GOVERNMENT
Humanitarian crisis with tactical tools The car went quiet as it rambled from a dirt road back to pavement. Looking out the window at the vast open desert, Vasavilbaso called the road by its nickname, “The Devil’s Highway.” In 2001, a tragic incident unfolded just miles from the Ajo station, highlighting the perils faced by migrants attempting to cross into the U.S. A group of 28 Mexican migrants, primarily from the state of Veracruz, were led by smugglers through the treacherous terrain of the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. The smugglers abandoned the migrants with minimal water and false assurances that they were close to rescue. Over the next several days, temperatures soared to 115 degrees and 14 of the migrants died, marking one of the deadliest border- crossing tragedies in Arizona’s history. The incident drew attention to the dangers of increased border enforcement policies, such as Operation Gatekeeper, which had pushed migrants to take more perilous routes through remote and inhospitable areas. Critics argued such policies inadvertently led to more deaths by forcing migrants onto hazardous paths. In response to the tragedy, U.S. and Mexican officials pledged to enhance cooperation to prevent similar incidents. The border patrol increased rescue operations and placed more emergency beacons in the desert. “We do what we can,” said Ortiz. “We have EMTs, paramedics, helicopters. But at the end of the day, we’re law enforcement.” Neither agent was in the region during the Yuma 14 incident, but both have experienced What may concern residents most is the extent to which border enforcement now occurs far from the border itself. Maricopa is no longer an outlier. As cartel scouts and stash houses embed deeper into Arizona, the border patrol’s presence follows. “We’re going where the intel sends us,” said Ortiz, “and the intel sometimes sends us north.” Those small towns are all about relationships, added Mennell, the local border patrol chief. “We don’t have enough border patrol agents to man these small towns,” he said of Maricopa and similar communities deeper in the buffer zone. “It’s going to be the cops who hear about this weird sh*t first.” It was a single, weird sunray in a small town that led to the bust in the Maricopa Mountains. the harsh reality of border crossing. Invisible border in the interior
someone unknowingly steps onto one of these areas, the legal consequences could be severe — and totally disproportionate.” The ACLU warns that even absent arrests, the symbolism of soldiers in the desert carries weight. In a region where the Constitution’s protections are already thin near the border, critics say the quiet normalization of military surveillance sets a dangerous precedent. “We’ve seen the military provide logistical support at the border in the past, but this moment feels different,” Schramm said. “There’s a heightened level of rhetoric from the current administration that raises the risk of a significant expansion of military authority in civilian areas. That creates the potential for troubling encounters between armed military personnel and everyday residents of border communities.” Schramm said the ACLU is especially wary of policies that increase surveillance and policing power in already heavily monitored areas, noting that both migrants and U.S. citizens in border towns are impacted. He cited a recent executive order establishing a 60-foot zone for military use along the border as a potential flashpoint. “There’s a real fear about what happens if someone, whether a migrant seeking asylum or a local resident, accidentally steps onto land designated as military territory,” he said. “Those actions could carry criminal penalties, regardless of intent.” While the ACLU has not seen widespread military personnel involvement in Arizona yet, Schramm said community members are increasingly reaching out with concerns. “Right now, it’s mostly fear and uncertainty,” he said, “but the risk of escalation is real.”
Above: Supervisory Border Patrol Agent Jesus Vasavilbaso (left) and Border Patrol Agent Robert Ortiz stop at the border wall. Right: A view facing east along the U.S.-Mexico line.
“It’s like a franchise system,” one agent said. “The cartel runs the whole show, but they sublet areas to plaza bosses, who hire scouts, drivers and smugglers. Everyone pays a quota.” Migrants pay between $1,000 and $1,500 just to be allowed to cross the line. That doesn’t include travel, lodging or the required camouflage kits they must purchase. “People think it’s humanitarian,” said an agent, “but every person crossing without documents is putting money into cartel hands. That’s a hard truth nobody likes to say out loud.” While this view may be operationally accurate, it skirts a more fundamental issue: why migrants feel compelled to turn to these criminal networks in the first place. Agents acknowledge most people they apprehend have been misled or exploited, but there remains little space in enforcement discourse for addressing systemic drivers of migration like poverty, violence and political instability.
The business of exploitation Vasavilbaso and Ortiz don’t share Schramm’s concerns. They say their focus is on intercepting human traffickers and stopping the cartels at the border. Agents describe the cartels operating along the southern border as corporate in their organization and ruthless in execution. steps onto land designated as military territory. Those actions could carry criminal penalties, regardless of intent.” NOAH SCHRAMM, BORDER POLICY EXPERT WITH THE ACLU OF ARIZONA There’s a real fear about what happens if someone, whether a migrant seeking asylum or a local resident, accidentally
InMaricopa.com | June 2025
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