Beyond Concrete Walls: The Hidden Barriers Facing Central American Migrants

Migration is human. It is a habit that, since the beginning of recorded history, we can verify as something inherent to our species. Generally, it has been driven by the search for better living conditions, food, or environmental circumstances. The settlement of the world itself was the result of this demographic movement, when nomadism was the rule of human communities. Over time, and despite economic and social progress and the strengthening of settlements, migration continued—and continues—to be a fundamental factor in the composition of societies. This reality is not inherently negative, except when it is driven by forces such as poverty, war, political persecution, or criminal violence. This is the current panorama in regions like the Middle East, Sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Central America. These regions share another condition: being former European colonies and being constantly judged, even though the root causes of forced migration often lie in the past decisions and actions of Europe and the United States.

Anti-migration measures have been many, one of the most controversial being Donald Trump’s attempt to build a wall to stop migratory flows. However, at a governmental and bilateral level, the United States has erected a second wall. Not a physical one, but rather a legal and diplomatic structure through the phenomenon known as the “extended border.” Through migration externalization policies, “safe third country” agreements, and financial support, Washington exerts pressure to contain the migratory waves destined for North America. At first glance, these measures may seem reasonable, but they create legal loopholes and dangerous scenarios for migrants’ human rights.

Central American migration to the United States is one of the most complex and persistent phenomena of contemporary hemispheric politics. Since the late 20th century, massive migrations from Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador—the so-called “Northern Triangle”—have been marked by high levels of violence, structural inequality, and economic crises. According to data from ECLAC, 50% of the population in these countries lives in poverty. Added to this is climate change, whose adverse effects—droughts and hurricanes—have worsened living conditions. For this reason, Washington has promoted a wide range of strategies aimed at shifting migration control southward. This “externalization of borders,” where third countries assume repressive or administrative functions that, strictly speaking, correspond to the destination state, constitutes the so-called second wall: a network of legal, diplomatic, and coercive devices that, without building physical barriers like Tijuana’s wall, create an invisible and effective fence. “Safe third country” agreements are the key legal tool of this structure, forcing people to seek asylum in the first “safe” country they cross—even if that country cannot guarantee genuine protection.

This creates tension with the principle of non-refoulement, enshrined in the 1951 Geneva Convention and reaffirmed by the 1967 Protocol, which expressly prohibits returning a refugee to a country where their life or freedom would be at risk. Shifting responsibilities onto countries with high levels of violence, such as those in Central America, directly contradicts this fundamental principle. This alone is reason enough to argue that these measures do not align with the democratic standards expected of the United States—especially at a time when migrants’ human rights are increasingly questioned and stripped of their humanity.

Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras have been transformed into human containment zones. The paradox is clear: the same nations that expel migrants now repress them in the name of policies imposed from abroad. Moreover, these countries account for 25–30% of the migrant population in the United States. They do not meet the standards required to be considered “safe third countries”: human rights are not guaranteed, their democracies are unstable, and they lack the real conditions to provide comprehensive protection for migrants. Their limited institutional capacity prevents them from processing asylum claims in an orderly and fair manner. Far from providing reasonable solutions, this deepens the problem, reproduces patterns of dependency and subordination between Central America and the United States, and externalizes responsibilities to countries that are merely transit zones, not final destinations.

The Canada-U.S. Safe Third Country Agreement (SCTA, 2004) is often cited as a precedent or justification for these measures, but even there courts have questioned its legality. In 2020, for instance, a Canadian Federal Court ruled that the agreement violated migrants’ rights by exposing them to inhumane treatment in the United States. The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights has also warned that these agreements may violate the principle of non-refoulement and the obligation to guarantee international protection—key precedents when analyzing the legality and effectiveness of such policies.

Another critical aspect is the militarization and policing that these policies have unleashed. In Mexico, the National Guard has violently repressed migrant caravans with excessive force. In Guatemala and Honduras, entire families have been arbitrarily detained and summarily deported. These actions stem from the overwhelming numbers of migrants, the lack of state capacity, and the involvement of cartels that profit brazenly from those attempting to reach the United States. Organizations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have documented multiple cases of violence against women and children, the absence of access to effective asylum procedures, and inhumane conditions in detention centers.

Recent work, such as Ruben Zaiotti’s Externalizing Migration Management: Europe, North America and the Spread of “Remote Control” Practices, shows how Central American externalization mirrors the models practiced by the European Union, particularly its agreements with Turkey and Libya, where local militias were tasked with halting migration flows to Europe, becoming passive accomplices in human rights abuses. The United States follows the same logic. At the same time, Brussels has channeled significant funds to “cooperation” programs with Central America, presented as development aid but tied to strict border and migration-control clauses. This is an investment motivated by Western interests, not by a genuine desire to improve the lives of those forced to flee. No real humanitarian programs exist to address Central America’s structural problems. The cynicism of Europe and the United States regarding human rights is staggering: they cloak themselves in the language of life and freedom, yet their actions reveal a world divided into first- and second-class citizens—those who deserve opportunities and those who do not.

The second wall is not made of concrete but of laws and agreements that, in practice, transform the right to migrate into a privilege, not a human right.