Plastered onto the side of the glassed-in immigration office at the dock in Necoclí – the northwestern Colombian city just across the Gulf of Urabá from the Darién Gap – is a poster warning of the hazards of northbound migration. Over recent years, more than 1.2 million people from a mind-boggling array of countries have risked their lives to cross the Gap, the 106-kilometer stretch of roadless territory and formidable jungle that spans Colombia and Panama and constitutes the only land bridge between South and Central America. Most of them hoped to reach the United States, the very country that makes much of the world unlivable in the first place while simultaneously criminalizing migration, thereby forcing the global have-nots down increasingly lethal routes.
The protagonists of the poster are the Díaz family – mom, dad, and two young daughters – whose portrait appears superimposed over an image of a small boat packed with passengers. According to the poster, which is in Spanish, la familia Díaz had set out “in search of a better future,” boarding just such a boat as they made their way toward los Estados Unidos: “Two days later, a rescue team found their lifeless bodies, together with 59 other people who had also succumbed to the river’s fury.”
When I last visited Necoclí in January, the sign had already lost its intended audience. Hardly any migrants transit the Darién Gap these days, a result of the decision by current gringo sociopath-in-chief Donald Trump to effectively shut down the US border with Mexico and dispense with the concept of asylum. In the first three months of 2026, for example, Panama recorded a total of 92 arrivals from Colombia via the jungle; in August 2023 alone, there were 81,946. I, however, certainly found myself thinking a lot about la familia Díaz over the two-hour course of a high-speed, spine-shattering boat ride from Necoclí to the village of Capurganá, which lies inside the Darién Gap and which along with the nearby village of Acandí served as the principal points of departure for migrants entering the jungle.
This was my second visit to Capurganá, the first having taken place in January 2024, when I, too, entered the jungle as a “migrant.” READ MORE AT COUNTER PUNCH.