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This interview took place over several months. Each question was asked and answered in separate encounters.
In an era where the lines between truth and fiction blur with unsettling ease, it becomes imperative for journalism to dive deeper, to seek out the stories that lie in the shadows of our daily discourse. I, found myself embarking on such a journey, a venture into the complex and often dark world of human smuggling across the U.S.-Mexico border. This story, a product of months of investigation, seeks to peel back the layers of a network that operates with chilling efficiency and audacity.
What propelled me into this investigation was a series of whispers and rumors, tales of a vast operation moving humans across borders as if they were mere commodities. It began several months ago after a significant shift in national dialogue and perception of these desperate people. It was a time of change, confusion, and, for some, opportunity. It became apparent that amidst this turmoil, stories were emerging—stories of people risking everything for a chance at something more and of those willing to exploit that desperation for profit.
Why this story? Because beneath the statistics and political rhetoric lie human stories—of hope, despair, and the unyielding desire for a better life. It’s a narrative that extends beyond borders and barriers, touching on the universal quest for dignity and safety.
How I got this story was a testament to the enduring power of journalism and its ability to give voice to the voiceless. Through encrypted messages, covert meetings, and the trust of those living in the shadows, I could piece together the workings of a cartel smuggler who sees himself as untouchable, a figure moving in a world beyond the reach of law and morality. Speaking under the cloak of anonymity, this individual provided a rare glimpse into an operation that is both highly organized and ruthlessly efficient, revealing not just the mechanics of smuggling but the human cost it exacts.
This article is not just a recounting of illicit activities; it explores the broader implications of human smuggling on individuals and societies. It’s a call to look beyond our preconceptions and understand the factors driving this shadow economy—a reflection on policy’s role, misinformation’s impact, and the enduring power of hope. As I delve into this conversation with a self-described untouchable smuggler, we confront the uncomfortable realities of a challenge that remains at the forefront of international discourse.
Note: In return for the smuggler speaking with me, I agreed not to use any of his personal vernacular or give away his identity at all; I can say that he speaks English as many do and is profoundly smart. I was genuinely surprised by his grasp of business as my image of a smuggler was not this man.
Join me on this journey as I explore the depths of a crisis that continues to shape lives and challenge our understanding of justice, humanity, and the laws that bind us.
Me: Let’s start from the beginning. How did you get into this line of work?
Smuggler: Ah, Sir, it’s like any other job, you know? You find a niche, a demand, and you fill it. In my case, the demand was people’s desperation to cross the border. And well, I became quite good at making that happen.
Me: There’s talk that U.S.-based NGOs are inadvertently helping your business by spreading messages of an open border. What’s your perspective?
Smuggler: Honestly, Sir, they might as well be on our payroll. With all the chatter about open borders and welcoming new arrivals, they’re doing half our job for us. We just amplify what they’re saying, and people come to us, wallets in hand, ready to believe the bull shit we’re selling.
Me: And what about the Biden administration? There are whispers about a tacit understanding between the cartels and the U.S. government.
Smuggler: Let me put it this way—their policies, or lack thereof, make our operations smoother than ever. Direct talks or not, the message we receive is clear: keep doing what you’re doing. It’s business as usual but with even less worry.
Me: Your operation is quite profitable, making close to $100,000 a month for the cartels. Yet, the human toll is undeniable. How do you justify this? Justify?
Smuggler: It’s simple economics, Sir. There’s a market, and we supply it. People are desperate to cross; we provide a service. It’s not about justification; it’s about opportunity. And as cold as it sounds, every business has its costs.
Me: Many Americans seem unaware of the true scale of this operation. Why do you think that is?
Smuggler: Unawareness is a choice, Sir. With millions crossing under their noses, how can they not know? But it’s easier to ignore, to pretend it’s not happening. Why should they care if it doesn’t disrupt their daily lives?
Me: You come across as very confident, almost as if you believe you’re beyond reach. But what if things change? What if the administration takes a harder stance?
Smuggler: Change is the only constant, Sir. If the wind shifts, we’ll adjust our trails. This business is resilient and adaptable. There will always be people wanting to cross, and as long as there’s demand, we’ll find a way to supply.
Me: With such a vast network at your fingertips, I’m curious about the broader perspective. How do the cartels, governments, and people of Central and South America currently view America, especially in light of these smuggling operations?
Smuggler: Ah, Sir, you’re touching on something profound here. The view from down here? It’s that America is a giant with clay feet—powerful, yes, but stumbling over its policies and politics. There’s this perception that America, for all its might, can’t seem to manage its backyard. The cartels see it as an opportunity, a ripe fruit for the picking. Governments? Some may publicly decry the smuggling, but it’s an open secret that more than a few see the migrants as problems exported, not solved.
And the people, the millions looking northward? They see a land of promise but also a country so tangled in its internal debates that it can’t effectively guard its own gates. To them, America’s beacon of freedom seems to flicker—not from a lack of power, but from a lack of resolve to use it wisely.
You talk about 10 million migrants, Sir, but let me tell you, that’s just scratching the surface. There are at least another 2 million you haven’t even heard about. These are the shadows within shadows, moved through networks so deep and dark that even the keenest eyes can’t catch them all. It’s a testament not just to our reach but to the sheer scale of demand for what we offer.
So yes, America appears weak, not for lack of strength, but because its heart and its policies pull in different directions. And in that disarray, we find our stride. It’s a golden age for us, Sir. And as long as America remains house-divided, the business will continue to boom.
Me: With all this said, with the risks and the human cost involved, do you find it easy to sleep at night? How do you justify your work to yourself?
Smuggler: Sleep? Like a baby, Sir. You see, in my line of work, you learn to see the world a bit differently. Justification? It’s simple. I provide a service, a means to an end. People want to cross; I make it possible. It’s a basic supply and demand, and in this equation, I’m just a facilitator.
You might see it as exploiting desperation, but I see it as fulfilling a need. These people are determined to cross with or without my help. If I didn’t do it, someone else would—probably with less regard for their safety. I’m not the cause of their desperation; I’m a response to it.
In a way, I consider myself a realist. I recognize the world for what it is, not what it should be. Borders are man-made, Sir. The desire to seek a better life, to escape poverty or violence, is as natural as breathing. Who am I to deny that instinct?
So, how do I justify my work? I look at the results. I see families reunited and people starting anew. Yes, the journey is perilous, and not all stories have happy endings, but that’s a reflection of the world, not my business.
In the end, I sleep soundly because I know the world is not black and white. It’s a complex web of choices and consequences, and in this web, I’ve found my place. My conscience is clear because, in my eyes, I’m navigating the grey as best I can.
Me: For those looking to make the journey, what kind of financial commitment are they looking at? How much does it cost to get across the border with your help?
Smuggler: The cost? It’s not cheap, Sir. Prices range from $1,000 to $10,000, depending on a lot of factors. Distance, risk, how fast they want to move—everything comes with a price tag.
You see, $1,000 might get you the most basic package—over land, plenty of walking, and no guarantees. But if you’re looking at $10,000 or more, we’re talking about a more premium service. Maybe less time in the desert, a bit more comfort, perhaps even a guide who speaks your language.
It’s a tiered system, much like any business. You pay for the level of service you expect. But make no mistake, even at the lower end, it’s a lucrative operation. And for many of these people, it’s the savings of a lifetime, the investment in a dream. They’re not just paying with their wallets; they’re paying with their hopes, their futures.
Me: Considering the scale and nature of your operations, I’m curious about the personal benefits. How has your work impacted your life and your family’s?
Smuggler: Well, Sir, it’s as direct as it gets. My work is the reason my family eats well, lives in a house that’s more than just a shelter, and why my son, believe it or not, is getting a college education. It’s this work that’s paved the path for a future I never had a shot at when I was his age.
You see, in my world, opportunities are rare, and when one comes knocking, you don’t question its morality; you embrace it. This job has given me the means to provide for my family in ways I never thought possible. They live in safety, away from the violence and poverty that mark the lives of so many around us.
My son is going to college? That’s the real dream come true. He’s studying to be a lawyer—imagine that. A kid from my background, with a father in my line of work, aiming to defend the law. It’s ironic, sure, but it’s also a testament to what I’ve been able to achieve through this work.
So, how do I benefit? Every night, when I see my family safe and sound, living a life far removed from the dangers and uncertainties of my own upbringing, that’s my benefit. It’s not just about the material gains; it’s about breaking a cycle and offering my son a future I could only dream of. That’s my justification, my peace of mind. That’s how I know that despite the darkness of my profession, I’ve managed to light a candle for the next generation.
Me: You’ve mentioned the relentless demand driving your operations. Can you elaborate on why so many people are leaving their home countries for America?
Smuggler: The answer’s simpler than you might think, Sir. It’s the allure of the American Dream—welfare, free stuff, better medical care, more of everything. The promise of America, in their eyes, equates to free money and a life of ease. It’s a powerful story, one that’s been romanticized and broadcasted far and wide, drawing people like moths to a flame.
They’re sold on the idea that to be American is to have made it, to have access to endless opportunities and resources. And sure, who wouldn’t want that? Especially when compared to the hardships and limitations they face at home. It’s a beacon of hope, however misguided it might be.
By the time they realize the reality might not match the dream, my part’s done; I’ve been paid. It’s a cycle fueled by desperation and dreams. And as long as that dream persists, as long as people believe America holds the key to a better life, they’ll keep coming.
It’s not my job to correct their misconceptions. I’m just the conduit to what they hope will be a new beginning, however illusory that may be.
Me: Some might say you’re portraying yourself as a sort of modern-day Robin Hood or an Avenger, redistributing opportunities. How do you respond to that? Are you an Avenger or a Robin Hood, or is there another term you’d prefer?
Smuggler: Ah, Sir, the romantic notions of Robin Hood and Avengers make for a good tale, but let’s be clear—I’m neither. This isn’t about taking from the rich to give to the poor or fighting some grand injustice with a quiver and arrows or a superhero suit. What I am is an entrepreneur. This is a business, plain and simple. I’ve found a demand in the market, and I supply it. It’s about economics, opportunity, and, yes, survival.
Don’t get me wrong—I understand the appeal of framing it as a battle against the odds, a narrative where I’m helping the underdog. But romanticizing it misses the point.
It’s not about heroics; it’s about pragmatism. I provide a service, and for that service, I am compensated. My clients want a better life, and I offer them a pathway, albeit a risky one, to potentially achieve it.
Calling myself an entrepreneur might seem cold in the context of human lives, but it’s the most accurate description. Like any business, there are risks, costs, and rewards.
My family’s well-being, the roof over our heads, the education of my son—that’s the return on investment.
So, no, I’m not an Avenger or a Robin Hood. I’m someone who saw an opportunity in a flawed system and took it. I’m navigating the complexities of supply and demand in a world that’s far from black and white. That’s the reality of it, Sir. It’s business, it’s entrepreneurship, and in this line of work, the stakes are undeniably high.
Me: With Texas tightening its border security, has this affected your operations significantly?
Smuggler: Texas closing down? That’s just a hiccup for us. We’re not tied to one route; flexibility is key in this business. We shifted our focus to Arizona. There’s an Indian reservation there—a sort of no-man’s-land for law enforcement. It’s easier than you’d think, and the local communities they’re part of this world, too. Then there’s California—always open, always looking the other way. It’s business as usual, Sir.
But before we wrap up, there’s something I need to get off my chest. You’ve been a good listener, and I feel it’s only right you know this. Recently, we moved a group that… let’s just say they were different. Middle Eastern guys, none speaking English or Spanish. The job was clear: get them across, no questions. But these men, they were not like anyone I’ve dealt with before. I saw them kill a goat with their bare hands, tearing it apart as if it were nothing. In all my years, nothing has chilled me to the bone like that. They were a different breed of danger.
So, while the routes and methods might change, the essence of what we’re dealing with here—is evolving, becoming more unpredictable and more perilous. I thought I’d seen it all, but this… This is a whole new level of darkness. Be careful out there, Sir. This world is not just about seeking a better life anymore. There’s something else moving in the shadows.
In our final exchange, the conversation veered into the realm of politics, touching upon the implications of U.S. presidential elections on smuggling operations. His parting words offered a glimpse into the pragmatic, albeit cynical, perspective that underpins his line of work.
Me: Last question: I’m curious about your view on the upcoming U.S. presidential election. Do you or your business partners have a preference for who wins?
Smuggler: Honestly, Sir, it doesn’t much matter to us who sits in the Whitehouse. Our business endures and adapts—it’s resilient to the changing tides of politics.
But, if you’re asking for a personal take, a Biden win does make my life a bit easier. The policies and the rhetoric are more conducive to our operations, smoother, you might say.
But is Trump returning? Sure, it might tighten things up and create a few more hoops to jump through, but is it bad for business? Hardly. You see, the demand for what we supply is unyielding; it’s driven by forces far beyond the reach of any one administration. Your government, with its inefficiencies and distractions, can’t fully stem the tide. There’s too much appetite—both for the drugs we sometimes ferry and for the dream of a better life that keeps people coming.
He concluded with a note of caution, perhaps the closest thing to the sentiment that our conversations had ever veered towards: “Be safe out there, Sir, and take care.” It was a reminder of the complexities and contradictions that define the human smuggling trade—an enterprise that thrives in the gaps left by policy, poverty, and unfulfilled promises.
Final Word:
As I reflect on the series of conversations that unfolded over these past months with the smuggler, I find myself navigating a complex tapestry of emotions and insights. This journey into the heart of human smuggling has been illuminating, disturbing, and, at times, profoundly unsettling. What began as an investigation into the mechanics of illegal border crossings has evolved into a deeper exploration of the human condition, the forces that drive us, and the lengths to which people will go in pursuit of a better life.
What I’ve learned is that the world of smuggling is not black and white. It’s inhabited by individuals who see themselves not as villains but as service providers in a market driven by desperation and aspiration. The smuggler, with his pragmatic approach to life and survival, embodies the paradoxes at the heart of this shadow economy. His narrative forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about inequality, opportunity, and the indomitable human spirit.
For my readers, this article offers a glimpse into a reality that is often hidden in plain sight. It’s a call to look beyond the headlines and the political rhetoric to understand the underlying human stories. The motivations of those who risk everything for a chance at something better are not so different from our own desires for security, prosperity, and a future for our children. At the same time, the smuggler’s candid insights remind us of the complexities and moral ambiguities that define the issue of migration.
This story is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the enduring appeal of the American dream, and the shadowy networks that thrive on the margins of our society. It’s a reminder that behind every illegal crossing, there’s a web of hopes, fears, and, ultimately, people—people who are more than just statistics or political talking points.
As I close this article, let us carry forward the understanding that the issue of human smuggling and migration is not just a matter of border security or immigration policy; it’s a deeply human issue, demanding empathy, comprehensive understanding, and concerted action. Our engagement with this topic should not end with the turn of a page or the click of a button. Instead, let it be a starting point for deeper reflection, dialogue, and, hopefully, solutions that honor the dignity and aspirations of all individuals.
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