boat operators charge hundreds of dollars for passage on rickety vessels to bypass the Darién Gap back to South America.

For many Venezuelan migrants, simply boarding a plane home is not an option.

Some lack valid travel documents after years of displacement, and Venezuela’s limited consular presence makes replacing lost papers extremely difficult. Adrián Corona, a passenger on a Panama boat, said his passport had expired and his identification was lost in the Darién jungle.

He had turned back in Mexico, along with Sulbarán, his wife, and their young daughter, Samantha Victoria, who had been traveling for over a year when they returned to Panama.

“We left Santiago, Chile, passed through Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, and then entered the Darién jungle,” Sulbarán recounted of their harrowing escape from a devastated Venezuela. “We spent six days in the jungle.”

After leaving Mexico, they took buses south to Panama’s coast, wrapping their belongings in garbage bags to protect them from storms and sea spray.

“It feels like a waste of time and money,” said Josliacner Andrade, Sulbarán’s wife.

New obstacles awaited them. Panama has effectively closed the Darién Gap, aiming to assist the U.S. in curbing northbound migration and citing the crossing on foot as too dangerous.

“Since the jungle was closed, we had to take boats,” said Dayerlín Sandoval, who traveled by boat from San Antonio fearing deportation without her child.

Many Venezuelans saved for months to afford this difficult journey, which can cost a small family several thousand dollars.

Geraldine Rincón learned about the boat route through TikTok and said her mother sold a motorcycle in Venezuela to help finance the trip for her and her young children.

Each migrant pays approximately $300 to board a boat and receives a pink wristband as proof.

But the dangers continue once aboard.

The boats travel over 320 kilometers across the Caribbean, stopping at a town near the Darién before continuing to Colombia. The route sometimes passes picturesque scenes—cargo ships near the Panama Canal, palm-covered islands—but often crosses rough seas under a scorching sun.

At least one trip has ended in tragedy. In February, an eight-year-old Venezuelan boy drowned, and about 20 migrants required rescue after their boat capsized.

Migrants departing in early May feared another disaster when their boat’s propeller struck a reef near a migration checkpoint on El Porvenir island, causing a loud crack.

They managed to reach the checkpoint, where Panamanian authorities counted heads, mainly ensuring migrants continued on their route. However, about an hour later, the damaged engine gave out, leaving only one functioning motor.

The captain sought mobile phone signal to call for help while passengers endured the midday sun. The heat felt bearable when the boat moved steadily but became stifling when stalled.

Alejandra Rojas offered juice to her panting dog, Milú, who had followed her through the Darién jungle. Rojas wore a hat, but most passengers shielded their heads only with t-shirts. Two children vomited from the heat.

After 40 minutes, a rescue boat arrived, and migrants transferred children, bags, and the dog overboard before continuing through rising waves that battered the vessel.

After eight hours, the group finally reached Puerto Obaldía, a small town without roads near the Colombian border.

There, at the edge of the Darién, they faced a region where migrants have once again become an economic opportunity.

Juanita Goebertus, director of the Americas division at Human Rights Watch, noted that the remote Colombian area where the boats arrive is essentially controlled by a criminal group. Migrants understood they would have to pay locals a fortune for food, water, and a place to sleep, often in yards or on floors.

“Each migrant is like a gold mine,” said Corona. “Everyone sees it that way.”

Migrants arriving in the border town usually board transport the next day to disperse further. Those heading to Venezuela knew their families, many of whom were starving, would have little to offer.

Prepared for the worst, Sulbarán said he and his wife planned only to pick up their nine-year-old son and visit family before turning around and leaving Venezuela once again.