It Could Happen Here - CZM Rewind: They Don’t Care About Us: What Migrants Leave Behind

Episode Date: December 30, 2025

In part three of his series on the Darién Gap, James talks about what drives Venezuelan and African migrants to make the journey through the Darién Gap. Original Air Date: 10.30.24 Sources: https://www.notiparole.com https://www.instagram.com/p/DAaDkSwh1Jk/?igsh=bmgyanBteW10czd5 https://www.nytimes.com/1964/09/20/archives/a-new-canaldug-by-atom-bombs-nuclear-energy-is-the-key-to-replacing.html https://www.themanual.com/outdoors/darien-gap-feature/ https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2024/apr/18/panama-darien-gap-jose-raul-mulino https://americasquarterly.org/article/the-darien-gaps-fearsome-reputation-has-been-centuries-in-the-making/ https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2022/10/27/the-darien-gap-a-deadly-extension-of-the-us-border https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/supporting_resources/jmhs.pdf https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2022/06/20/snakes-swamps-whisky-british-explorers-went-ultimate-boys-adventure/ https://www.strausscenter.org/publications/asylum-processing-at-the-u-s-mexico-border-august-2024/ https://www.gob.mx/inm/prensa/el-gobierno-mexicano-y-el-inm-articulan-corredor-emergente-de-movilidad-segura-para-el-traslado-de-personas-extranjeras-con-cita-cbp-one https://english.elpais.com/international/2024-03-23/kidnapping-and-escape-of-95-ecuadorian-migrants-in-chiapas-if-you-continue-informing-we-will-return-them-in-bags.html https://humanrightsfirst.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Asylum-Policies-Harm-Black-Asylum-Seekers-FACTSHEET-formatted.pdf https://respondcrisistranslation.org/en/newsb/cbp-ones-obscene-language-errors-create-more-barriers-for-asylum-seekers https://www.msf.org/lack-action-sees-sharp-rise-sexual-violence-people-transiting-darien-gap-panamaSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast, Guaranteed Human. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product. With every sip, you get a little something different. Visit Gentleman's Cut Bourbon.com or your nearest Total Wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on gentlemen's cut bourbon, please visit

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shot ready today at stephen currybook.com. You know the shade is always shady is right here. Season 6 of the podcast Reasonably Shady with Giselle Bryan and Robin Dixon is here dropping every Monday. As two of the founding members of the Real Housewives Potomac were giving you all the laughs, drama, and reality news you can handle. And you know we don't hold back. So come be reasonable or shady with us.

each and every Monday. Listen to Reasonably Shady from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. It's me, James, and before we listen to this episode today, I just did want to make you aware that I conducted these interviews in French and Spanish, mostly Spanish, and then transcribed and translated them. So what you're hearing is a translated interview that's been edited for brevity and content. I hope you enjoy the episode.

Yeah, the journey is dangerous, but what can we do? We can't stay in a country where the economy's getting worse and worse. With a salary of $3 a month, you can't survive. Like my friend said, if you have a job in other countries, maybe you can invest some money, but where are you going to get the money to invest if before you had a salary that fed you, paid for your car, your house, and your children to enjoy it all with, and now you can't even afford to put gas in the car. So it's true, yeah, the Darien is dangerous, but nothing is impossible.

We walk hand in hand with God and with the faith that we will get there, but that doesn't mean it isn't difficult, but I'll say it again, it's not impossible. You suffer, you cry, you go hungry, cold, but thank God. we made it through. All around the Tokesa River, the jungle rumbles quiet as you pass by on your boat. Insects, frogs and birds all combined to make a sort of deep throbbing that emanates from the darkness between the trees. It seems it wants to be calling you in and wanting you to stay away.

I've been in the jungle before, in the Rwanda, Congo borderlands and in Venezuela. But I've never really felt the sense of foreboding I did as we rode down the river, protected only by our hollow log, looking into the triple canopy forest, and knowing that if I walk long enough in the shadows, I'd be confronted with the remains of people I might have interviewed if I hadn't been for a rolled ankle, a slippery rock, or a desperate sip of water. To understand what drives people to enter the jungle, with their children and their dreams, I think we also have to understand what drives them to leave wherever they're living. And that's what I want to talk about today. The story of migrants crossing the Dalian Gap is an American one. It's impossible to disentangle the people making this dangerous journey from the history of support for dictatorship, sanctions, and imperial plunder that ties the United States to its American brothers and sisters in the south.

Sometimes, I play a game with myself at the border where I try and meet people from all the countries named in Washington Bullets in a single day. Since Biden bungled the Afghanistan withdrawal, it's become a lot easier. But Tibet can be hard. For 200 years since President Monroe gave his State of the Union address in December 1823, the U.S. has seen the Western Hemisphere as its sphere of influence. While it opposed old-fashioned colonialism, it has used less overt methods as control, as well as overt military force across the hemisphere.

For much of the last century, it supported and installed dictators, who would prevent what it saw as a threat of state socialism in its sphere of influence, and allowed them to create economic and political climates that were unsurvivable for the majority, and extremely profitable for U.S.-based corporations. The direct result of this policy has been economic insecurity, political instability, and state violence across South and Central America, resulting in people making the very natural human decision to flee to somewhere safer. As in so many other empires, they've made the choice to lead a destabilized colonial periphery

and seek safety and stability in the metropole. For more than a century, money and goods have been able to travel seamlessly up and down the continent, but people have not. The banana I ate for breakfast this morning made the journey in a few days. But people take months, if not years, pay thousands of dollars, climb mountains, ford rivers,

and risk their lives on trains and buses that cost a lot more than the flights I took to Panama, but offer considerably less comfort and safety. As climate change has ever greater impacts, more and more people are forced to leave their homes as their livelihoods become less sustainable. The Guna, the indigenous people of the Panamanian coast, in an area called Gunayala are having to withdraw from some of their islands because of sea level

rise right now. Agriculture across the world is increasingly threatened by extreme weather and rising temperatures, and our oceans are less able to sustain life than they once were due to pollution and overfishing. Forced to leave their homes, as people have been for millennia by weather patterns changing, people head to places that have once caused much of the issue and try to insulate themselves from its consequences. Their American dreams are modest. to overcome the crippling low pay they received at home, to bring their children up in a place where they have a good chance of surviving their 20s, to work and get paid enough to get by,

they want to be able to protest and not get a shot, and to look forward to the future, not fear it. These aren't guaranteed in the USA, and as many of you listening will know, it can be hard for us to make ends meet here as well. But despite what you see on social and legacy media, things are unlikely to become as bad here as they are in Venezuela, Cameroon or Iran anytime soon.

I've lived in Venezuela, specifically in the formerly Javista neighborhood of La Pasta in Caracas, and I've seen how hard it is for my friends who still live there. Even for people with no other disadvantages, making rent and feeding your family can be a challenge. And that's part of why Venezuelan people make up the majority of the folks I met Medallian, so much so that I slipped back into using Venezuelan slang in Spanish, and after a few days of seeing the same people, engaging in the kind of friendly mockery and banter that I remember well from Caracas. Mostly, this took the form of asking them why they crossed a Dalian Gap in Man United shirts,

or worse yet, in a Chelsea shirt. It's important to steal moments of humor in these difficult times, to laugh little among all the suffering, and that's something people in Venezuela have done very well for a very long time. But despite their humor, I could tell the journey had a serious impact on the people I spoke to. You have to go through a lot, a lot of jungle, a lot of hills, there are people, there are dead people on the road. So it's something you cannot really explain.

It's complicated because everything can be explained in a fashion, but it's not the same as living it. It's insanity, three, four days without food and nothing. One thing is to live it. Explaining it, talking about it, that's different. It's hard to put into words. This interview is when I conducted with one group of Venezuelan migrants, with my voice recorder in the chest pocket of my shirt

and whatever bags it let me carry. in my hands. We walked along the last part of the trail, discussing what they'd seen. For a while, we joked a little. One guy had crossed in a Man United shirt. I talked to him about the team and the universal dislike non-Manu fans have for Manu fans. Then, after a while, they opened up more about their experiences. They had, they said, seen dead bodies,

and they couldn't stop thinking about what happened if they'd fallen. And they wanted to know how or when or if the dead people's family would ever find out. The family waits for that person to come out, to hear that they made it. Because if not, who's going to let you know? There's no signal. And nobody's going to grab the body, and you're not going to carry them out. The person stays there, and eventually years and years go by, and the family won't know where they are or how they died.

Those are the sort of things that one doesn't expect to see. And it makes you just want to hurry past, not that you wouldn't want to get the documentation from the body and deliver it and tell them how this person had passed away, but how dare you just go grabbing a dead body? Venezuelan elections were held on the 28th of July this year. Venezuela and presidents have a six-year term, and the incumbent, Nicolaas Maduro, has been in office since 2013.

I let the Venezuelan people I met introduce themselves and explain the result of the election. Now, there's a bit of background noise here, but that's because we're walking along the trails, and it's hard to avoid. I am coming from Venezuela, migrating through the jungle for a better future for me and my children. I'll tell you it's hard, but it's not impossible.

No, that was electoral fraud, and I tell you what, one day you just have to leave. Maduro was opposed by Eduardo Gonzalez, an opposite candidate who represented a wide coalition in creating groups on the left and right. While Maduro might have support among Western socialists and even communists, the actual Venezuelan Communist Party's youth organization, formed part of the Popular Democratic Front that opposed him.

Despite Paul Watchers, tallying a massive victory for the opposition, Maduro controls the National Election Council and proclaimed himself the victor. People protested, and Maduro responded with bullets. Gonzalez fled to the Dutch and then the Spanish embassy, and later claimed asylum into Spain where his family live. But for regular working-class Venezuelans, there's no option to hop on a flight to safety. Instead, they have to begin the long walk north. As many Venezuelans I spoke to told me, in addition to the electoral fraud,

Venezuela is undergoing an economic collapse. At least under Chavez, they said most people could eat. When I lived in La Pastora, I was able to access medical care from Cuban doctors. Now, they say, things have become unsurvivable. My name is Christian Galindo, I'm of Venezuela. As a company, looking a better future, very strong, all, many dangers, but so it's possible. Well, I would say that Venezuela, you know, yeah, you can live, but not on a minimum wage.

I would say that, for example, working independently in an independent business, maybe you can live, good, but working and surviving for a minimum wage, no. The truth is that it doesn't work, and that's serious. Things are still bad with the new elections and the new government. Everything is ugly, yeah? The streets of Caracas are full of protests every day. People went out to protests. Sometimes they shoot people. The government mistreats people, but if you can live with it, you can live with it.

But it's ugly. And well, that is why we left there for a better future. We'll keep moving onward, onward. This group were young men, traveling in advance of their families, hoping to earn some money, save it up, and send it home. They knew what they were getting into when they got to the USA. that migrants are often underpaid and might struggle to make ends meet. But they still thought it was better than staying home

and watching your children's future disappear. If you don't have papers, you don't have a work permit. You have to work for what they want to pay you, not for what you demand or anything. I met lots of Venezuelan families with children who had different illnesses or disabilities. Things they couldn't obtain or afford treatment for in Venezuela. They were traveling to the U.S. in the hopes of finding a better future for their kids.

or any future at all. I met young men who left their children behind, but carried the children of strangers, even those with whom they didn't share a language. Christian, who he heard from earlier, showed me how he'd carried someone else's child on his shoulders until he fell and hurt his knee. We all help.

I put little children up here on my shoulders to carry them, but it isn't easy. In the jungle, they'd formed chains using their arms to cross rivers, and carried little children on those who couldn't swim. In Baja Gito, I saw a group of men from Angola receiving hugs from Venezuelan women they'd helped in the jungle. Without the help of the Angolan, they said, their children wouldn't have made it.

One slip or a loss of grip, they told me, would be fatal. And the remains of those who had done just that served as a gristly reminder. Later, little boys, maybe eight or ten years old, gleefully recounted seeing a dead body on which the head had, quote, exploded while their parents winced in recollection. I wanted to understand a bit more

of what they were fleeing that made it worth going through all this. Well, I left Venezuela because I worked in fishing, but right now Venezuela, despite the fact that it is a country rich in oil, there's not enough gasoline for the fishermen to go fishing. And since I did not have the ability to even buy basic things, such as food, the situation was, well, it was a little complicated. I had to immigrate. I had nothing else to do. They didn't rob me. Well, they were going to rob me because I didn't have anything to steal. passed by and the group that was behind us got robbed. They raped women in that group. Almost every Venezuelan migrant I spoke to share a similar story.

One said he'd installed security cameras, but nobody could afford them now, as they had to choose between rent and groceries or medical procedures that they needed but couldn't afford. Overwhelmingly, they said the same thing. Noai Futuro. There's no future. One group said to me that they couldn't wait for their country to become like Cuba, as decades of embargoes took their toll on the population. But others reminded me and them that Lisa Cuban seemed to have doctors.

Venezuela has an 80% poverty rate now. And though it sits on one of the largest oil reserves of any country on earth, it's been plagued by plummeting oil prices and years of hyperinflation, which got so bad at one point the shops stopped putting price tags on things and relied on staff to give up to the minute prices. Today, alongside a regime that lacks legitimacy, a state that readily uses horrific violence against its people, an election that was essentially ignored,

Venezuelans must also deal with shortages of basic goods, poverty, and malnutrition. Unlike Cubans, who have a relatively good political lobby in the USA, Venezuelans coming to the USA do not benefit from special laws. Cubans, under the Cuban Adjustment Act, have a path to citizenship and permanence once they set foot on the US soil. Venezuela do not. They're covered by something called a temporary protected status, but this does not afford them much in a way of stability, protection or a secure future.

Hezerica Pinjaro of Avalo Trollaro, an incredible organization does valuable work with migrant legal aid, advocacy, and humanitarian relief, explaining just how temporary a TPS is. So temporary protected status is, it's basically a form of protecting individuals who are already in the United States when their countries have experienced a natural disaster. They are in war. There's some kind of situation going on that makes it difficult. for them to return. And so temporary protected status was first created in 1990, and the first individuals who received the status were from El Salvador. And since then, I think there's been a few dozen countries that have been designated.

But basically the way it works is they designate a country. And so if you were in the United States before that designation date, you can apply for temporary protected status within, you know, designated time period. And you get a work permit. It's valid for 6, 12, or 18 months. And then two months before it expires, the secretary of the Department of Homeland Security has to say whether or not they're going to reauthorize TPS. So there's like 860,000 people in the U.S. who have temporary protected status. And it's not a path to citizenship. So basically people are just in limbo, sometimes for decades.

You know, they just have to reapply for this work permit every 18 months. So I have quite a few Salvadoran friends who've been in the United States since the 90s. They have kids, some of the current kids or a U.S. citizen, and they can't become permanent residents or have a path of citizenship unless they leave the country and either come back with another type of parole or, you know, apply through a consulate, which many of them are just not willing to take that risk. What makes things even more complicated for the Venezuelans is that many of them are traveling without documents. It costs 300 bucks to get a passport, they told me, and the weight's

considerable. This makes their journeys even harder, as every country they enter has to approve them to enter without a passport. Getting a visa, they said, would be nearly impossible, and just trying might result in the government coming after them. Such things, they said, are reserved for the wealthier citizens. People like Gonzalez, whose asylum claim and stays at the Dutch and Spanish embassies, and his right to join his family in exile, are all luxuries that most of his country people can't expect. Instead, most Venezuelans must ride buses through Colombia, then walk north through the jungle, then ride buses, stir away on trains, or walk again all the way to the border. They all lamented the Dallian crossing, and said they wouldn't advise

it, but without other options, they all made it anyway. Because unfortunately, we don't have much in our country. You don't have another option when you're dying of hunger and you don't have a future. You can't even study. So yeah, it's worth it. The economic situation is dire in Venezuela. Many families can't make ends meet. Their currency is almost worth us,

and the majority government seems to have successfully installed itself for the foreseeable future. This will mean a continuation of embargoes and sanctions, which will harm the people more than the regime. Sadly, though, economic hardship is not a criteria for which one could be granted asylum in the USA. Here's Erica again. So severe economic deprivation can be persecution if it's linked to one of the other protected grounds. So race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a particular social group. So, for example, if someone participated in anti-Modoro political activity and then were blocked from getting a job or just denied economic opportunities to the point where they're starving, the economic deprivation could count as persecution. But it's a very difficult case to make in the United States.

In Mexico, you can get protection based on generalized conditions in your country. And so, you know, Venezuelans fleeing economic collapse or even Central Americans fleeing extreme violence have a much easier time dating protection in Mexico than they would in the United States because of that kind of extra category of protection in Mexico. The issue with Mexico is just the very limited capacity of the asylum system overall and the very dangerous conditions in which people are forced to wait while their cases are educated. Going forward from the Dallian, they'll face an enormously difficult journey. The US does have a program for Cubans, Venezuelans, Haitians, and Nicaraguans, that in theory allows them to apply, be pre-approved, and fly straight to the USA. But it's so delayed and broken, it's just not an option for people who barely have enough money for food, let's loan a plane ticket. The CH&B program is for Cuban, Haitians, Nicaragans, Venezuelans,

who have not crossed into Panama or Mexico in the past few years. You do not qualify if you've done that. Or have not been interdited at sea if they're Haitian or Cuban. You have to have a sponsor in the United States who have some kind of legal status. You have to be able to pay for the flight. You have to have a passport. And you have to be able to wait for however long it takes for your application to be approved. And the Department of Homeland Security just announced that they,

are not renewing parole for people who are already in the United States. So people from those four countries who were in the U.S. had up to two years of humanitarian parole, which is not being renewed. So they either would need to apply for something else or go back to their country or just, I guess, stay in the United States undocumented until they're caught. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product with every sip you get a little something different. Visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com or your nearest total wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older.

Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Welcome to Decoding Women's Health. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Pointer, chair of women's health and gynecology at the Atria Health Institute in New York City. On this show, I'll be talking to top researchers and top clinicians, asking them your burning questions and bringing that information about women's health and midlife directly to you. A hundred percent of women go through menopause. It can be such a struggle for our quality of life, but even if it's natural, why should we suffer through it?

The types of symptoms that people talk about is forgetting everything. I never used to forget things. They're concerned that, one, they have dementia, and the other one is, do I have ADHD? There is unprecedented promise with regard to cannabis and cannabinoids, to sleep better, to have less pain, to have better mood, and also to have better day-to-day life. Listen to Decoding Women's Health with Dr. Elizabeth Pointer

on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you're listening now. You know the shade is always shade. is right here. Season 6 of the podcast Reasonably Shady with Giselle Bryan and Robin Dixon is here dropping every Monday. As two of the founding members

of the Real Housewives Potomac were giving you all the laughs, drama, and reality news you can handle. And you know we don't hold back. So come be reasonable or shady with us each and every Monday. I was going through a walk in my neighborhood. Out of the blue, I see this huge sign.

next to somebody's house. Okay. The sign says, my neighbor is a Karen. Oh, what? No way! I died laughing.

I'm like, I have to know you are lying. Humongous, y'all. They had some time on their hands. Listen to reasonably shady from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHart Radio app,

Apple Podcasts, or wherever you. you get your podcast. The moments that shape us often begin with a simple question. What do I want my life to look like now? I'm Dr. Joy Harden Bradford. And on therapy for black girls, we create space for honest conversations about identity, relationships, mental health, and the choices that help us grow. As cybersecurity expert, Camille Stewart Gloucester reminds us, we are in a divisive time where our comments are weaponized against us. And so what we find is a lot of black women are standing up and speaking out because they feel the brunt of the pain. Each week, we explore the tools and insights that help you move with purpose. Whether

you're navigating something new or returning to yourself. If you're ready for thoughtful guidance and grounded support, this is the place for you. Listen to Therapy for Black Girls on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. I heard the same I heard the same story hundreds of times that week, sometimes off mic and sometimes on mic. sometimes holding my voice recorder and notebook, sometimes just sitting on the ground or walking on the trail or enjoying a bottle of cold water in Bahia Jigito.

Crippling poverty and bad governance in their country made it difficult to see a future there. They wanted better for their children, so they bought them across the mountains and risked their lives in the jungle to give them a chance in life. I prepared a lot for this trip, and I tried to search for everything I might experience on the internet, but one thing I really didn't expect to learn in the jungle

is just how much it's possible for parents to love their kids. I watched exhausted mothers hoist their babies onto their shoulders to keep walking and somehow come up with a story that made the whole thing an adventure not a tragedy. Then they did the same thing again the next day without sleeping or eating. I watch fathers carefully lay out their sleeping mat so their children could rest while they tried to do the same on the dirt or hardwood floors. Every day, as their savings grew lower and their outlook more bleak, I watched parents try to smile for their kids.

The sacrifices I saw them make, starving for days to give their kids something to eat or spending their last remaining dollar on clean clothes for their kids while they walked barefoot and couldn't afford shoes. Really brought home for me the desire these families had for a better future and the sacrifices they're willing to make for one another. Week later, it's still hard for me to accept that I'm home safely and they're still in as much danger if not more. Our walk lasted five days.

I was always strong enough and able to get back up when I fell because if I fell and my children had to see me fall and not get up, imagine how bad that would be. My children want more in the future, but they despaired in the jungle. They said, tell me, mommy, when are we going to get there, mommy? What could I say to them? My dear, we have to have patience because we have to make the crossing. We have to move forward. If not, we can't get out of here.

Even among such difficult times, the Venezuelans always greeted me with a laugh and a smile, especially after a few days of running into each other. When I used Venezuelan slang or my accent slowly reverted to the Spanish and learned in Caracas nearly two decades ago, they'd laugh at me. As they noted, at that time Caracas had attracted plenty of migrants to his own. Some of them, like me, didn't stay, but we came because we wanted to see a revolution in the flesh, and they welcomed us. For a while in Caracas, I lived in a social center in La Pastora.

didn't pay rent, but there was a small empty room and no one seemed to mind. Every day I talked to strangers, big friends, and try and learn something new. The situation there wasn't ideal. For one thing, we didn't really have showers, and also I got robbed at gunpoint. So, for most of my time in the country, I stayed with the Chilean family I'd met. They welcomed me, a more or less total stranger, into their homes and lives. In the evenings, we spent hours talking, and they'd tell me stories about how they'd suffered under Pinochet, the hopes they'd had for their country, and how they'd had to flee to Caracas like tens of thousands of their fellow Chileans. They introduced me to Victor Harrah and Charlie Pan. I introduced them to Chambawamba, and we shared an affection for

George Orwell. The song you heard after the adverts was not in fact Chambalamba, but Chilean left his folk musician Victor Harrah. He's playing El Derecho de Vienne Paz, the right to live in peace in English. And it's one of his most famous songs. It confronts a US war in Vietnam. Later, after Harrah was tortured and murdered by the Pinochet regime, it became an anthem of protest in the country. Hara and his friend Pablo Neruda were both symbols to the cultural power of the Chilean people, and the brutality of the Pinochet regime who broke the hands he used to play his guitar before they killed him. Hara and Neruda both moved in the same revolutionary artistic circles as my Chilean host in Venezuela. At night, they'd tell me stories

about the time they spent together. We'd have to speak loudly, as a man who'd adopted me as a sort of surrogate grandson had permanent hearing damage from the torture he'd endured under the same regime. Luckily, he'd been able to flee with his wife to Venezuela, where they were welcomed. They never returned to Chile, and happily lived out the rest of their lives, listening to their Victor Harrah records in Caracas, and living the ideals that have seen them persecuted. Their kindness to me, a 19-year-old stranger with terrible Spanish for nowhere to sleep at night, reflected the kindness they'd received, and I've tried to reflect it in turn ever since. I never heard any.

Oh. I never once heard any children crying in La Jablancas or Bah, Chiquito. Well, not until the deportations took their parents away on my last day there. Most of the time, the kids entertained themselves. One day in Laas Blancas, when migrants can wait and spend weeks or month they don't have the funds to move forward with their journey. I left my fixture while she made a call and bumped in some little children,

playing a game where they'd throw water, water bottle caps into half a breeze block from various distances, each of them counting how many they could land. I sat down next to them, put my recorder on the ground, and asked nicely if I could join them. Thank you. Like a tiny pit boss, one of the kids bought me a pile of bottle tops, and I chatted with them as we threw our bottle caps at a broken piece of concrete. What was it like in America? they asked. They also had a lot of questions about Africa,

having probably met African kids in the casita just across the way. Do they have big buildings in Africa? Does it rain there? How long does it take to get there in a bus? Then they tested my Venezuelan legitimacy by drawing me in a repo in my notebook and asking if I knew what it was. Once I passed a test,

they asked me how to say some things in English, and they showed me the toys they bought with them, which were very few. One of them had a small plastic cow Of which he was very proud A vaca After a while, they asked what I was doing And I showed them how I record interviews

At which point they began recording themselves and each other and wildly stabbing at the buttons on my recorder Which I will admit scared the crap out of me But I didn't have the heart to take it off them They stroked the fluffy wind protector I use on my microphone I told me it was like a tiny teddy bear. Eventually, I was able to trade my recorder for several small wooden animals I'd bought with me as gifts. We seemed to be a deal that left all of us feelings if we'd come out ahead.

They seemed unbothered by the suffering around them, but Las Blancas is no place for children. They should be in school, learning the English phrases they kept repeating to me every time I saw them. But for a chance to use their English, they first had to endure a month more danger and deprivation. Some slightly hold a short made the journey alone, or almost alone. They were accompanied by a Spaniel called Chanel. I saw a future while as people have carried with them through the Darien Gap, but to my knowledge, this is the first Spaniel that has made the treacherous crossing. Like everyone else, they had terror.

memories from the jungle. The truth is you have to fight a lot to be able to get out of there, because not everyone gets out of that jungle, and it's even more difficult with small children. There are times when one goes without food and is very stressful, because all around us, all we saw was the jungle, and we never saw the way out, but it is complicated. The truth is that it is very hard. The jungle, well, I would really recommend that people never go. go there. All our feet are hurting. We can't walk properly. Our whole body's hurt. We went days

without eating. They were traveling, they said, to join their parents. And because in Venezuela, they told me, they were always hungry. They saw people sleeping on the streets and worried that would be their only option one day if they didn't leave. I want to see mom. I haven't seen her in three years and I want to have my American dream too. I want to see my dad, my aunt and my uncle. I haven't seen them for three years either. Despite the hardship, they didn't blame their parents for leaving. We know that we made it because of them.

They are the ones who sent us money for the things we need. We were able to get a few things, not everything we needed. But it's all thanks to them. At the end of their interview, as I always do, I ask them if there's anything else that they wanted to share. I don't know, but our parents, we love them a lot and hope we can see them soon. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product. With every sip, you get a little something different.

Visit Gentleman's Cut Bourbon.com or your nearest Total Wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit Gentleman's Cut Bourbon. Bourbon.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Welcome to Decoding Women's Health. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Pointer, chair of Women's Health and Gynecology at the Adria Health Institute in New York City. On this show, I'll be talking to top researchers and top clinicians, asking them your burning questions and bringing

that information about women's health and midlife directly to you. A hundred percent of women go through menopause. It can be such a struggle for our quality of life, but even if it's natural, why should we suffer through it? The types of symptoms that people talk about is forgetting everything, I never used to forget things. They're concerned that, one, they have dementia, and the other one is, do I have ADHD? There is unprecedented promise with regard to cannabis and cannabinoids,

to sleep better, to have less pain, to have better mood, and also to have better day-to-day life. Listen to Decoding Women's Health with Dr. Elizabeth Pointer on the IHart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you're listening now. You know the shade is always Shadiest right here. Season 6 of the podcast Reasonably Shady with Giselle Bryan and Robin Dixon is here dropping every Monday. As two of the founding members of the Real Housewives Potomac were giving you all the laughs, drama, and reality news you can handle. And you know we don't hold back.

So come be reasonable or shady with us each and every Monday. I was going through a walk in my neighborhood. Out of the blue, I see this huge sign next to somebody's house. Okay. The sign says, my neighbor is a Karen. Oh, no way. I died laughing. I'm like, I have to know.

You are lying. Humongous, y'all. They had some time on their hands. Listen to Reasonably Shady from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. The moments that shape us often begin with a simple question. What do I want my life to look like now? I'm Dr. Joy Harden Bradford. And on therapy for black girls, we create space for honest conversations about identity, relationships, mental health, and the choices that help us grow.

as cybersecurity expert Camille Stewart Gloucester reminds us We are in a divisive time where our comments are weaponized against us and so what we find is a lot of black women are standing up and speaking out because they feel the brunt of the pain. Each week we explore the tools and insights that help you move with purpose, whether you're navigating something new or returning to yourself. If you're ready for thoughtful guidance and grounded support, this is the place for you.

Listen to Therapy for Black Girls on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Like many of the Venezuelans I spoke to, their American dreams were pretty modest. For most of them, though, they'll be unachievable in the current immigration system. They'll end up stuck in Mexico, in Mexico City, perhaps or further south,

perhaps in Tijuana, or Juaro's waiting across the border of their lucky. But if they cried to cross between ports of entry, we'll get caught traveling without registering in Mexico, there risks being deported or relocated back to southern Mexico. Here's that, okay, explaining that process. The Mexican National Guard has been detaining people who are trying to cross the U.S. Mexico border, and they had been sending themselves to Mexico City and Chiapas to Tapachula.

Now there's been this huge effort to stop people from leading not only at the U.S.-Mexico border, but even in Mexico City. So we're seeing Mexican immigration and National Guard doing sweeps of migrant camps, of apartment buildings. It doesn't matter if the person has a CBP one appointment. Sometimes they'll just send themselves to either Chiapas and increasingly Tabasco. So Villarmosa, which is where people are arriving in Tabasco, has one shelter.

And I think the capacity is around 250,300 people. and earlier this year they were sending 20,000 migrants a month there and then they posted the military up so that people can't leave and it's very dangerous there, it's a drug trafficking area so it's not only are people sleeping in the streets but they're sleeping on the streets of some of the most dangerous cities in Mexico with very few services there to help them even get their next meal. This of course didn't happen without the influence of the United States.

In many ways Joe Biden has done exactly what Donald Trump promised to do Not only has he built more war, he's also forced Mexico to pay for a significant amount of the US's immigration enforcement. But when people are sent back to the south of Mexico, they'll just make their way north again, only this time with fewer resources and even greater risk. They're all proud of where they're from. About half the groups I saw had Venezuelan flags on their caps or backpacks. But they're also very aware of the betrayal they get as Venezuelans in the US media. And many of them made the very valid point that if Americans are afraid of Venezuelan gangs. They ought to consider how much more afraid people are in a country where they actually

exist. I'm 13. But at least I'm 13. Please don't believe that because one person from Venezuela does crime, that all Venezuelans do crime. But at least they get a trend in the U.S. media, many African migrants don't even get that. Of course, it doesn't mean they don't know about the USA. His powers in her Anglophone Cameroonian group again. talking about their impressions of America, where they'd like to live when they arrive here. You know, America is a very beautiful country,

and America has human rights. They care about the citizens. In fact, they care about humanity. If I want to have a friend that I'm going to stay with for the meantime, then I get to myself. That's great. Yeah. That helps a lot. Do you know which city your friend lives in? She's in Maryland.

Oh, Maryland. Okay. Yeah. So if I may ask, if you don't mind me. asking, what do Americans, how do they treat or how do they say immigrants? Well, my friend, it's changing a lot. African migrants in particular will struggle with a lack of resources, the absence of solidarity structures, and obvious anti-blackness along the journey. Along with this, people they meet along the way simply lack context of the journeys and where they're leaving and what they're fleeing.

Language barriers may exclude many of them from using CBP1, which is only offered English, Spanish and Haitian Creole. Less than 15% of asylum cases are conducted in English, but the app ignores huge swaths of the world outside the Western Hemisphere. In Bahchiquito, I used French to speak to migrants, didn't speak English, and began to notice the complete absence of signage and I think other than Spanish, and sometimes English and Creole. This is likely an issue throughout their long journeys.

Here's one migrant from Angola, and I should probably know at this point that Angolan people tend to speak Portuguese as a national language, but French with the language I shared with some of them, as I don't speak Portuguese. It was too much, very complicated. Like me, I did a week in Brazil. I left Brazil and for Peru. Peru to Nicolklee, then here. I did, we did four days, four days walking.

There are many mountains, many risks. There are many animals along the route. You have to follow the path for four days, and there's no food. But we are glad to arrive today. This is the first group. There's the second, third, fourth, fifth group. They're still on the road. I'm very proud of the fact that we made it,

despite the suffering. But God was with us. That is what is important. There are numerous instances of French-speaking migrants trying to approach the border near me in San Francisco and being turned away for not having an appointment on that it's not available in a language they can understand. These language barriers might stop the migrants

getting information, but they don't stop them helping one another. His powers group, describing the isolation they felt, but also the kindness they experienced. Do you think people on the trip treat African people differently? Yes, they do. They think differently. They don't even communicate. They are just by themselves. They don't associate.

They look at us differently. Yeah. I had someone who supported me. Yeah. Yeah, I saw how kind the person was. Because of their obvious foreignness and perceived an ability to communicate, African migrants are often targeted for crime in Mexico. Since leaving Panama, I've heard from migrants who are raped, kidnapped, ransomed,

and I even heard about one who was killed. Because of their difficulties accessing the CB1M, many face longer waits in Mexico, which may in turn leave them open to extortion or see them decide to cross the border between ports of entry. I've met hundreds of migrants, mainly Mauritans and Guineans, who have made this difficult choice since Biden's asylum ban came into force. Due to the distance, African migrants also face a longer, more expensive, and more dangerous journey. His primaries from Zimbabwe, describing her journey just to get to Baho Chiquito. The situation for me, it was tough.

I just ran away to South Africa, and South Africa was not safe, sonophobia. and they almost kill me and my boyfriend. And even my my baby father he was abusive

too much abusive because of the politics I'm an opposition party so it was difficult for me to live so that's why I ran out even in South Africa

I was not safe at all because those people they were like following me and my daughter So I spent three months on the road coming here. I live in South Africa, I think, 4th of July until now. I'm in Panama. I'm still walking, using buses. Jesus.

How did you get off from Africa to America? Did you fly or take a boat? The thing is, I fly from Johannesburg to Brazil. Then I seek asylum in Brazil. Then I wanted to stay in Brazil. So people said, no, you're in Brazil, you can't, because of language. Yeah, Portuguese. So I start also using people's route, like, let's take this bus from point A to point B.

So we take a bus from Brazil to Bolivia, then from Bolivia to Peru, Peru, to Ecuador, Colombia. Then we start working using Darienkap to, I'm here in Panama. African migrants would end up in different shelters that are more remote. or have less connectivity, again making their asylum process harder. Unlike migrants from the Western Hemisphere, they might struggle to find solidarity networks even inside the USA. Without a significant diaspora,

many of the migrants I met the jungle have struggled to find sponsors. Lost of the people I spoke to here, including Primrose and her daughter, are still looking for someone to give them a helping hand as they start their new life. We spoke a lot over the week I was there, and we've spoken most days since. It's heartbreaking for me to see her daughter.

daughter, going for months without education or even a safe place to sleep. I've seen photos to them sleeping on the street. They've ridden crowded buses north, and I've heard their frustrated attempts to comply with the arcane and complicated restrictions on their right to come here and ask for help. And it's been really hard since I got home to reconcile this with a national discussion that seems to see migration as a number that we have to decrease, and migrants are something other than people who want to come here for all the same reasons I'd live happily and peaceably as our neighbours. Now that they've come this far, migrants from outside the Western Hemisphere have to keep going. They can't even file their claims on CBP1 until they make it

to Tapachula, which is hundreds of dollars and thousands of kilometres from Panama. They likely don't have the funds to go back home even if they want to, and they are far more likely to be robbed or kidnapped along the way. However, their stories often aren't told. Reporting on the border still largely focuses on Spanish-speaking migrants, with some space for Chinese or Haitians. but migrants from Africa rarely get much care or attention in the media. In part, this has helped them avoid the demonization. The Venezuelan migrants are all too aware of, but in part, it also leads to a lack of concern for their needs.

I want to end today with Gabriel, from Equatorial Guinea, sharing his message for Americans. Yeah, a lot of people get this confused. Africa is not a country. A lot of them think when they see you and your black person, they say, are you African? And it's like there are lots of countries in Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, you got Guinea, you got the more Athenian people. There are loads of countries. I wish people would know, how do I say this?

I wish they'd take us into account because really they don't consider us when they say Africa is a country. They don't care about us the way we care about them And this is the way of seeing things Which doesn't consider us as human Not the same as them Do you understand? They see us as Africans or animals Something like that

It Could Happen Here is a production of Cool Zone Media For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media Visit our website, Coolzonemedia.com Or check us out on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can now find sources for it could happen here listed directly in episode descriptions. Thanks for listening.

I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product with every sip you get a little something different. Visit Gentleman'scuturbin.com or your nearest Total Wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older.

Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit gentlemen's cuthuburn.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Cats are masters at using up their nine lives, like chasing laser pointers into walls or jumping onto high shelves. But the one thing cats never do, text while driving.

So be like a cat and protect your one and only life. Don't text and drive. Don't Drive Distracted, a message brought to you by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, Project Yellow Light, and the Ad Council. Welcome to Decoding Women's Health. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Pointer, chair of Women's Health and Gynecology at the Atria Health Institute in New York City. I'll be talking to top researchers and clinicians and bringing vital information about midlife women's health directly to you. A hundred percent of women go through menopause. Even if it's natural, why should we suffer? for through it. Listen to Decoding Women's Help with Dr. Elizabeth Pointer on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Greatness doesn't just show up. It's built. One shot, one choice, one moment at a time. From NBA champion, Stefan Curry, comes shot ready, a powerful never-before-seen look at the mindset that changed the game. I fell in love with the grind. You have to find joy in the work you do when no one else is around. Success is not an accident. I'm passing the ball to you.

Let's go. Steph Curry redefined basketball. Now he's rewriting what it means to succeed. Shot Ready isn't just a memoir. It's a playbook for anyone chasing their potential. Discover stories, strategies, and over 100 never-before-seen photos. Order Shot Ready. Now at stephen Currybook.com.

Don't miss Stephen Curry's New York Times bestseller, Shot Ready, available now. This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed human.