A single signature in Washington, DC, on January 20, 2025, upended not only the United States asylum-processing system, but the lives of hundreds of thousands of people fleeing violence and persecution hoping to seek safety within its borders.
An executive order by the Trump administration shut down the CBP One app—the only avenue to apply for asylum at the US southern border. With that announcement, 300,000 people moved from bureaucracy to uncertainty. Many were forced to start again in Mexico.
A transit hub that has become a home
For years, Mexico City has been a key point of transit and temporary stay for people trying to reach the United States. Although not everyone arrives with the intention to migrate, the capital has gained more than 10,000 foreign residents each year since 2020, when the population was 70,000.
From 2024 to 2025, the population surged from 114,000 to more than 190,000 people—an increase of 65 percent. Since Trump's executive order, many people have been forced to create a “Mexican dream” in place of the one they’d hoped for on the other side of the border.
Thousands of people are now spread across the city. Some stay close to central areas where work and basic services are easier to find. Others live on the outskirts where rent is cheaper—although services are limited—creating new communities.
The emotional cost of rebuilding a life from scratch
People on the move try to integrate with the local community, but rebuilding a life from scratch comes at a deep emotional cost. “The hardest moments are the special dates,” says Johnny, a Venezuelan man speaking from Guadalupe Victoria Park, also known as El Caballito. This space once sheltered thousands of stranded migrants, but it was cleared by authorities repeatedly, forcing people with very little to relocate to other public or hostile areas without access to basic services.
Yahir*, a survivor of extreme violence
“You have three hours to leave the country or you’re next.”
Driving was my first passion. Then I discovered painting.
My goal was never to come here, like many friends who say, “Let’s go to the United States.” That wasn’t my dream. I wanted to paint, to grow as an artist, but that brought consequences: losing my 2-year-old daughter, becoming an enemy of the mara [local gangs], and losing everyone I loved.
It all began when the mara started charging me the war tax. At first, I paid, but I got tired and said no. The first time, they shot me, which sent me to the hospital. I still felt angry and thought I could take revenge. But the second time, they killed my mother and my brother and sent me a message: “We’re coming for your daughter.” I never believed they would take her from me. That day I had to go paint; I said goodbye to my daughter and hugged her. When they called me, I went to see her and she was on the floor.
“My daughter asks, ‘Dad, when are you coming?’” Johnny continues. “Now I am here, far from my family, [after] chasing the ‘American dream’ that was once my biggest goal. But that’s no longer possible. My only wish now is to see my family again.”
While Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) teams operate in 12 locations across Mexico City and Mexico state, reaching people who could not continue north is becoming more difficult.
“After the policy changes, a new migration [status quo] has formed in the city,” says Jorge Martín, MSF project coordinator for Mexico City and Mexico state. “If before the idea was to stay a couple of months, get a consular appointment, and move on, now people try to find ways to work. This has many implications. Affordable housing is farther away and comes with [service] gaps, and now new [groups] are starting again from zero. At MSF, we have to rethink our meeting points, the neighborhoods where people settle, the spaces where COMAR [the Mexican Commission for Refugee Assistance] has offices, and many other factors.”
Outreach to vulnerable and non-Spanish speaking groups
Between January and October 2025, MSF provided more than 20,273 direct consultations across the city, including mental health, primary health care, social work, health promotion, and cultural mediation. Cultural mediation has become especially important for reaching English- and French-speaking communities that are increasingly visible in the city.
Violence remains a key factor in people’s distress: as a cause to leave one's home country, experiences in Mexico, or incidents along the migration route. “I had to flee after what happened to me,” says Ginette at MSF’s Comprehensive Care Center (CAI) in Mexico City, which supports survivors of extreme violence. “One night I went to visit my mother. Three men took me to an abandoned house. They raped me there. I did not want anyone to know. I only told my mother, and she helped me leave the country.”
Ginette’s story reflects a reality that many people endure in silence, unable to exercise their right to seek asylum in a safe place. Months after surviving the attack, she met MSF teams on the migration route and was referred for treatment at the CAI.
“It is a delicate moment,” says Joaquim Guinart, CAI project coordinator. “People want to settle and gain legal status, but as we see in many cases, the trauma of displacement is not the only burden they carry. From January to October 2025, we treated 110 people in 4,250 consultations that included medical care, psychological care, and social work in an integrated, multidisciplinary approach. But we cannot reach everyone whose needs require long-term treatment and constant follow-up.”
Coordination between the mobile clinics and the CAI—led by Jorge Martín and Joaquim Guinart—is increasingly important. This connection is essential, because mobile clinics are not only rapid-response units but also entry points for patients who later begin treatment at the CAI.
“This joint work aims to expand access to health care for populations that face barriers,” Martín adds.
“We understand that many people we meet are not only migrants but also survivors of inhumane or degrading treatment, violence, or torture who need specialized care,” Guinart explains.
Fewer border crossings hide a mounting crisis
While migration and internal displacement continue quietly and border crossings into the United States reach historic lows, it is crucial to understand that fewer arrivals at the border does not mean the migration crisis has ended. Instead, it has shifted inward, deepening vulnerability in places where it is often invisible.
People who are now stuck in legal limbo face risks and a lack of protection that limit their access to health care and basic services. “I face a lot of racism,” says Ricardo, a Haitian migrant from Port-au-Prince who now drives a motorcycle taxi in Tláhuac marked with the Haitian and Mexican flags. “Passengers often ignore me and wait for a Mexican driver. I never planned to go to the United States. I hope to return home one day, but now my partner is Mexican and I will keep working here.”
