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In Nogales, Mexico: A Shift from Tourists to Deportees
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NOGALES, Mexico (CN) — Just feet from the border separating Nogales, Arizona, from Nogales, Mexico, economic vitality once thrived on tourism. On a sunny February afternoon, shopkeeper Armando Diaz reached out to passing Americans, hoping for a sale. They barely paused, a stark contrast to earlier times when the streets brimmed with tourists excited for unique finds.
Nogales features an array of shops, bars, and pharmacies tailored for American visitors. However, the once-bustling stores now face dwindling customers. “Since Trump, it’s been a lot more difficult,” Diaz lamented during an interview. He noted that while some visitors still seek dental work or medications, they are largely absent from artisanal shops. “We need them to come,” he emphasized, reflecting the economic strain in the community.
In recent years, the landscape has shifted significantly. The Arizona border has become the most frequented crossing for migrants. U.S. Customs and Border Protection recorded a staggering 250,000 migrant apprehensions in the last four months of 2024. By January 2025, that number plummeted to just 10,000, a 90% decline compared to January 2024.
Nearby, a sports complex has been converted into a shelter for deported individuals as part of the “Mexico Embraces You” initiative. Courthouse News attempted to visit the complex but security patrols by Mexico’s National Guard barred entry. The center is among nine similar facilities across Mexico, focusing on aiding deportees with job placements and social services.
Further away from the border, Casa De La Misericordia shelters migrants holding onto the hope of entering the U.S. Kevin Genchi, from Guerrero, has been residing there for two and a half months. Oscar Ledezma, alongside his family from Jalisco, fled their home due to violent threats against them. “They killed some of my cousins,” he recounted. After experiencing life in Mexico City, where danger lurked nearby, their quest for safety led them to Nogales.
Meanwhile, Jesus Marcano and Yoselin Machado, Venezuelan migrants, find themselves in a precarious situation, alternating between shelters and street corners. “Some shelters let you stay for 10 days,” Machado stated. They shared harrowing stories of navigating the treacherous Darien Gap and expressed hope for asylum opportunities under changing U.S. policies.
In the city’s center, Francisco Zamorano Beltran operates a snack cart, seemingly unfazed by the border’s impacts on the local economy. Yet his own life tells a different story; he was deported from Idaho over a decade ago. “I can try to get my papers in order,” he reflected, revealing aspirations of reuniting with family across the border.
At Green Valley Pharmacy, Monica Orozco encounters mixed sentiments from American customers. One regular asked if she harbored resentment towards them. Orozco, taken aback, clarified that politics shouldn’t bleed into personal feelings. “It has not been good,” she acknowledged, mirroring the sentiments shared by Diaz about the city’s economic struggles.
As the day faded, Diaz watched buses bringing deportees while a few tourists meandered around. “We all leave our house just trying to survive,” he stated, encapsulating the resilience of those living amid shifting borders and changing fortunes.