Chinese migrants' encounters with U.S.

border authorities were 10 times higher in 2023 than in pre-

pandemic years. The economic slowdown back home coupled with human rights concerns is prompting
many to seek new lives in America. © Reuters

THE BIG STORY

Why so many middle-class

Chinese migrants take risky,
illegal route to U.S.
Economic malaise, debt and despair push families to trek through
jungle to Mexico border

MARRIAN ZHOU, Nikkei staff writer

MAY 22, 2024 04:00 JST

SAN DIEGO -- Midnight on the remote beach of Capurgana, Colombia,

was so dark that Wang Zhongwei could not see his own hands in front of
his face. About 20 people got into a large wooden canoe as waves
battered the sand. This boat ride would take the group into the notorious
Darien Gap between Colombia and Panama, through which migrants
will trek for days in the jungle toward the U.S. border.
It was a rainy night in May 2023, and Wang, 32, tied his 14-month-old
son to his chest while his wife sat behind him. Their 7-year-old daughter
sat with her grandparents. Waves repeatedly thrust their boat meters
into the air during the two-hour journey. Wang and his wife struggled to
keep their infant's face dry with a raincoat while gripping the sides of the
boat. All passengers were soaked from head to toe.

"The boat ride took two hours, and my son cried for two hours. I was
worried that he wasn't breathing anymore when he became too
exhausted to cry," Wang told Nikkei Asia in Mandarin. "I still remember
his crying even to this day."

When Wang and his family finally reached the U.S.-Mexican

border weeks later, they were held at gunpoint by Mexican cartel
members demanding about $800 per person to pass. Migrants had to
strip to their underwear to show the gangsters they had already handed
over all their valuables before the cartel guided them to the border
crossing point.

Despite the treacherous journey, "I don't regret walking here," said
Wang. "There is no hope for my family back in China."

Migrants of various nationalities must trek through the jungles of Colombia and Mexico, often encountering
dangerous animals and gangs, to reach the U.S. border. (Photo by Wang Zhongwei)
The number of Chinese migrants crossing the U.S.-Mexico border
skyrocketed in 2023. Although the actual total is elusive, over 37,000
Chinese nationals were detained on the border with Mexico last year,
according to the U.S. Customs and Border Protection. This figure is 10
times greater than in pre-pandemic years.

Among those arriving, families with children are a particularly fast-

growing group. U.S. border patrol agents encountered Chinese migrant
families 6,645 times in the 2023 fiscal year from Oct. to Sept., and 7,081
times so far since Oct 2023, CBP data shows. That compares to
1,151 encounters in fiscal year 2022.

"Many of the Chinese migrants have had to spend an enormous amount

of money to [come to the U.S.] ... It has not gotten enough attention, but
it's a remarkable thing," Kurt Campbell, deputy secretary of state, told a
meeting of the National Committee on U.S.-China relations in April. "I
think it's fair to say the Chinese government is aware of it, probably a
little concerned by it, but I don't think they have taken steps at this
juncture to curtail it either."

Campbell said the large number of migrants, however, is "gathering

concern" in the U.S. Indeed, as the election looms in November, border
security and U.S.-China relations are shaping up to be two of the hottest
battlegrounds between President Joe Biden and his opponent Donald
Trump.

China in 2022 briefly halted cooperation with the U.S. on illegal

migration as tensions mounted but then quietly resumed repatriation
flights for illegal migrants this spring, according to the Associated Press.
The issue seems to be embarrassing Beijing and remains a source of
strain between the two countries: "China firmly opposes the U.S. side
using the issue of illegal immigration as a pretext to smear China," said a
spokesperson for the Chinese embassy in Washington on May 14.
Illegal immigrants from China try to stay warm as they are temporarily detained by the U.S. Border Patrol
in Southern California on Feb. 5, after crossing the border from Mexico. (Photo by Masahiro Okoshi)

Experts say the recent surge of Chinese nationals arriving illegally in the
U.S. paints a dim picture of their situation back home. Data compiled by
the United Nations shows that in 2022 and 2023 total annual emigration
rose to over 300,000, measured in net outflow, compared to an average
of about 190,000 annually for the decade through 2019. Emigration
plunged in 2020, when the COVID pandemic hit.

"It's very unusual for a middle-income country with positive economic

growth, which is the case for China, to have sizable illegal outflows of
population. It's just so risky to take the illegal route," said Victor Shih, a
specialist in Chinese economic policy at the University of California, San
Diego.

"So I think for them, it does show a level of desperation. It's hard to
explain from a purely economic perspective -- I think a lot of it has to do
with public policy in China," Shih added. "China has a social safety net,
but it's extremely minimal. ... If you're brought into a health catastrophe
or employment catastrophe, there's really little government resources to
help you."
Most Chinese emigrants have historically taken easier routes -- obtaining
tourist visas or enrolling at U.S. universities. But for a growing subset of
the Chinese middle class, these options are not available. Studying
abroad is expensive, and visas are increasingly difficult to obtain as U.S.-
China relations worsen. But many are willing to brave the threat of
robbery, risky boat rides, corrupt police, mudslides and potential death
in the jungle for a chance at life in America. Every migrant family has a
heart-jolting story of their own.

"My whole world was a cage"

Many Chinese families traveling through South America are like Wang's;
they once lived comfortable lives in China. After three years of China's
zero-COVID policy and the property market's collapse, business owners
and company workers are struggling to survive.

Wang's family chose to embark on the dangerous journey through

Mexico having lost all hope for their futures in China, especially for their
children.
Back in China, "You see tragedies happen around you that the news
wouldn't even mention," Wang told Nikkei. "And look at the property
crisis. A banking crisis will soon follow, and what industry can survive in
this environment?" He was referring to China's deflating property
bubble, which has been erasing the savings of many middle-class
families since 2021.

Wang Zhongwei and his family in Monterey Park, California, on April 27. The family trekked to the U.S.-
Mexico border through the jungles of South America in May 2023, in search of a new life. (Photo by Peter Y.
Pan)

Pessimism is especially rife among small business owners. Wang used to

own a garment factory in the southern industrial city of Wenzhou that
exported women's blouses to Europe, mostly France and Italy. Before the
pandemic, he had 30 to 40 workers and made about $30,000 to
$60,000 in profits every year. He and his wife lived comfortably, with a
house and cars.

But the pandemic forced Wang to close down his factory. Afterward,
Wang became burdened with debt payments.
Over a third of small businesses in China are not financially sustainable
due to problems such as insufficient cash in hand and lack of borrowing
capacity, which could impact the jobs of 18 million workers, a February
report by the Chinese Academy of Financial Inclusion at Renmin
University shows. The report was based on a survey of 2,349 small
companies, mostly in manufacturing and retail.

Families' dreams of upward social mobility are being dashed as youth

unemployment rates shoot up and the pressure to provide children with
a good education -- itself often predicated on expensive tutoring -- grows
heavier.

Shih from UCSD said that social mobility in recent years has become
increasingly difficult in China. In the 1980s and 1990s, stories of a
farmer-turned-successful businessman were not rare. Now, it is much
harder to determine one's own fate.

"For small-scale entrepreneurs, it's very difficult to get established and

thrive," Shih said. "They either have to pay enormous bribes to get in
with the government, or they're subject to all kinds of predatory
behavior."

China's post-pandemic economic slowdown has sapped the hope of many Chinese. This shopping mall in
Suzhou, in the eastern province of Anhui, sat almost empty in early May. (Photo by Wataru Suzuki)
After closing his factory in 2021, Wang became a driver on Didi
Chuxing's ride-hailing platform, where he met other drivers, many of
whom used to be entrepreneurs, "mostly in the export business," he said.
He had some savings, but the economic burden became heavier and
heavier.

"I had suicidal thoughts every day," he said. "I felt like my whole world
was a cage and there was no hope. Every little thing that happened
contributed to that -- my factory, the pandemic lockdowns -- countless
straws that fell down on me, making me feel hopeless."

Wang's older brother, who was already living in Los Angeles, told him
about the "walking route" to the U.S. Wang soon started watching
Douyin, China's short video site, and YouTube to learn how to make the
trek.

Videos of Chinese migrants who had already completed the journey gave
Wang hope that hard work could pay off for his family in America. He
learned that migrant children could go to public school in the U.S. for
free. Wang then sold his house and cars, packed all of his family's
savings and left.
Chasing hope
Pan Mengen, a 32-year-old hair salon owner from the town of Suzhou in
Anhui province, arrived in the U.S. in January 2023 with his wife, 12-
year-old daughter and 9-year-old son.

"The economy is bad, there is no concept of civil rights or freedom, my

children would be lost if they grow up in China," Pan said. "I could see
what awaits my children in their future; there would be no way for them
to rise beyond their current social class. We had to leave."

In Suzhou, Pan and his wife ran a hair salon that was well-known among
the locals, making over a million yuan ($138,914) every year before the
pandemic, according to Pan. His family lived a very comfortable life in
the third-tier city, where living expenses are much lower than in cities
like Beijing and Shanghai. In 2018, Pan was looking into the investment-
paved immigration route, particularly to countries like the U.S., Canada,
Australia and New Zealand. But the pandemic hit while his family was
preparing to move.

Pan Mengen ran a hair salon in Anhui, a town in his native China, before emigrating to the U.S. in hope of
better economic prospects. Now, he volunteers to cut hair for fellow immigrants in California. (Photo by Peter
Y. Pan)
Pan's salon was forced to close, and the family lived on savings. He
watched many of his friends go bankrupt or be forced to close their
shops to cut costs. Even though Pan's customers came back when China
reopened, he remained pessimistic.

A visit to Suzhou by Nikkei in May largely confirms Pan's version. In the

small city in the eastern province of Anhui, signs of China's economic
slowdown are everywhere. Rows of unfinished concrete buildings and
construction equipment stand quietly. A new train station opened at the
end of 2022 but showed few indications that business was booming. In
one major mall, the lights were turned off during lunchtime in some
areas that appeared to have no tenants.

In the evening, a night market becomes the city's main attraction as

vendors set up along pedestrian streets. "This is the busiest part of this
town, but look behind me," said one man selling sushi from a kiosk. The
vendor added that business has been difficult this year and pointed to an
empty store. "This place has been closed for a while but the sign is still
up because there is no one to replace it."

Pan's family lacked the money to immigrate through investment

programs and could not obtain visas. He also learned about the walking
route on Douyin and YouTube. He recognized it as a risky journey, but
one Chinese blogger's video struck him.

"[The Douyin blogger] was a guy with only one leg," Pan said. "He was
walking through the rainforest on crutches, and I thought to myself, if he
could do it, even though it is very difficult, then we could do it."

Although Pan's earnings would be considered high even in cities like

Beijing, he was afraid of eventually losing everything as politics grew
volatile and consumer spending remained weak in China.
The lack of a social safety net is a worry echoed by many Chinese
immigrants Nikkei spoke to. Both Pan and Wang said they never knew
anyone who lost their job who was able to receive unemployment checks.
Most of their friends and families do not believe in social security. What
they make is all they have. Wang thought his family might as well leave
while they still have some money to start over.

Vendors at this night market in Suzhou in China's Anhui province told Nikkei Asia that business has been
slow this year. (Photo by Wataru Suzuki)

"The total size of the official Chinese budget is a small share of its GDP
compared to most developed countries," Shih said. "But even [compared
to] a lot of the developing countries, it's small. Within that allocation, the
Chinese government puts much higher priorities on other things besides
social welfare, such as national security and internal stability."

Wang said that if China wants people to stay, it has to radically reform its
social welfare and education systems so that everybody's basic needs are
met.

"People live for hope, they need to have hope," Wang said. "Education
does not solve inequality but at least it can put people on a more equal
starting line; it gives people hope."
But there is little incentive for the Chinese government to fix this
problem, according to Shih.

"Outflow migration is kind of a safety belt for the Chinese government,"

he said. "If you don't like things that are happening in China, go ahead
and let these people leave, they're not a problem for the Chinese
government anymore."

There are some "secondary repercussions," Shih explained, such as a few

migrants becoming "politically active" overseas. "But I don't think the
Chinese government cares too much about it," he said. "It's not a
domestic threat."

Worth the risk

Without stimulus or government help, companies in post-pandemic

China have to cut costs to stay afloat, which means more work and less
pay, if not layoffs. Workers bear the consequences, and some young
workers would rather take their chances in the jungle.

Michael Yu, 33 and Dida Tan, 27 are a married couple who crossed the
border in early April. Yu was a car mechanic contracted by a state-owned
company. Tan worked at a seafood company in Nanjing. They left
because their salaries were lowered so much over the past year that they
could not afford their living expenses or mortgage payments.
A group of people, including many from China, walk along the border wall after crossing into the U.S. from
Mexico to seek asylum near Jacumba, California, on Oct. 24, 2023. © AP

"Before the pandemic, we worked overtime too but it was tolerable," Tan
said. "Now I work overtime all the time, I have no time for myself and
my salary is still decreasing, by about 70% since last October."

Yu and Tan had a friend who had already taken the walking route into
the U.S. and had told them that life is much better in Los Angeles. The
couple wanted to find better jobs, but the hope of starting a family was
the main reason they came to the U.S.

The couple paid a Fujianese "immigration agency" about $50,000 in

total to get them from Nanjing to the U.S.-Mexico border. Yu and Tan
had previously tried to go to Cairo from Hong Kong and then to Quito on
their own, but they were stopped by airlines and airport staff because
any Chinese trying to fly to Quito were suspected of illegal immigration,
they said. The agency knew which flight would allow Chinese passengers,
and using this information, they were able make the trip, according to
Tan.
Using social media platforms like Douyin, TikTok, YouTube and
Telegram, Chinese migrants have formed a river of information along
South America. Travelers ahead update those behind regarding what
works and what does not, who is trustworthy and who is not. The contact
information of snakeheads, or traffickers, is shared in message groups.

Once they have arrived in the U.S., families generally stay a short time at
a detention center, according to the Chinese migrants Nikkei Asia
interviewed. But the duration varies drastically, Yu and Tan were
released a day after arriving but Wang's mother was held for over a
month. Families, women and children are often sent to state-sponsored
hotels in San Diego. Government buses drive migrants from detention
centers to the hotel, where they wait in the courtyard to get settled.
Others, many of whom are single men, are dropped off at a
transportation plaza where they can take a bus to another city.

Chinese migrants crossing into the U.S. from Mexico warm themselves by a fire while being detained by U.S.
authorities in November 2023, in Jacumba, California. © Getty Images

On a Sunny Saturday morning in April, many recently arrived Chinese

gathered at a small plaza in Monterey Park, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Wang, now settled into his new life, had organized a volunteer event for
Chinese migrants. He was lining up people to receive donated food and
drinks. Yu and Tan came to help their friend and also enjoyed the sun
and a chat with an older Shanghainese woman who was waiting in line.
In an old office building in the plaza, Pan and a co-worker were cutting
hair for free, while a man and his son sat on the waiting chairs while
joking with Pan after their long journey through South America.

Many of those present said they had brought enough savings to buy a
used car and rent an apartment for a couple of months while they looked
for jobs. Many said their kids started attending public school for free just
as they had hoped. By using their own networks and social media
accounts, many of these migrants secured jobs, usually in the service
industry. While some have struggled, others have thrived.

Pan started working at a Chinese-owned hair salon in Irvine, an upscale

planned community in Orange County south of Disneyland. After a year
of cultivating clients through friends and social media, and with his
experience as a salon owner in China, Pan became the manager. With his
monthly earnings now exceeding $10,000, he smiles easily and says his
wife recently gave birth to another son.

The family is doing well as it waits for an immigration court date in

2026.

"This," Pan said, "is the life that I always wanted."

Additional reporting by Wataru Suzuki in Suzhou.