In Honduras, the changing climate is undermining traditional agriculture. That's particularly difficult for women and girls, who depend on farming. And it's contributing to what experts call the "feminization" of migration.
Since the start of 2021, U.S. immigration authorities have encountered more migrants from Honduras at the southern U.S. border than any country except Mexico, and climate change is one reason why.
That's apparent in the sudden devastation caused by two hurricanes that struck the country in late 2020, and also in the slow-moving catastrophe of erratic rainfall and drought that are undermining agriculture — a major blow for a country that historically relies on farming for subsistence.
NPR talked to dozens of Hondurans in rural towns and villages who told us that changing climate is making it harder to survive. It's adding one more pressure to the complicated decision about whether to migrate in search of a better life in the U.S.
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Transcript
MARY LOUISE KELLY, HOST:
More people around the world are on the move than ever before. The changing climate is one reason why. In Central America, climate change is undermining traditional agriculture. And that is particularly difficult for women and girls who depend on farming. It is contributing to what experts call the feminization of migration. NPR's Joel Rose traveled to Honduras to find out more for our series Uprooted.
VITALINA DE JESUS: (Through interpreter) Come on in. We've been waiting for you.
(SOUNDBITE OF DOG BARKING)
JOEL ROSE, BYLINE: Vitalina de Jesus welcomes us to her home on a steep hill in western Honduras in a village called Los Ranchos. Her house is tiny, just two rooms. One of them is made of adobe, and the floor is bare dirt.
(SOUNDBITE OF ROOSTER CROWING)
ROSE: Roosters, chickens and dogs wander around the backyard. We sit next to a large wash sink with clotheslines strung all around us. The yard is also bare dirt and turns to mud when it rains.
DE JESUS: (Through interpreter) We have heavy rains and hurricanes here. Weather patterns have changed. It's different now. The rainy season lasted three months, and now we have heavy and long periods of rain. It's not predictable anymore.
ROSE: That's a big problem in a country where almost 30% of the population works in agriculture. De Jesus says coffee harvesting used to be steady work. It helped her raise 10 kids on her own after her husband died. But she says that work isn't reliable anymore. That's why most of her children have moved away, except for her youngest daughter, Jesus Santiago. She works picking coffee during the harvest season.
JESUS SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) A gallon is, like, this bucket.
ROSE: Santiago picks up a bucket to show us how much she gets paid. She makes a little more than $2 for each bucket she fills. On a good day, she can pick enough coffee berries to fill 10 buckets. But those good days are few and far between now, in part because of the changing climate.
SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) When berries ripen, they have to be harvested quickly. If not, they fall off, and it rots in the ground.
ROSE: Santiago has been working since she dropped out of school when she was 7. Now 23, she's tried to migrate to the U.S. twice already and is planning to try again.
SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) I don't want to live like this forever. I want to grow, get a better, full-time job. I want a better future, a different future.
ROSE: The changing climate is undermining agriculture in Honduras, making it even harder for people like Santiago and her mother to survive. Experts say these climate disruptions are falling particularly hard on women and girls in rural Honduras, where generation after generation of women with little education have depended on agriculture.
BETILDE MUNOZ-POGOSSIAN: My name is Betilde Munoz-Pogossian. I would argue that it's mostly women and girls affected by climate change and extreme climate events.
ROSE: Munoz-Pogossian is with the Organization of American States in Washington, where she works on behalf of vulnerable populations. She says climate change is contributing to what's known as the feminization of migration.
MUNOZ-POGOSSIAN: We are seeing women migrating in relatively similar numbers as men, which is, you know, 50-50%.
ROSE: This wasn't always the case, particularly at the U.S.-Mexico border, where the vast majority of migrants used to be men. But over the past decade, that's been changing. In 2012, only 14% of the migrants encountered at the border were women. That's grown to more than a third - 35% in 2019. There are a lot of reasons for the shift, but Munoz-Pogossian believes climate change is one of them.
MUNOZ-POGOSSIAN: Climate change kind of adds up to this series of other factors that are present there that have to do with poverty, with inequality, violence. I think climate change adds up to the cocktail of reasons of why people migrate.
ROSE: Honduras has one of the highest homicide rates in the world and the highest rate of femicide in Latin America. There's also widespread poverty and deep-seated corruption. Munoz-Pogossian argues that those factors can obscure the link between climate change and migration.
MUNOZ-POGOSSIAN: There is an environmental explanation that is usually hidden in those other, more economic explanations or violations of human rights or violence.
(SOUNDBITE OF BALL THUDDING)
ROSE: Kids gather for a pickup soccer game in a village called Colonia 6 de Mayo in northwest Honduras. It's a tiny place. The primary economic activity here is farming, but several young women we spoke to don't see that as a viable option.
MARIA DEL CARMEN CABALLERO: (Through interpreter) Of course, we would like to stay here and work the land, but the production is not enough to live off of.
ROSE: Maria del Carmen Caballero is 22 years old. She dropped out of school after fifth grade. That's not unusual in rural Honduras, where families often don't have the resources to continue their children's education. Caballero says her parents rent the land they're farming, and if they lose their crops, they still have to pay rent. She doesn't see any other opportunities.
DEL CARMEN CABALLERO: (Through interpreter) We pray God gives us the opportunity to go somewhere else to find work because the situation here is difficult, ideally to the U.S. so we can help our parents build a home.
ROSE: That's another big economic engine here - children who migrate to the U.S. and send money back to support their families. You can see these houses built with remittances all over Honduras - a constant reminder to those who've stayed behind, like Jesus Santiago and her mother, whom we met earlier. Vitalina de Jesus wipes tears from her cheeks as she explains.
DE JESUS: (Through interpreter) You see; those who have migrated have a better livelihood. They have good homes, cars, good land because they migrate to work hard. And my daughter is hardworking. She's not lazy. She's bright.
ROSE: Those who leave don't always head straight for the U.S. Often they migrate internally first, trying to find work in a bigger city in Honduras. Santiago has tried that as well.
SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) I went to Progreso last summer. I worked at a banana packing plant for four months.
ROSE: She moved to El Progreso, several hours by bus from her home in the mountains. The plan was to save money to help her mother, but Santiago says that didn't happen.
SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) It was a struggle because I had a lot of expenses - meals, housing, transportation. And pay wasn't great. I was breaking even.
ROSE: Santiago ended up back with her mother in Los Ranchos. Now she's picking coffee when she can. But Santiago says it's not enough. She's planning to try again to migrate to the U.S.
SANTIAGO: (Through interpreter) Yes, I want to try again. I'd miss home and miss it terribly. But I also want to get ahead.
ROSE: The last time Santiago and her brother tried, they made it several hundred miles into southern Mexico. But they were caught by immigration authorities in Veracruz and deported back to Honduras, broken both financially and emotionally, Santiago says. Her mother, Vitalina de Jesus, has mixed feelings about this plan.
DE JESUS: (Through interpreter) It's sadness and pride because she wants a better a future, and I can't give it to her here. I do wish she goes because there's no hope here.
ROSE: "I tell God that she's going to make the journey," de Jesus says, "and she'll get there with a bright future awaiting." Joel Rose, NPR News, Los Ranchos, Honduras. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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