Immigrants' determination trumps fear

MATAMOROS, Mexico — They didn't even know where they were until the northbound Kansas City Southern de Mexico freight train pulled into Matamoros on a muggy summer morning.

Hours later, on the banks of the Rio Grande, the three young men learned the name of the U.S. town they were hoping to sneak into.

Jose Vasquez, a 22-year-old laborer from Veracruz, let the strange word roll off his tongue.

"Brownsville," he said uncertainly.

Vasquez and his two fast friends from the train — Hondurans with an equal zeal to find a better life in the United States — didn't have so much as an address on the other side. None spoke a word of English. They'd heard of San Antonio, but how far was it?

It was too late for a geography lesson. The sun was going down, and there hadn't been a Border Patrol truck on the gravel road across the river for a while. Thirteen hours after they arrived in Matamoros, weeks after leaving all but hope behind them, the three men stripped to their shorts and waded into the muddy Rio Grande.

Within minutes, they had disappeared into the thorny brush of a U.S. wildlife refuge, three new bit players in the red-hot debate on illegal immigration. Whether they were caught or joined the ranks of the illegal masses is anybody's guess.

The determination of the three men underscores the formidable challenge for U.S. policymakers: While immigration legislation founders in Congress, the trains and buses keep coming, carrying fresh recruits for America's fields and factories.

Some die trying to cross the border. Many are caught but turn right around to try again, as the men in Matamoros vowed they would do if apprehended.

The two Hondurans, Oscar Danelo and longtime friend Neri Rodriguez, said they had practiced swimming back home in Santa Rita. "I'm not scared," said Danelo, 22. "Poverty removes your fear."