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On June 25, Pedro Ramírez received a photo of his wife and daughter, then 3 years old, going to the pediatrician.
He was sent by an unknown number who had been following their trail closely for months.
"We already have them located, do not try to hide," the message said.
It was the third time that he contacted the Honduran family who lived on the Caribbean coast, until July 29, 2022, when they were forced to emigrate to the United States.
A month later they were deported back to the Central American country.
"Now we live in another city, but we are always on the lookout," explains Mónica Ramírez, Pedro's wife, both names fictitious for fear of reprisals.
“We neither socialize nor trust anyone.
Fear has not gone away.
We deserve to have a better future”, she says.
Like them, 247,000 Hondurans have been forced to leave their homes and go out with their clothes on, fair farewells and fear in their throats.
Internally displaced persons are one in 50, in one of the most violent countries in the region.
It is for this reason and for the urgency that the approval of the
Law for the prevention, care and protection of internally displaced persons
has been so applauded.
Although President Xiomara Castro has not made a public statement on the matter, the organizations that shaped the bill are very optimistic about its future promulgation.
The legislation, which still requires presidential approval, would create an institutional framework and establish mechanisms to prevent and protect the displaced population from threats such as forced recruitment by criminal groups and child exploitation.
For Andrés Celis, representative of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (Acnur) in Honduras, this first step is a "milestone for a country like this."
In this nation of 10.2 million inhabitants, there are 35 murders for every 100,000 residents.
For Hondurans, violence is a constant.
In Tegucigalpa, an 18-year-old boy cuts the hair of another inside a shelter for young people who have fled their places of origin due to violence. Esteban Felix (AP)
“This mechanism is very new when compared to those that are already active in places like El Salvador, Colombia or Guerrero (Mexico),” he explains by phone.
The key for the expert is in the emphasis that prevention receives.
"There is a plan to boost home ownership, avoid forced recruitment at an early age... In its creation, a logic of war was handled."
Among other key points of the regulation, a strong humanitarian care system focused on housing relocation and priority access to health and education services is contemplated.
According to UNHCR estimates, 85% of the displaced say they need psychological care and 46% of migrant minors stop their studies.
The bill had the support of some thirty local organizations and public institutions.
Among the key points, four stand out: the creation of national and municipal units that connect with those affected, a fund of 6 million dollars (80% of resources for humanitarian assistance and 20% for the generation of livelihoods), a robust plan to deactivate threats and mitigate the scenarios that motivate displacement and facilitated access to justice and reparation measures.
The Ramírez family did not even know that the National Congress approved this measure on December 21.
But Monica, 24, lets out a long sigh when she finds out about it.
"It would help us a lot," she narrates by phone.
The extortion of her family began on April 19, and since then, it is impossible to feel safe.
“We don't even believe in the Police.
Nobody followed up on our case, we could already be dead.”
A boy plays inside a shelter for displaced youth on a Snakes and Ladders board where each square is a lesson on human rights.
Stephen Felix (AP)
First it was a call and an obligation: pay an armed group.
The second was a message: “Get alive with the extortions.
If you don't pay, stick to the neighborhood."
And a warning of what would happen if they denounced: “We are going to shoot you.
We are not playing".
Still, they dared to do it.
One day after recounting what happened to the Police, another: "The toads (snitches) have their tongues cut out."
The last threat was in the form of a request to the company they had.
Since then, nothing is the same.
Neither go to the supermarket nor take the little girl to school.
Everyday actions are tasks that involve logistics and alert eyes.
“In Honduras, there are too many scary stories,” says Celis.
For the Acnur representative, the number of beneficiaries exceeds the 247,000 displaced persons.
“A society cannot be sustainable if it lives with the risk of being displaced from where it lives.
This is a response for the entire nation and designed to heal these deep wounds.
According to the National Commissioner for Human Rights (Conadeh), every 12 hours a person is exposed to the risk of having to relocate forcibly.
According to the UNHCR Global Trends Report, Honduras was among the 10 countries with the highest number of refugee applicants in the world in 2021. For Víctor López (not his real name to protect his identity), migrating out of the country was never a option.
He had no money to do it or a support network to accompany him or support him.
In fact, quite the opposite.
López, 30, has known violence since he was six years old when he was the victim of mistreatment by his parents and sexual abuse by his cousin.
“What hurt me the most was that my mother hit me when she told her about it.
For her, my effeminate attitudes had caused it, ”he narrates.
Discrimination continued in the neighborhood she moved to and in the Church she went to for help.
“Everyone wanted to correct my sexual inclination.
I didn't feel comfortable anywhere, ”she recalls.
"There goes the butt."
“Compose yourself”.
"You are not a man."
These were the insults that the young man received daily, who is now a graduate in Pedagogy and Educational Sciences.
He was also the victim of several attacks on social networks and false profiles that promoted his services as a sex worker.
“My neighborhood was one of the most violent and poorest in the country.
I had to emigrate to Namasigüe because of the persecution I suffered”, he comments.
With no support network and hardly any income, starting a life 140 kilometers from where he grew up meant “being very careful” and hiding his identity to avoid harassment.
The organization to which López belongs,