TIME Magazineのインスタグラム(time) - 3月11日 00時40分

Remittances from former villagers helped Carlos scratch out a living in San Francisco de la Paz, a valley outpost ringed by lush hills in the lawless “Wild East” of #Honduras. But, making $13 a day as a construction worker, he could barely afford to take care of his wife and daughter. Plus, street violence hit too close to home a few years ago, when a cousin was murdered by suspected drug traffickers. Last year, the 25-year-old did what most Hondurans do when it’s time to get out: he approached one of the three local smugglers, who gave him a price: $7,000 to cross the Rio Grande and seek asylum—but only if he took his little girl and they surrendered to the U.S. Border Patrol on the other side. Otherwise it would cost $10,000 to traverse Mexico and then evade a gauntlet of law enforcement at the border and the interior checkpoints beyond. Unlike the attention-grabbing caravans that have been making their way to Tijuana, the movements of migrants who hire smugglers—and most migrants do—are not tracked by media outlets or in @ドナルド・トランプ’s Twitter feed. Like Carlos (a pseudonym) and Heyli, they slip through Mexico with smugglers, known as coyotes, who bribe cartels and corrupt cops and immigration agents along the way. The money that desperate people are willing to scrape together to get to the U.S. has turned humans into commodities that pay their own freight. It’s a system that runs on people like Carlos and his family, who are willing to carve up their meager assets to pay off a sophisticated network of smugglers, cartels, stash houses, drivers and lookouts. “It’s like a cake,” a coyote who goes by the nickname Sultan said in an interview. “Everyone gets their little piece.” Read more at the link in bio. Photograph by @veronica_g_cardenas for TIME and @texas_tribune

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