In the chaos, there is anarchy—and no one to stop them.
En uno de los pasos fronterizos más altos del mundo, miles de migrantes venezolanos y haitianos han quedado atrapados entre la inestabilidad política del Perú y la indiferencia de un Estado ausente. En Desaguadero, a 3.800 metros sobre el nivel del mar, la geografía y la política se han convertido en una misma trampa: siete migrantes haitianos han muerto, víctimas del soroche, el frío y el abandono. Lo que para muchos es un punto de tránsito se ha convertido, para los más vulnerables, en un lugar donde la travesía puede terminar para siempre.
- Desde enero, agricultores aimaras bloquean el puente internacional de Desaguadero exigiendo la renuncia de la presidenta Dina Boluarte, paralizando el paso de miles de migrantes que intentan llegar a Chile o Argentina.
- Siete migrantes haitianos han muerto por mal de altura, edema pulmonar e insuficiencia respiratoria en condiciones de frío extremo, hambre y altitud superior a los 3.800 metros.
- Redes criminales cobran 200 dólares por persona para cruzar la frontera, mientras la policía exige coimas y el caos institucional deja a los migrantes sin ninguna protección legal ni médica efectiva.
- El centro médico rural local ha colapsado, el alcalde no puede imponer orden y no hay fiscales presentes: un voluntario que trabaja en una iglesia local describe la situación como anarquía total.
- Algunos migrantes logran escabullirse por los costados de los piquetes y reanudan su camino hacia Bolivia, pero la mayoría permanece varada, expuesta y sin recursos, mientras el bloqueo político continúa sin resolución.
Cristian, migrante venezolano, da la espalda a la cámara y aprieta su enorme maleta. Está varado en Desaguadero, el paso fronterizo entre Perú y Bolivia, y ya no tiene fuerzas. Quería llegar a Chile o Argentina, pero el camino se cerró —no por la geografía, sino por la política.
Desde enero, agricultores aimaras bloquean el puente internacional para exigir la renuncia de la presidenta Dina Boluarte, quien asumió el poder en diciembre tras el fallido autogolpe de Pedro Castillo. El bloqueo ha atrapado a miles de migrantes en un lugar al que nunca quisieron llegar: a 3.800 metros de altitud, con temperaturas de entre 3 y 14 grados, sin combustible y sin comida suficiente.
En las últimas semanas, siete migrantes haitianos han muerto en o cerca del cruce, según el organismo de refugiados de la ONU. El médico José Alberto Capaquira relató que su pequeño centro de salud rural recibió a unos veinte haitianos entre enero y principios de febrero. Varios no sobrevivieron. La causa principal fue el soroche, agravado por el hambre, el frío y el agotamiento acumulado de semanas de travesía.
Un voluntario peruano que trabaja en una iglesia local, y que pidió el anonimato por temor a represalias policiales, describió un sistema de depredación sistemática. Los migrantes son estafados, extorsionados por agentes de policía y cobrados por bandas criminales que exigen 200 dólares por persona para cruzar. El alcalde no puede hacer cumplir la ley. No hay fiscales. No hay orden.
Incluso los camioneros, acostumbrados a esta ruta y a este clima, están cayendo enfermos. Los migrantes llegan en peores condiciones: sin ropa abrigada, sin saber lo que significa estar a esa altitud. Los vecinos ofrecen sopa caliente y frazadas, pero la caridad no reemplaza el paso libre ni la seguridad.
Cristian y su compañero logran finalmente cruzar un piquete y retoman el camino hacia Bolivia, perdiéndose entre los picos andinos. Detrás de ellos, el bloqueo sigue en pie. Adelante, la altitud espera.
Cristian clutches his enormous suitcase and turns away from the camera, unwilling to show his face. He is a Venezuelan migrant stranded at Desaguadero, the border crossing that connects Peru and Bolivia, and he is exhausted. "It's horrible," he says, his voice tight with frustration. He came here trying to reach Chile or Argentina, but the road has become impassable—not because of geography, but because of politics.
Since early January, Aymara farmers have blockaded the international bridge at Desaguadero, demanding the resignation of Peru's president Dina Boluarte. She took office in December after leftist leader Pedro Castillo attempted to dissolve Congress and rule by decree, a move that triggered nationwide unrest. The blockade has trapped thousands of migrants in a place they never intended to stay. Fuel is scarce. Food is scarce. The temperature hovers between 3 and 14 degrees Celsius. The altitude is 3,800 meters—high enough that the human body struggles to find oxygen.
Cristian has asked for help ten times just to move his bag forward. He has been robbed at every border he has crossed. He has been extorted. He is still more than 3,000 kilometers from Argentina, his destination. Around him, truck drivers sit idle in endless queues, improvising communal cooking pots beside their massive tires. They are waiting for the blockade to lift. They are waiting for passage that may never come.
In recent weeks, seven Haitian migrants have died at or near the Desaguadero crossing, according to the UN refugee agency. Six of them died in Desaguadero itself. The local rural medical center has collapsed under the pressure. Dr. José Alberto Capaquira told reporters that between January and the first week of February, about twenty Haitian migrants came through his clinic. Some of them did not leave alive. The primary cause was altitude sickness—the body's inability to adapt to the thin air. But the deaths also involved pulmonary edema and respiratory failure, conditions that worsen when a person is already weakened by hunger, cold, and desperation.
A Peruvian volunteer working at a church in Desaguadero, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of police retaliation, described a system of systematic predation. Some Haitian migrants died because they had run out of money. Others had been scammed. All of them faced what locals call "mordidas"—bribes demanded by police, who are widely accused of extracting the worst extortion payments. Criminal networks charge $200 per person to smuggle migrants across the border. In the chaos created by the blockade and the absence of functioning local authority, there is no one to stop them. The mayor cannot enforce order. The police do not answer to him. There are no prosecutors. There is, as the volunteer put it, anarchy.
Even the truck drivers, men accustomed to this route and this climate, are falling ill. Gregorio Ramos noted that several of his colleagues are already in poor health from the rain, the cold, and the relentless altitude. The migrants have it worse. They arrive with whatever they can carry, often with no warm clothes, no understanding of how high they are or what that means for their bodies. Local residents have offered what they can—bowls of hot soup, blankets—but charity cannot substitute for passage, for safety, for the ability to move forward.
Cristian and his companion eventually cross a picket line and slip past a barricade. They move to the side of a protest by farmers demanding the government's attention. They resume their journey, following a path that disappears into the landscape of Andean peaks toward Bolivia. Behind them, the blockade remains. Ahead, the altitude waits.
Notable Quotes
They don't give you passage, they take your money at every border you stop at, they don't allow you help. Here, where I am, I've asked for help ten times to move my bag and they wouldn't let me.— Cristian, Venezuelan migrant at Desaguadero
Some Haitian migrants died because they had run out of money. Others had been scammed. All of them faced bribes from police, who extract the worst extortion payments.— Peruvian church volunteer in Desaguadero
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a political crisis in Lima affect people trying to cross at Desaguadero?
Because the blockade is local—Aymara farmers controlling the bridge are making a statement about national politics. But they're not letting anyone through, regardless of who they are or where they're going.
So the migrants are caught between two things they didn't create.
Exactly. They're not part of the political fight. They're just trying to move south, and suddenly they're trapped at 3,800 meters with no fuel, no food, and no way forward.
The deaths from altitude sickness—that's not something you'd expect migrants to anticipate.
Most of them are coming from lower elevations. Haiti, Venezuela, Chile. They don't know what altitude sickness is until their lungs start failing. And by then, there's no medical help that can reach them in time.
The $200 per person to cross—who's collecting that?
Criminal networks. They've moved in because there's no functioning authority. The police are part of the problem, not the solution. They're taking bribes too.
Is there any sense of when this might end?
Not really. The blockade is tied to a political demand—Boluarte's resignation. Until that changes, or until the government finds a way to clear the crossing, people will keep arriving and getting stuck.