The ‘walking route’: How an underground industry is helping migrants flee China for the US

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They come with backpacks carrying a few spare changes of clothes and whatever money and phones they weren’t robbed of by criminals or cartels along the way, arriving at the United States-Mexico border exhausted from the stress of the journey north.

Like the hundreds of thousands of peoplearound them who have also trekked weeks to reach the US, they’re driven by a desperation to escape and make a new life, despite the uncertainty of what’s on the other side.

But these migrants are fleeing the world’s second largest economy and an emerging superpower.


On a recent winter day, dozens of Chinese nationals waited in different makeshift camps scattered outside San Diego, California, just north of the Mexican border.

Bundled in hoodies and jackets, they huddled around fires as they, and others there, counted the time before US border control agents would take them away for processing – and what they hoped would be the start to their lives in America.

These arrivals are part of a staggering new trend. In the first 11 months of 2023, more than 31,000 Chinese citizens were picked up by law enforcement crossing illegally into the US from Mexico, government data shows – compared with an average of roughly 1,500 per year over the preceding decade.

Their numbers are still dwarfed by those from regional neighbors like Mexico, Venezuela, and Guatemala, and they are not alone in coming from other parts of the world. But the influx of people from China making that crossing spotlights the urgency many now feel to leave their native country, even in the midst of what leader Xi Jinping has claimed is a “national rejuvenation.”

Many who left point to a struggle to survive.

Three years of Covid-19 lockdowns and restrictions left people across China out of work – and disillusioned with the ruling Communist Party’s increasingly tight grip on all aspects of life under Xi. Now, hope that business would fully rebound once restrictions ended a year ago has vanished, with China’s once envious economic growth stuttering.

Others nod to restrictions on personal life in China, where Xi has overseen a sweeping crackdown on free speech, civil society and religion in the country of 1.4 billion.

“We are Christians,” one neatly dressed middle-aged man said simply when asked what had led him there – a bare encampment thousands of miles from home.


These Chinese nationals join migrants from around the world whose numbers have overwhelmed the southwestern US border with illegal crossings in recent months. Most are seeking asylum after they cross – a pathway that may narrow in the coming weeks as Congress is expected to move to stem that flow amid a fierce debate over immigration.

For now, people from China are on track to be the fastest growing group making those crossings, according to a CNN analysis of the latest law enforcement data on border encounters.


And as the numbers making their escape have grown, so too has a network of businesses and social media accounts catering to Chinese migrants, who must often take a circuitous route across continents, before beginning the arduous, overland journey north.


The gateway​

For many, that overland route begins in Quito, Ecuador – a city of roughly 2.5 million high in the Andean foothills that has become a gateway for those escaping China.

In 2022, Ecuador documented around 13,000 Chinese nationals entering. In the first 11 months of 2023, that number rose to more than 45,000. The country doesn’t require visas for Chinese passport holders.

A cottage industry of businesses caters to the border-bound, starting with airport pickups to arranging stays at Chinese-run hostels and organizing the journey north – often for a hefty fee, CNN reporting has found.

Evidence of the growing trend appears across Quito, if one knows where to look.

At one bus station, a ticket agent has a sign for “the Colombian border” printed in Chinese, ready to flash to potential customers. At a local hospital offering vaccinations – recommended for a treacherous jungle crossing – the Spanish-speaking nurse keeps a Chinese translation of the intake form on her desk.

Along the fringes of the city’s central business district are a growing number of businesses linked to the trend, travel agent Long Quanwei, who immigrated to Quito from China five years ago, told CNN last month.

There, convenience and department stores sell gear and goods needed for the trek north, while Chinese-run establishments offer housing, food and a place to link up with others headed north and decide about onward routes, Long says.

At one of these hostels, where a night’s stay with meals costs about $20, printed Chinese-language maps and instructions pasted to a wall detail each leg of the trip. The owner, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of online backlash, estimates there are 100 such small businesses like hers that cater to Chinese travelers, including those preparing to head north.

“Many people come here and don’t speak English or Spanish, so they look for me,” she said.


Among those passing through was Zheng Shiqing, who arrived in early December after first traveling by plane though Thailand, Morocco and Spain.

A slim 28-year-old with a serious expression, he had already met with setbacks.


On his first attempt to pass through Colombia, Zheng and a travel partner were robbed at gunpoint. With his phone and money gone, he turned back to Quito to regroup. Still, he remained determined that the only way is forward to the US – to break a cycle he sees in China.

“For ordinary people, survival is really difficult. It is really hard to live. Don’t even think about making money because you are being exploited by those (upper class) people,” Zheng said from the hostel as he prepared to set off for Colombia a second time with borrowed cash.

Zheng, a high-school graduate from rural Yunnan province whose parents are migrant workers in China, recounted how life had become increasingly difficult for people like him, despite decades of rapid economic growth lifting large parts of the population out of poverty.

I wish I was never born … living feels so exhausting.”

Zheng Shiqing, migrant from China

He started factory work mixing glue for shoe boxes in his late teens, and later switched between jobs, including at an assembly line making smartphone parts for Apple. During the pandemic, he was locked down in another factory fabricating internet routers, unable to leave. After the lockdown ended, Zheng switched to another job, where he says his wages were never paid, even after he filed a formal complaint.

“There is no way out … unless your parents are officials or businesspeople. But if you are from the lower-class, even if you get married and have children, you will still follow the old path … it’s painful just thinking about it,” he said. “I wish I was never born … living feels so exhausting.”

Earlier this year, like thousands of other Chinese, Zheng decided to try “zou xian” or taking the “walking route” to America.

The phrase has become a euphemism for the perilous journey, as has “global travels” – one of the search terms people can key in to find online tutorials in Chinese for how to prepare, what to do at each leg and even what to say to immigration officials.

‘Dire straits’​

China’s Covid-19 controls, relaxed only a year ago, hit blue collar workers in cities and residents in rural areas hard.


And now the economy continues to struggleunder a property market crisis, high local government debt and the effects of a government crack-down on the once-booming private sector, all of which has cost jobs.

After urban youth unemployment hit record levels last year, the government stopped publishing data for the metric altogether. The Communist Party pledged to do more to bolster the economy — and quash bad news about it.

“It’s striking that so many are making this perilous journey to South America and up to the US when politically the country is very stable,” said Victor Shih, director of the 21st Century China Center at the University of California San Diego, pointing to a contrast with periods of emigration from China amid political turmoil.

“It suggests that a significant segment of the population is in economic dire straits.”

Hundreds of thousands fled the mainland for Hong Kong in the mid-20th Century amid civil war and, later, political turmoil and famine under the policies of Communist China’s founder Mao Zedong.

Chinese emigration to the US took off after the opening of China’s economy in the early 1980s, a little more than a decade after restrictive US immigration policies were dropped. Then, the number of people from China gaining permanent residency – a pathway often linked to family ties, employment, and political asylum – started to climb significantly, US data shows.

As China’s economy boomed in the early 2000s, dynamics shifted: there were more opportunity for workers there, while wealthier Chinese had greater resources to immigrate or study in the US.

But the country has also seen an intensified crackdown on civil society – and any form of dissent – during the past decade under Xi, its most authoritarian leader in decades.

In that period, China also has increased its control over religion and has been accused by the United Nations’ highest human rights body of perpetuating serious abuses that could amount to crimes against humanity for the way it treats Muslim minorities, a charge Beijing denies.

UN data shows the number of people from China seeking political asylum in the US and elsewhere around the world has sharply risen during Xi’s rule – climbing from nearly 25,000 in 2013 to more than 120,000 globally in the first six months of 2023.

Those who cross at the southern US border, who include not just single adults but families, are also typically seeking asylum, an immigration category for people escaping persecution. Previously, asylum seekers from China might apply after entering the US on a tourist visa, or via a different route that may not involve being detained at a border, immigration experts say.


Now, the southern border has emerged as a better-known route amid a broader increase in the number of people from around the world crossing there since the pandemic ended.

Those who’ve entered illegally on that route must typically pass an initial screening in order to stay in the US and apply for asylum, though different migrants may face different circumstances amid an overwhelmed system.

Congress is expected to act to update immigration rules for the border in the coming days, which could change and narrow existing rules, experts say.

Within the overall increase in such crossings, the rising number of Chinese nationals who are willing to take the treacherous route – even at a time of sharp political tensions between the US and China – appears as a new and telling trend.

Beijing has condemned the border crossings, with its Foreign Ministry telling CNN in a statement that it “opposes and resolutely cracks down on any form of illegal immigration activities, and is willing to actively engage in international cooperation on this matter.”


The ‘walking route’​

For people like Zheng, even beginning the journey comes with a high price.

Those who rely on gathering information themselves and making their own way up through South and Central America, will spend at least $5,000 – more than a third of a Chinese factory worker’s average annual salary.

That includes flights out of Asia, typically through Chinese passport-friendly countries like Turkey, into Ecuador, and then cash for overnight stays, buses, taxis, boat rides, and, typically, a guide for crossing the notoriously dense jungle of the Darien Gap connecting Colombia with Panama – through which no roads run.

Those with means, however, can find ways to avoid some of the dangers. CNN uncovered information on an assortment of travel options and packages marketed to those from China looking to make the journey.

For $9,000 to $12,000, travelers can pay smugglers to arrange transportation for parts of the journey north, as well as a boat and guide for the optional rainforest crossing, all inclusive.


For those able to spend more, at least $20,000, the route gets easier: for example, help with a multiple-entry visa to Japan, which unlocks visa-free entry to Mexico, and transport to the border.

It’s not clear how many are taking those curated routes, but the offerings suggest a range of economic backgrounds among the border-bound. CNN compiled the information on these options by speaking with smugglers and others familiar with the industry, as well as from information in online tutorials.

Those from China who travel overland typically take what’s become a well-worn route from Quito to Tulcan, a small city perched on the border with Colombia.

There, residents told CNN they see hundreds – if not thousands – of Chinese migrants passing from Ecuador to Colombia each week.

The locals in Tulcan are adapting to the new group. One storekeeper whose snack shop sits on the way to the border charges a fee to help Chinese passing through set up an app for obtaining transit visas, allowing them to stay legally in Colombia for 10 days.

But she warns the crossing is dangerous: Chinese migrants are now prime targets for cartels and criminals, she says – something Zheng learned the hard way.

He passed through Tulcan a second time in mid-December and from there continued northeast to the coastal city of Necocli, where boats await to carry migrants across the Gulf of Urabá to the edge of the Darien Gap, which they then must traverse on foot.

Images shared with CNN by Zheng and others from China show the perils of that miles-long jungle stretch. There, guided groups typically travel through dense rainforest and along rocky riverbanks, at times clambering over steep, slippery stretches – or gripping ropes to cross swiftly moving or deep river water.

In the final leg, clad in orange life jackets and seated in wooden boats, they follow a winding river to the next destination – temporary migrant camps in Panama, where they register, have a free meal and rest.


In Panama, authorities have resorted to busing people from these southern border camps to their northern ones - all in the dark of night, a Panamanian official told CNN. Then it’s on through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala and Mexico – if they’re not stopped by police or thieves.


For some, the final stretch into America is the most arduous.

A mother, Chen, 38, has spent at least two nights on the streets of Mexican towns with her two children, 15 and 11, as they struggle to make it to the border.

They aim to join her husband, who made the journey to the US a year ago following what she describes as detention and abuse from authorities in China because he was vocal about politics and attended church. She didn’t want to use her full name for safety reasons.

“Without knowing this path (to America), no matter how hard you’re pushed in life, you would only lie low in another city in China and just get by,” she told CNN from Tapachula, a town at Mexico’s southern border, as she calculated whether to pay a smuggler or try and bribe their way forward to get past immigration police.

Zheng faced similar struggles.

“In the rainforest, as long as I had the willpower, I could make it through. But Mexico, that’s a different story,” he told CNN in late December as he too stayed in Tapachula, trying to plan – and get funds for — his next move forward.

“(Here) there’s the risk of being deported, not to mention gangs and robbers. We can’t afford to take those risks … one more robbery and I’ll be ruined,” he said.

But, he added: “I will have to find a way. I’ve come this far. There’s no turning back now.”

American dream?​

Days later, after scrounging together thousands more dollars to pay a smuggler to arrange a flight for him, Zheng made it to Tijuana just south of the California border.

After a brief detention there, he slipped through a gap in the border wall – finally reaching America.



There, like others who make that crossing, he waited in the country’s southernmost hinterlands in an informal camp. As he tried to stay warm, he kept thinking about what was next: “I need to find a job and live,” he told CNN by text before being taken onto a government bus for processing at a detention center.

For Zheng and thousands of others making the same crossing, this is where a new kind of uncertainty begins.

Those who are allowed to stay and enter an asylum claim after being processed by immigration officials may wait years to make their case in front of a judge within an overwhelmed system.

In the meantime, they can apply to work legally and move within the country, sometimes while carrying a government-mandated GPS tracker.

For Wang Qun, 34, whose journey to cross the border in June 2022 was documented by CNN, that waiting period has given him time to start his long-desired life in America.

Last fall, after months of memorizing English words for different parts of tractor trailers and their functions, Wang passed a licensing test. That’s allowed him to fulfill a goal he had back in his home country – becoming a truck driver in America.

Now, Wang is earning a decent living driving long hauls between California and Florida. He’s also expecting a baby with his partner, Iris, whom he met in Los Angeles after she made her own journey from China over the border just months after he did.

“I believe (Iris and I) are valuable to America. Because we are constantly working hard, paying taxes, I think our coming does not burden the US government,” he said. Wang declined to share the details of his asylum claim with CNN, as the case is pending.

But getting a positive ruling on such cases from the US government is far from a sure shot for applicants, regardless of their backgrounds, immigration experts say.

Chinese nationals have long been one of the largest groups of successful asylum seekers in the US, with nearly 13% of people granted asylum in 2022 coming from China, according to data from the Department of Homeland Security. That equated to just over 4,500 people approved that year.


Because wait times can be years long, the data doesn’t reflect the flow of people seeking asylum in 2022.


Those who choose that difficult path over the southern border now may come from different walks of life, but see their “livelihood and various interests being violated” in China, according to Ma Ju, a Chinese-Muslim community leader who won asylum in the US in 2019.

He would know – he’s running a shelter in New York City for new arrivals from China, largely those who say they are fleeing political or religious oppression. For many, it takes more than a year for a work permit in the US, he says, leaving them stuck in under-the-table jobs without labor protections as they wait to learn if they can stay.

But within the wait, there’s hope.

“Regardless of whether they’re here for economic reasons or other things, it’s for dignity – something they’ve never had in their home country,” Ma said.

 

Why so many middle-class Chinese migrants take risky, illegal route to U.S.​


SAN DIEGO -- Midnight on the remote beach of Capurgana, Colombia, was so dark that Wang Zhongwei could not see his own hands in front of his face. About 20 people got into a large wooden canoe as waves battered the sand. This boat ride would take the group into the notorious Darien Gap between Colombia and Panama, through which migrants will trek for days in the jungle toward the U.S. border.

It was a rainy night in May 2023, and Wang, 32, tied his 14-month-old son to his chest while his wife sat behind him. Their 7-year-old daughter sat with her grandparents. Waves repeatedly thrust their boat meters into the air during the two-hour journey. Wang and his wife struggled to keep their infant's face dry with a raincoat while gripping the sides of the boat. All passengers were soaked from head to toe.

"The boat ride took two hours, and my son cried for two hours. I was worried that he wasn't breathing anymore when he became too exhausted to cry," Wang told Nikkei Asia in Mandarin. "I still remember his crying even to this day."

When Wang and his family finally reached the U.S.-Mexican border weeks later, they were held at gunpoint by Mexican cartel members demanding about $800 per person to pass. Migrants had to strip to their underwear to show the gangsters they had already handed over all their valuables before the cartel guided them to the border crossing point.

Despite the treacherous journey, "I don't regret walking here," said Wang. "There is no hope for my family back in China."

Migrants of various nationalities must trek through the jungles of Colombia and Mexico, often encountering dangerous animals and gangs, to reach the U.S. border. (Photo by Wang Zhongwei)
The number of Chinese migrants crossing the U.S.-Mexico border skyrocketed in 2023. Although the actual total is elusive, over 37,000 Chinese nationals were detained on the border with Mexico last year, according to the U.S. Customs and Border Protection. This figure is 10 times greater than in pre-pandemic years.

Among those arriving, families with children are a particularly fast-growing group. U.S. border patrol agents encountered Chinese migrant families 6,645 times in the 2023 fiscal year from Oct. to Sept., and 7,081 times so far since Oct 2023, CBP data shows. That compares to 1,151 encounters in fiscal year 2022.

"Many of the Chinese migrants have had to spend an enormous amount of money to [come to the U.S.] ... It has not gotten enough attention, but it's a remarkable thing," Kurt Campbell, deputy secretary of state, told a meeting of the National Committee on U.S.-China relations in April. "I think it's fair to say the Chinese government is aware of it, probably a little concerned by it, but I don't think they have taken steps at this juncture to curtail it either."

Campbell said the large number of migrants, however, is "gathering concern" in the U.S. Indeed, as the election looms in November, border security and U.S.-China relations are shaping up to be two of the hottest battlegrounds between President Joe Biden and his opponent Donald Trump.

China in 2022 briefly halted cooperation with the U.S. on illegal migration as tensions mounted but then quietly resumed repatriation flights for illegal migrants this spring, according to the Associated Press. The issue seems to be embarrassing Beijing and remains a source of strain between the two countries: "China firmly opposes the U.S. side using the issue of illegal immigration as a pretext to smear China," said a spokesperson for the Chinese embassy in Washington on May 14.

Illegal immigrants from China try to stay warm as they are temporarily detained by the U.S. Border Patrol in Southern California on Feb. 5, after crossing the border from Mexico. (Photo by Masahiro Okoshi)
Experts say the recent surge of Chinese nationals arriving illegally in the U.S. paints a dim picture of their situation back home. Data compiled by the United Nations shows that in 2022 and 2023 total annual emigration rose to over 300,000, measured in net outflow, compared to an average of about 190,000 annually for the decade through 2019. Emigration plunged in 2020, when the COVID pandemic hit.

"It's very unusual for a middle-income country with positive economic growth, which is the case for China, to have sizable illegal outflows of population. It's just so risky to take the illegal route," said Victor Shih, a specialist in Chinese economic policy at the University of California, San Diego.

"So I think for them, it does show a level of desperation. It's hard to explain from a purely economic perspective -- I think a lot of it has to do with public policy in China," Shih added. "China has a social safety net, but it's extremely minimal. ... If you're brought into a health catastrophe or employment catastrophe, there's really little government resources to help you."

Most Chinese emigrants have historically taken easier routes -- obtaining tourist visas or enrolling at U.S. universities. But for a growing subset of the Chinese middle class, these options are not available. Studying abroad is expensive, and visas are increasingly difficult to obtain as U.S.-China relations worsen. But many are willing to brave the threat of robbery, risky boat rides, corrupt police, mudslides and potential death in the jungle for a chance at life in America. Every migrant family has a heart-jolting story of their own.

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"My whole world was a cage"

Many Chinese families traveling through South America are like Wang's; they once lived comfortable lives in China. After three years of China's zero-COVID policy and the property market's collapse, business owners and company workers are struggling to survive.

Wang's family chose to embark on the dangerous journey through Mexico having lost all hope for their futures in China, especially for their children.

Back in China, "You see tragedies happen around you that the news wouldn't even mention," Wang told Nikkei. "And look at the property crisis. A banking crisis will soon follow, and what industry can survive in this environment?" He was referring to China's deflating property bubble, which has been erasing the savings of many middle-class families since 2021.

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Wang Zhongwei and his family in Monterey Park, California, on April 27. The family trekked to the U.S.-Mexico border through the jungles of South America in May 2023, in search of a new life. (Photo by Peter Y. Pan)

Pessimism is especially rife among small business owners. Wang used to own a garment factory in the southern industrial city of Wenzhou that exported women's blouses to Europe, mostly France and Italy. Before the pandemic, he had 30 to 40 workers and made about $30,000 to $60,000 in profits every year. He and his wife lived comfortably, with a house and cars.

But the pandemic forced Wang to close down his factory. Afterward, Wang became burdened with debt payments.

Over a third of small businesses in China are not financially sustainable due to problems such as insufficient cash in hand and lack of borrowing capacity, which could impact the jobs of 18 million workers, a February report by the Chinese Academy of Financial Inclusion at Renmin University shows. The report was based on a survey of 2,349 small companies, mostly in manufacturing and retail.

Families' dreams of upward social mobility are being dashed as youth unemployment rates shoot up and the pressure to provide children with a good education -- itself often predicated on expensive tutoring -- grows heavier.

Shih from UCSD said that social mobility in recent years has become increasingly difficult in China. In the 1980s and 1990s, stories of a farmer-turned-successful businessman were not rare. Now, it is much harder to determine one's own fate.

"For small-scale entrepreneurs, it's very difficult to get established and thrive," Shih said. "They either have to pay enormous bribes to get in with the government, or they're subject to all kinds of predatory behavior."

China's post-pandemic economic slowdown has sapped the hope of many Chinese. This shopping mall in Suzhou, in the eastern province of Anhui, sat almost empty in early May. (Photo by Wataru Suzuki)
After closing his factory in 2021, Wang became a driver on Didi Chuxing's ride-hailing platform, where he met other drivers, many of whom used to be entrepreneurs, "mostly in the export business," he said. He had some savings, but the economic burden became heavier and heavier.

"I had suicidal thoughts every day," he said. "I felt like my whole world was a cage and there was no hope. Every little thing that happened contributed to that -- my factory, the pandemic lockdowns -- countless straws that fell down on me, making me feel hopeless."

Wang's older brother, who was already living in Los Angeles, told him about the "walking route" to the U.S. Wang soon started watching Douyin, China's short video site, and YouTube to learn how to make the trek.

Videos of Chinese migrants who had already completed the journey gave Wang hope that hard work could pay off for his family in America. He learned that migrant children could go to public school in the U.S. for free. Wang then sold his house and cars, packed all of his family's savings and left.

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Chasing hope

Pan Mengen, a 32-year-old hair salon owner from the town of Suzhou in Anhui province, arrived in the U.S. in January 2023 with his wife, 12-year-old daughter and 9-year-old son.

"The economy is bad, there is no concept of civil rights or freedom, my children would be lost if they grow up in China," Pan said. "I could see what awaits my children in their future; there would be no way for them to rise beyond their current social class. We had to leave."

In Suzhou, Pan and his wife ran a hair salon that was well-known among the locals, making over a million yuan ($138,914) every year before the pandemic, according to Pan. His family lived a very comfortable life in the third-tier city, where living expenses are much lower than in cities like Beijing and Shanghai. In 2018, Pan was looking into the investment-paved immigration route, particularly to countries like the U.S., Canada, Australia and New Zealand. But the pandemic hit while his family was preparing to move.

Pan's salon was forced to close, and the family lived on savings. He watched many of his friends go bankrupt or be forced to close their shops to cut costs. Even though Pan's customers came back when China reopened, he remained pessimistic.

A visit to Suzhou by Nikkei in May largely confirms Pan's version. In the small city in the eastern province of Anhui, signs of China's economic slowdown are everywhere. Rows of unfinished concrete buildings and construction equipment stand quietly. A new train station opened at the end of 2022 but showed few indications that business was booming. In one major mall, the lights were turned off during lunchtime in some areas that appeared to have no tenants.

In the evening, a night market becomes the city's main attraction as vendors set up along pedestrian streets. "This is the busiest part of this town, but look behind me," said one man selling sushi from a kiosk. The vendor added that business has been difficult this year and pointed to an empty store. "This place has been closed for a while but the sign is still up because there is no one to replace it."

Pan's family lacked the money to immigrate through investment programs and could not obtain visas. He also learned about the walking route on Douyin and YouTube. He recognized it as a risky journey, but one Chinese blogger's video struck him.

"[The Douyin blogger] was a guy with only one leg," Pan said. "He was walking through the rainforest on crutches, and I thought to myself, if he could do it, even though it is very difficult, then we could do it."

Although Pan's earnings would be considered high even in cities like Beijing, he was afraid of eventually losing everything as politics grew volatile and consumer spending remained weak in China.

The lack of a social safety net is a worry echoed by many Chinese immigrants Nikkei spoke to. Both Pan and Wang said they never knew anyone who lost their job who was able to receive unemployment checks. Most of their friends and families do not believe in social security. What they make is all they have. Wang thought his family might as well leave while they still have some money to start over.

Vendors at this night market in Suzhou in China's Anhui province told Nikkei Asia that business has been slow this year. (Photo by Wataru Suzuki)
"The total size of the official Chinese budget is a small share of its GDP compared to most developed countries," Shih said. "But even [compared to] a lot of the developing countries, it's small. Within that allocation, the Chinese government puts much higher priorities on other things besides social welfare, such as national security and internal stability."

Wang said that if China wants people to stay, it has to radically reform its social welfare and education systems so that everybody's basic needs are met.

"People live for hope, they need to have hope," Wang said. "Education does not solve inequality but at least it can put people on a more equal starting line; it gives people hope."

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But there is little incentive for the Chinese government to fix this problem, according to Shih.

"Outflow migration is kind of a safety belt for the Chinese government," he said. "If you don't like things that are happening in China, go ahead and let these people leave, they're not a problem for the Chinese government anymore."

There are some "secondary repercussions," Shih explained, such as a few migrants becoming "politically active" overseas. "But I don't think the Chinese government cares too much about it," he said. "It's not a domestic threat."

Worth the risk

Without stimulus or government help, companies in post-pandemic China have to cut costs to stay afloat, which means more work and less pay, if not layoffs. Workers bear the consequences, and some young workers would rather take their chances in the jungle.

Michael Yu, 33 and Dida Tan, 27 are a married couple who crossed the border in early April. Yu was a car mechanic contracted by a state-owned company. Tan worked at a seafood company in Nanjing. They left because their salaries were lowered so much over the past year that they could not afford their living expenses or mortgage payments.

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A group of people, including many from China, walk along the border wall after crossing into the U.S. from Mexico to seek asylum near Jacumba, California, on Oct. 24, 2023. © AP
"Before the pandemic, we worked overtime too but it was tolerable," Tan said. "Now I work overtime all the time, I have no time for myself and my salary is still decreasing, by about 70% since last October."

Yu and Tan had a friend who had already taken the walking route into the U.S. and had told them that life is much better in Los Angeles. The couple wanted to find better jobs, but the hope of starting a family was the main reason they came to the U.S.

The couple paid a Fujianese "immigration agency" about $50,000 in total to get them from Nanjing to the U.S.-Mexico border. Yu and Tan had previously tried to go to Cairo from Hong Kong and then to Quito on their own, but they were stopped by airlines and airport staff because any Chinese trying to fly to Quito were suspected of illegal immigration, they said. The agency knew which flight would allow Chinese passengers, and using this information, they were able to make the trip, according to Tan.

Using social media platforms like Douyin, TikTok, YouTube and Telegram, Chinese migrants have formed a river of information along South America. Travelers ahead update those behind regarding what works and what does not, who is trustworthy and who is not. The contact information of snakeheads, or traffickers, is shared in message groups.

Once they have arrived in the U.S., families generally stay a short time at a detention center, according to the Chinese migrants Nikkei Asia interviewed. But the duration varies drastically, Yu and Tan were released a day after arriving but Wang's mother was held for over a month. Families, women and children are often sent to state-sponsored hotels in San Diego. Government buses drive migrants from detention centers to the hotel, where they wait in the courtyard to get settled. Others, many of whom are single men, are dropped off at a transportation plaza where they can take a bus to another city.

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Chinese migrants crossing into the U.S. from Mexico warm themselves by a fire while being detained by U.S. authorities in November 2023, in Jacumba, California. © Getty Images
On a Sunny Saturday morning in April, many recently arrived Chinese gathered at a small plaza in Monterey Park, a suburb of Los Angeles.

Wang, now settled into his new life, had organized a volunteer event for Chinese migrants. He was lining up people to receive donated food and drinks. Yu and Tan came to help their friend and also enjoyed the sun and a chat with an older Shanghainese woman who was waiting in line. In an old office building in the plaza, Pan and a co-worker were cutting hair for free, while a man and his son sat on the waiting chairs while joking with Pan after their long journey through South America.

Many of those present said they had brought enough savings to buy a used car and rent an apartment for a couple of months while they looked for jobs. Many said their kids started attending public school for free just as they had hoped. By using their own networks and social media accounts, many of these migrants secured jobs, usually in the service industry. While some have struggled, others have thrived.

Pan started working at a Chinese-owned hair salon in Irvine, an upscale planned community in Orange County south of Disneyland. After a year of cultivating clients through friends and social media, and with his experience as a salon owner in China, Pan became the manager. With his monthly earnings now exceeding $10,000, he smiles easily and says his wife recently gave birth to another son.

The family is doing well as it waits for an immigration court date in 2026.

"This," Pan said, "is the life that I always wanted."
 

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