MSF MEXICO: Rebuilding After the Storm: The Migration That Stayed in Mexico City

On January 20, 2025, the migration landscape in Latin America changed suddenly. With a single signature in Washington, the United States ended the asylum-processing system known as CBP One.

One signature changed the course of hundreds of thousands of lives. With that announcement, about 300,000 people moved from bureaucracy to uncertainty, from a possible project to ruins. They went from walking toward the United States to starting again in Mexico, sometimes by choice but more often because there was no alternative.

This is not a new phenomenon. For years, Mexico City had already been a key point of transit and temporary stay for people trying to reach the United States. Although not everyone arrived with the intention to migrate, data from the National Migration Institute (INM), cited by Libre Expresión MX, show that the capital has gained more than ten thousand foreign residents each year since 2020, when the number was seventy thousand.

Between 2024 and 2025, the biggest jump occurred: the number rose from 114,000 to more than 190,000 people, an increase of 65 percent according to Milenio. After the policy changes, the “Mexican dream” stopped being an idea and became a reality.

Now, thousands of people are spread across new and old spaces. Some stay close to central areas where work and basic services are easier to find. Others move to the outskirts, where rent is cheaper although services are limited, creating new communities with people who had never known the Valley of Mexico.

People on the move try to become locals, and rebuilding a life from scratch comes with deep emotional cost. “The hardest moments are the special dates,” says Johnny, a 42-year-old Venezuelan man, speaking from Guadalupe Victoria Park, known as El Caballito. This space, which once became home to thousands, has been cleared by authorities repeatedly, forcing people with very little to relocate to other public or hostile areas without basic services. “When my daughter asks, ‘Dad, when are you coming?’” Johnny continues. “Now I am here, far from my family, chasing the American dream that was once my biggest goal. But that’s no longer possible. My only wish now is to see my family again.”

While MSF teams operate in twelve locations across Mexico City and the State of Mexico, reaching people who could not continue north is becoming more difficult. “After the policy changes, a new migration scenario has formed in the city,” says Jorge Martín, MSF Project Coordinator for Mexico City and the State of Mexico. “If before the idea was to stay a couple of months, get a consular appointment, and move on, now people try to find ways to work. This has many implications. Affordable housing is farther away and comes with structural gaps, and now new populations are starting again from zero. At MSF, we have to rethink our meeting points, the neighborhoods where people settle, the spaces where COMAR has offices, and many other factors.”

The strategy shows encouraging results. Between January and October 2025, MSF provided more than 20,273 direct consultations across the city, including mental health, primary health care, social work, health promotion, and cultural mediation. Cultural mediation has become especially important for reaching English- and French-speaking communities that are increasingly visible in the city.

Violence, whether as the cause of someone leaving their home country or experienced inside Mexico or along the migration route, remains a key factor. “I had to flee after what happened to me,” says Ginette at the Comprehensive Care Center (CAI), an MSF project that supports survivors of extreme violence. “One night I went to visit my mother. Three men took me to an abandoned house. They raped me there. I did not want anyone to know. I only told my mother, and she helped me leave the country.” Ginette’s story is not symbolic. It is the reality that many people endure in silence, far from being able to exercise their right to seek asylum in a safe place. Months after surviving the attack, she met MSF teams on the migration route and was referred for treatment at the CAI.

“It is a delicate moment. People want to settle and gain legal status, but as we see in many CAI cases, the trauma of displacement is not the only burden they carry,” says Joaquim Guinart, CAI Project Coordinator. “From January to October 2025, we treated 110 people in 4,250 consultations that included medical care, psychological care, and social work in an integrated, multidisciplinary approach. We know our impact is limited, because we cannot reach everyone, and their needs require long-term treatment and constant follow-up.”

Coordination between the mobile clinics and the CAI —led by Jorge Martín and Joaquim Guinart— is increasingly important. This connection is essential, because mobile clinics are not only rapid-response units but also entry points for patients who later begin treatment at the CAI.

“This joint work aims to expand access to health care for populations that face barriers,” Martín adds. “We understand that many people we meet are not only migrants but also survivors of inhumane or degrading treatment, violence, or torture who need specialized care,” Guinart explains.

While migration and internal displacement continue quietly and border crossings to the United States reach historic lows, it is crucial to understand that fewer arrivals at the border do not mean the migration crisis has ended. Instead, it has shifted inward, deepening vulnerability in places where it is often invisible. People who are now stuck in legal limbo face risks and a lack of protection that limit their access to health care and basic services. “I face a lot of racism,” says Ricardo, a Haitian migrant from Port-au-Prince who now drives a mototaxi marked with two flags, Haiti and Mexico, in Tláhuac. “Passengers often ignore me and wait for a Mexican driver. I never planned to go to the United States. I hope to return home one day, but now my partner is Mexican and I will keep working here.”

From Loss to Survival: How Yahir Escaped Gang Violence and Began Again in Mexico City

Yahir*, a survivor of extreme violence in his home country and along the migration route, shares his story of reaching safety at the Comprehensive Care Center (CAI) of Médecins Sans Frontières in Mexico City.

Driving was my first passion, learning how to drive. Then I discovered painting. Those were the only things I had, and if someone told me, “Hey, we have to go paint to this place,” even if I was tired or hadn’t slept, I grabbed my tools and went. We spent days without eating, but painting filled me.

But things changed with time. Painting cost me a lot; I lost many things, like my family and everything I owned, until I had to leave for Mexico. My goal was never to come here, like many friends who say, “Let’s go to the United States.” That wasn’t my dream. I wanted to paint, to grow as an artist, but that brought consequences: losing my two-year-old daughter, becoming an enemy of the mara, and losing everyone I loved.

It all began when they started charging me the war tax. At first, I paid, but I got tired and said no. The first time, they shot me and sent me to the hospital. I still felt angry and thought I could take revenge. But the second time, they killed my mother and my brother and sent me a message: “We’re coming for your daughter.” I never believed they would take her from me. That day I had to go paint; I said goodbye to my daughter and hugged her. When they called me, I went to see her and she was on the floor.

I felt like a coward and said: I have to leave. They left me a note saying, “You have three hours to leave the country or you’re next.” In Guatemala they threatened me again and said they would kill me. That same day, I crossed into Mexico however I could, and migration authorities detained me. They were going to send me back to Honduras, but an angel —a lawyer— told me I had rights. He offered to help me and said I would spend a month detained, but I would be released.

I spent a month and a half in immigration detention in Palenque. I didn’t care about sleeping badly, being cold, or eating poorly; I only wanted to avoid being sent back, because if they returned me, I would last half an hour or an hour before they killed me. After a month and a half, I finally left that prison. I came out crying and shouting. I went to Veracruz barefoot, with open wounds on my feet, thinking about my family, crying, exhausted. I just wanted to die. Thanks to a photographer or journalist who gave me a bottle of water and took me to a shelter, I survived. He stayed with me during the four months I was there. He bought me medicine, clothes, shoes, everything, until I received my documents. He told me, “You’re free now; they can’t deport you anymore.” But at that moment, I made the wrong decision to head to the United States.

A group of fifteen or eighteen of us left together. When we reached the border, before Ciudad Juárez, a criminal group captured us and took us to a warehouse. There I saw how they raped girls and tortured people. I thought: When is it my turn? The National Guard rescued us. Only a few of us survived, maybe four, and we were taken to a shelter where we received psychological support. That is where I met Médecins Sans Frontières. They flew me to Mexico City, and they received me with a hug. Since then, they have never left my side and have helped me with everything I needed. I feel calmer and safer here.

My fears were that they would find me and kill me or harm others. Now my fear is facing life. I am afraid of being around many people, I isolate myself, but here with MSF I feel safer. My dream is to be independent, open a candy business, remember old times, and start a painting group again. Painting has always been my passion. It fills me with joy and makes me feel humble. I remember my painter friends as my second family. When we painted together, I felt love and support. That gave me strength to continue. Even though I lost my family, they are still my strength. When I think of them, I get up and keep going.

Today, thanks to Médecins Sans Frontières, I have a job, I have received psychological support, and I feel safer. Here I found another family, a third one. When they hugged me when I arrived and told me that the plate of food and the roof were mine, I felt like my mother had given them to me. That gave me the strength to continue and to dream again.

*Name changed to protect the person’s identity.

The Comprehensive Care Center (CAI) of Médecins Sans Frontières has operated in Mexico City since 2016. It provides psychological, psychiatric, medical, social work, and health-promotion services for survivors of extreme violence in Mexico or their home countries. The goal is long-term recovery and reintegration after severe trauma that disrupted their ability to lead their lives.