31-07-2024

They Called Them Illegals, they Are People to Us. Interview with Norma Romero Vásquez

Pamela Suárez y Sandra Aguilar
Pamela Suárez: We want to bring to the attention of UNAM International readers the actions you carry out with migrants traveling on La Bestia, as well as the challenges you face: Who are Las Patronas?
Norma Romero Vázquez: We are a group of volunteer women, believers, housewives, farmers, who came together when we saw the people on the train. We decided to act when we saw the harsh reality, without thinking about the challenges it would bring. We started giving food, sharing, being humanitarian with those who have less. Our devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe, Patron Saint of our town, has been a source of blessing for us as we continue to serve in this work, which started in 1995.

Las Patronas see ourselves as women who feel called to comprehend what’s happening around us. Initially, we thought we’d just provide food and water, but we realized that this was not the only thing people needed. As a collective formed by a mother and four daughters, we met to discuss what we could do and how we could help. We started by giving bread and milk, which eventually evolved into a full meal to meet the need to feed those strangers.

That day, we had the chance to ask them who they were and why they were traveling on the train in such a way. As we reflected on, we realized that the reasons we associated with traveling by train for leisure became the harsh reality of migrants fleeing their countries because of violence.

We started by feeding them, and through that, we’ve lived and felt the reality of migration firsthand. Over the past 29 years, we’ve learned and faced numerous challenges. We were labeled as crazy for helping “strangers”, “delinquents”, “people who came to harm the country”; we encountered racist remarks, but they didn’t deter us from our mission. In the community, migrants were called illegals, but, for us, they were people. Every bit of support we provided came from our own pockets.

We began to educate ourselves, we learned how to use the telephone and the computer. Over the years, we’ve sought ways to support them: we’ve taken courses on human rights, we use social networks, we have provided accompaniment on health and visa issues, among other issues. We never imagined that we’d faced such challenges in our homes, working in the field, let alone realize how vital we were in a space as significant as the passage to the United States. These years have been about the learning experience, and we’ve been accompanied by other activist groups and advocates who have walked alongside us.

All this has changed the lives of all the women involved, who are now deeply committed to this work that God has entrusted to us.

PS: You mentioned that the Virgin of Guadalupe is the Patron Saint of the town; the locality where you live, and the volunteer collective also shares the same name. When you adopted that name, did you consider the relationship between the Virgin, the community, and the significance of the word for you as women?
NRV: No, everything has been intertwined. We started with a dining room that catered to migrants on the tracks. One day the train stopped, and one of the migrants told us: “you are our beacon of hope”. These words resonated deeply with us, and we used it to name our space Comedor Esperanza del Migrante (Migrant’s Hope Diner). Later, visitors to our town that shared our values and mission began to refer to us as Las Patronas, and due to the three coincidences mentioned in your question, we humbly and proudly embraced this title.

PS: How many women are part of the collective?
NRV: Initially we were 25 women. We quickly found our rhythm, working to help people. However, various circumstances led to some members leaving the group, and now we are 10; six of us are members of the collective and four volunteers. In addition, we have two men volunteers who participate on a permanent basis.

PS: The food you prepare is collected in plastic bags, which are thrown at people as the train passes, what else do the bags contain?
NRV: In addition to providing food, we offer them information, such as maps donated by the refuges that are operating in the country; clothes, blankets, rain gear, water. We have supported migrants on caravans as well: we accompany them on the road, give them refuge, and when there are too many people, we ask for help from the town’s social hall to provide refuge and feed them. In the most recent caravan, we received 400 people.

PS: Regarding the training you’ve received, how do you transmit this information to the migrants?
NRV: The information is provided to them upon their arrival at the refuge, or while we distribute food on the roads. We inform them about their rights and the available resources for seeking help if they experience any abuse. We have followed courses in the Ibero-American University in Puebla and Mexico City, as well as in Centro Prodh. We also participate in the various events we get invited to, hosted by nearby organizations; we are very interested in being informed. Recently we attended the Fourth and Fifth General Inspection of the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH). We are committed to supporting them because they need to be helped.

PS: How do you coordinate your efforts to help so many people? How do you stay informed about the train’s arrival?
NRV: In the past, we maintained close communication with all the refuges in the south, we monitored the form of arrival, and the number of migrants arriving. For example, we had communication with refuges in Acayucan, Coatzacoalcos, and Tierra Blanca, which is the closest to us. They would keep us updated on the number of individuals leaving the refuges and how many would get on the train. There was also a scheduled time for the trains to arrive, typically two or three trains a day.

Depending on the number of people we were expecting, we would prepare kilos of rice. For instance, if we were told that 200 people were coming, we would calculate enough food for 300 and prepare 15 to 20 kilos of rice. We also received a lot of support from organizations such as Maseca, who sent us 30 packages of flour every month, in addition to the beans that we prepared. Later, we would provide the migrants with a can of tuna, pan dulce (bread desserts) and cakes provided by Chedraui stores and some other businesses. We also collected seasonal fruits like mangoes, oranges, pods, and bananas; it was a collaborative effort.

Nowadays the trains operate in the early morning and at night hours. We primarily focus on the morning shift, as the night train passes between midnight and 1 am. By that time, the migrants are usually asleep, and we risk startling them, as they might mistake our calls for those of migration authorities and attempt to jump off the train. So far, we continue to assist those who pass through the area.

Regarding the train drivers, in the past, we used to hold a strong communication with them, as they were familiar with us. They would often slow down to allow us to distribute food to the people. Sometimes people would even get off the train, which would pose a risk if the train left without them, as many of them travel with family and friends. But with the retirement of the familiar train drivers, new personnel have taken over, who may not be aware of the humanitarian activities and the different realities of the people on board.

PS: Do you still rely on the support of companies like Maseca, Chedraui and others?
NRV: We had a long-time partnership with Maseca, and I had the opportunity to meet with the owner in Monterrey, who committed to providing us with flour. Unfortunately, after he passed away, the company withdrew their support due to our nonformalized status as a civil association, because companies prioritize tax deductions. This has made things difficult for us. We are a group of women volunteers.

However, we have managed to thrive for 29 years now. God has placed many kind-hearted people in our path, enabling us to sustain ourselves well enough. As a woman of faith, I believe that He has guided our work and will continue to touch people’s hearts, so our efforts remain strong. He has sent other helping hands to support our volunteering endeavors.

Sandra Aguilar: There are stigmas surrounding migration, especially in Mexico. We witness this firsthand in Mexico City, where many people of Haitian origin have arrived. The comments we hear are often “we don’t want them here”, “they will take away our jobs,” and so on. Have you ever considered the impact your assistance has on migrants? Has the state ever exerted pressure or imposed sanctions on the collective for the work you do?
NRV: Initially, we lacked knowledge and understanding of migrants’ rights—and our own. Consequently, the municipal police would arrive to intimidate migrants and confiscate their belongings. Once we became aware of the situation, we investigated the police intervention. They were not supposed to intervene, as Immigration was not present.

But that was at the beginning, due to lack of knowledge. However, we began to educate ourselves. We were motivated by the numerous instances of migrants being intimidated that we witnessed. When these situations arose, the migrants would flee to nearby cane fields to hide. These experiences drove us to seek information and prepare ourselves to better assist them.

To this day, we have consistently treated migrants with humanity, and they have never disrespected us. After 29 years, I can tell you that none of them want to stay in Mexico, it is not an option for them. Occasionally, they may stay a couple of days to work in the fields and earn some money, but I insist, their destination is not Mexico.

Moreover, many migrants are unable to stay because they cannot work without proper documentation. Even those with legal papers face challenges finding jobs due to their lack of experience, so it is even more difficult for migrants that have no papers and no experience. Mexico, I insist, is not the destination for Central American migrants; let’s not be misled, our migrant brothers do not wish to settle in Mexico.

PS: Did you ever imagine the social impact that feeding groups of tens, thousands of migrants would have?
NRV: No. When we began helping the people on the train, we realized that most of them were young men. As women and housewives, as in my case, I couldn’t help but think about my son and how I wouldn’t want to see him in that situation, so I had to support him in any way possible. However, not all parents have the same luck and opportunities. We have met professionals who board the train in search of a better life or, at least, a job they cannot find in their home country. Let’s not go too far, this same situation happens with Mexicans who migrate abroad for similar reasons, as they haven’t found the opportunities to grow and develop in their country.

PS: Everything you have shared with us provides only a glimpse into the challenges faced by migrants. Can you walk us through your approach to supporting them?
NRV: Initially it was more challenging to manage our support because it went beyond providing food or health services. We also focused on offering moral support by listening to their stories, encouraging them, helping them locate where they are, and bringing them different resources so they could contact their families. Here we have a phone available for them to let their families know that they are safe, where they are, and what their plans are. Migrants who arrive on foot typically need two to four days to recover, wash their clothes and continue their journey. Those who have been kidnapped require a longer recovery process, we need to orient them, inform them on their whereabouts, their situation, and so. There are many other situations like these. Despite discussions about migration policies, the conditions continue to worsen, and little is being done to address these issues.

On the other hand, we collaborate with several government agencies and institutions such as the CNDH, Atención al Migrante and the National Institute of Migration (INM). Previously, we facilitated humanitarian visas for migrants, and we served as an intermediary to verify criminal records through consulates. If they had criminal records, the visa was not granted; if they didn’t, the CNDH would corroborate the information, and then the INM would be responsible for issuing the visa. Through the collaboration with Atención al Migrante we addressed the cases of Mexican migrants who passed away, have been hospitalized, or are terminally ill in the United States. We provided support in the management of humanitarian visas, allowing their families to travel and make the necessary arrangements.

PS: How do migrants contact you? Do you maintain any kind of control or record of them?
NRV: We operate every day of the year because people pass through every day, and our doors are always open. We organize ourselves and we call for volunteers to ensure providing a place for migrants to rest and have a hot meal. Among the migrants who arrive on foot, we keep track of the daily arrivals, and we divide into teams so that there is always someone responsible to assist them at any time. These new people are welcomed, and we talk to them about their journey, how they feel, and register them in a database. This database has been used to collaborate, for example, with mothers who are looking for missing children, for cases of people who die on the roads and require a team effort with the prosecutor’s office, among other situations.

Migrants know about us because some of them have passed through here more than once; they talk to each other, they know that there is a group of people who offer them food on the train tracks, near the sugar cane fields.

PS: What is Las Patronas’ vision for migration?
NRV: Our biggest goal is to change how we perceive others, to recognize them as human beings struggling to survive. We aim to foster solidarity and treat others as we would like to be treated ourselves.

We are convinced that it is not a matter of having money to help, but rather a matter of determination. Over the past 29 years, we have never lacked support, as we encountered many people willing to help and share with our migrant brothers and sisters. By becoming more aware of the realities faced by migrants and shifting our perspectives, we can work together to change the world for the better.

PS and SA: Norma, we appreciate your dedication, sensitivity, and your invaluable contributions over the past 29 years. We are very grateful to have shared this space and this experience with you. Is there anything else you would like to share?
NRV: I would like to share, for those people interested in helping that they can do it through volunteering. We are sure that this will be an eye-opening experience and will help them to appreciate many situations in their lives. We have welcomed families, foreign people; there is no fixed commitment period required, just a willingness to help during the stay and contribute to Las Patronas in any way they see fit. You can contact us at lapatrona.laesperanza@gmail.com, to organize your participation.

Lastly, we hope for the well-being of migrants, and hope they are oriented towards supportive places. We are grateful for this opportunity to share our work beyond Mexico, shedding light on the same problem and presenting it in a different way. Thank you for this opportunity to raise awareness about what we can change.

Llévate mis amores
Indira Cato

Llévate mis amores [Take My Love Away] was my first project. I started it at 19 years old, as a student of Drama Literature and Theater at UNAM. I was traveling to Veracruz with two fellow students from the Autonomous Metropolitan University, Arturo González Villaseñor and Antonio Mecalco and luck —or perhaps fate— led us to Las Patronas. One afternoon, when we helped them prepare food bags and throw them onto the train it was enough to not want to leave. And so, sheer passion turned into a documentary over time.

That was such a beautiful, enchanting, and extraordinary act that it couldn’t be forgotten; our memory was a small sanctuary for it to reside. The resistance unfolded there, anonymously, in a small town in Veracruz, transforming the life of nameless, faceless, paperless people. It was a powerful catalyst for the emergence of one of the purest and often overlooked human qualities: solidarity.

We wanted to know. We couldn’t understand why this group of women who sometimes faced similar struggles as the people on the train, would dedicate their time, resources and energy to helping someone that they would never get to know. As they cooked, they didn’t judge. They didn’t know who would eat the meal, where they came from, or where they would end up. They didn’t even know if those people would survive the hostile conditions of this violent country. All they knew was that those people would be hungry, and they could make a difference.

But it’s not just about food. It was hours of relentless effort, carrying massive casseroles of smoky rice, washing trays in exchange for the bread remains from big businesses. Each bag was infused with their love. One episode that I still can’t forget was the day they prepared boiled eggs. One of them said: “It won’t taste good without salt.” Looking through my privilege, I initially thought seasoning wasn’t crucial. In the face of such desperation, I thought it was enough just to eat something. But not for them. So, we started tearing plastic bags, taking a pinch of salt, and wrapping it within each piece of plastic for over a hundred lunch bags. I understood that it wasn’t just food: it was a gesture of love, a reassurance of concern and care. Each bag became a source of strength.

I recall, after that, Ernesto Prado—an extraordinary documentary photographer and one of the most noble guys I know—watching us with a warm gaze during a consulting session.

He shared something like “the innocence of the first documentary will never return. Make the most of it.” Today, ten years after the release of Llévate mis amores, I understand what he meant. Documentary filmmaking has taken over my soul. I’ve worked on numerous projects, now aware of what’s to come and with my mind filled with plans, expectations, and strategies. Llévate mis amores lacked all that. It was a desperate, pure cry that came from the heart. I go back to the movie and I’m certain that’s what is reflected in it. It wasn’t influenced by the gaze of experienced filmmakers, we didn’t know where it would go, only that we had to keep forward. Since its release in 2014, at the Los Cabos Film Festival, Llévate mis amores has circled the globe. I’m surprised that it continues to be screened to this day. That’s the magic of documentaries, their ability to transport the viewer anywhere. If a person in Taiwan can feel moved and can understand some their own reality through something happening on the other side of the world, within different cultures and languages, then cinema becomes universal. Reality has changed since then: migration policies, the country. Las Patronas come and go, but their essence remains. In a world that isolates, drives us to produce, compete, and survive, caring for others has become an increasingly rare and extraordinary act of love.

Indira Cato studied Dramaturgy and Theater at UNAM’s Faculty of Philosophy and Literature, specializing in Design and Production. In addition to documentary filmmaking, she has specialized in theater criticism and collaborated on the book Cine político en México 1968-2017 (Political Cinema in Mexico 1968-2017).


Norma Romero Vásquez is founder of Las Patronas collective, from Guadalupe, La Patrona, municipality of Amatlán de Los Reyes, Veracruz. For 25 years she and other fellow volunteer women have been offering assessment, refuge, food, and solidarity to Central American migrants passing by their town on board of the train known as La Bestia.

Pamela Suárez is part of UNAM Internacional editorial team and Managing Coordinator at UNAM’s General Directorate for Cooperation and Internationalization.

Sandra Aguilar supports UNAM Internacional editing work and is Executive Assistant for UNAM’s General Director for Cooperation and Internationalization.
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