The overlooked human smuggling route through the Darien

After a long flight over a sea of trees, the ocean begins to emerge through the window of the twin-propeller plane. The vast Pacific meets the Darién jungle in the remote Colombian town of Juradó, in the northwestern Chocó department.

A gray sky and sticky humidity greet passengers at an airstrip, more a muddy clearing in dense vegetation than a suitable landing zone. Among the passengers is the town’s mayor, Denio Jimenez, writes insightcrime.org

“This airstrip cost 25 billion pesos, [but] it’s 300 meters short,” he complains in a video he posted on social media while waiting for his luggage. “The plane couldn’t land under normal conditions […] It’s dangerous to land here.”

The unfinished airstrip is the only link between Juradó and the rest of Colombia. Quibdó, the departmental capital, lies 200 kilometers to the south and is inaccessible by land. Juradó residents must endure a nearly three-hour boat journey along the Pacific coast to reach Bahía Solano, the nearest Colombian town.

To enter Juradó’s town center, a remote area surrounded by rivers and ocean, visitors must navigate a 15-minute boat ride through mangroves. The isolation is exacerbated by frequent phone signal outages, leaving the community even more disconnected from the outside world.

Yet, despite its remoteness, Juradó is, according to its mayor, “a strategic point for everything.” The municipality shares land, river, and maritime borders with Panama, just 19 kilometers north, making it a prime corridor for drug trafficking, arms smuggling, contraband, and, increasingly, human smuggling between the two countries.

For years, the perilous journey experienced by hundreds of thousands of migrants crossing the Darién jungle along the Caribbean coast has drawn global attention. Meanwhile, the Pacific side of this treacherous gap, which is a steadily growing migration route, has remained largely overlooked—other than by the Gaitanist Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (Autodefensas Gaitanistas de Colombia – AGC). The powerful criminal organization has capitalized on the route to profit from the movement of migrants through the region.

In 2021, Panamanian authorities reported a significant increase in migrants traveling along this route, surpassing 900 people by November of that year. In 2023, more than 1,500 migrants continued their journey through Juradó toward Central and North America. 

A History of Violence

The few police officers on duty in Juradó are based out of a dilapidated building in the town center, which falls under the leadership of a new commander every three months.

Despite the area’s strategic importance, the absence of a robust state presence has enabled the AGC to establish itself as the de facto authority here. According to local testimonies, the group exploits the region’s illegal economies, including human smuggling, to sustain its operations.

This neglect by the state is not new. In the 1990s, Juradó was a battleground for guerrilla and paramilitary groups, setting the stage for its current challenges. Its location—bordering Panamá and providing a connection between the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic via the northern Chocó jungle—made it a vital transit hub for goods and people, a role it continues to play in illicit networks today.

The Colombian State has failed to guarantee the safety and rights of its citizens in this region, a fact underscored by repeated early warnings from the Ombudsman’s Office.

A broken altar by the beach, dedicated to the memory of Henry Perea Torres, the mayor assassinated by the former guerrilla group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia – FARC), in January 2001, is the only reminder of the area’s violent past. The site was once overrun by nearly 500 fighters from the “José María Córdova” bloc in 1999.

And it wasn’t just the FARC that ruled here. Starting in 1996, paramilitaries from the Elmer Cárdenas Bloc of the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia – AUC) committed massacres targeting farmers and Indigenous communities in rural areas. Among the victims were the governor of the Emberá Dobidá Indigenous Community and the secretary of Juradó’s Indigenous Council, who were both murdered in 1999. 

Today, faded colored flags line the empty streets of the town center. In front of the town hall—the building with the most activity in the area—a damaged statue of a white dove, once a symbol of peace between the government and the FARC, reflects the harsh reality of Juradó.

The 2016 demobilization of the FARC after the signing of the peace agreement triggered a new wave of expansion by other armed groups into these key territories, which had long been under guerrilla control. Like other strategic regions in Colombia, Juradó’s history remains one of violence and armed actors vying for control.

The region’s highly profitable illegal economies, particularly human smuggling and drug trafficking, have fueled territorial disputes between the National Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Nacional – ELN) and the AGC since 2017.

The most recent major clash between the two groups erupted in December 2023, devastating parts of the municipality and forcing several Indigenous communities to either endure confinement or flee to the town center. “It was a very bloody, intense war,” a local public official recounts, his eyes wide with terror as he describes the ordeal. “The town was practically deserted.”

The conflict ended in victory for the AGC, leaving a fragile and uneasy peace. Some residents, fearful of more violence, speak in hushed tones, wary of being overheard by AGC informants.

“We are a very forgotten municipality,” a social leader laments, her voice filled with resignation and the sound of the ocean echoing in the background. “And people come, and they keep forgetting us.”

The Migration Route

Waves crash hard against the beach where vultures—ubiquitous scavengers in Colombia—roam restlessly among the palm trees and scattered piles of debris. At first glance, the horizon reveals nothing but the vast expanse of the ocean. Yet just offshore, the steady flow of migrants has become an increasingly frequent sight, fueling a thriving business that generates an estimated $1.8 to $2.2 million annually at this border, according to conservative figures from InSight Crime.

Until three years ago, groups of migrants made their way upriver to the Indigenous Emberá and Wounaan communities of El Bongo and Santa Teresita to navigate the jungle interior, local residents recount. Migrants were often spotted on the beach at night, prompting discussions about constructing a shelter to provide them with housing and support.

But growing pressure from the AGC on these communities, combined with the high number of disappearances along the route, ended its use. The armed group extended its control over all legal and illegal economies in the area through extortion or “taxes,” while imposing strict codes of conduct and movement schedules. Noncompliance with their rules carries a death sentence.

Fearing for their safety, Indigenous communities shut down these routes and withdrew from the local economy, leaving the maritime path as the sole alternative—a route that is more discreet and clandestine.

 

Migrants taking this sea route must pay between $1,200 and $1,500 for the journey, which involves 18 hours of navigation from the port city of Buenaventura in Valle del Cauca, 368 kilometers south of Juradó, and a transfer to speedboats off the coasts of Juradó and Bahía Solano.

Ecuadorian, Peruvian, and Chinese nationals—who were able to enter Ecuador without a visa until July 1, 2024, and begin their journey toward Buenaventura—are among the migrants abandoned, detained, or occasionally sent back to Juradó from Panamanian beaches.

Despite its steep cost, the route is dangerous. Locals recount that when the sea turns rough, it often brings ashore the bodies of drowned migrants or those thrown overboard after suffering fatal heart attacks.

“I wish [the government] would view Juradó and this border with the same strategic vision as the armed groups,” a local authority laments, concerned about the possibility of renewed clashes between the ELN and the AGC over control of the region’s illicit economies.

With high unemployment and poverty rates, Juradó’s population has few alternatives. Most transporters involved in the migration route are from the municipality, risking arrest in the neighboring country.

“Strangely, there’s neither support from the national government nor sufficient strength to guard the border,” the official adds. “And even less social investment.” 

James Smith