Though this story made the news, the majority of incidents that occur along my highway neighborhood are overlooked by national media. Locally, cases of smuggled migrants are sometimes reported by our newspapers, but rather than rate as hard news, they are merely newsflashes – a hasty, soon-to-be-forgotten scroll along the bottom of a screen. And although smuggling incidents are common, researching them can be confusing as multiples incidents often happen on the same day, or can present similar scenarios making pinpointing individual incidents tough. We have become desensitized to smuggling occurrences, and we amalgamate the individual episodes into a single depressing situation.

On July 23, the same day as the Walmart tractor trailer incident, a stash house of trafficked migrants — with 11 men clothed only in their underwear — was also discovered in San Antonio. Stash houses are stopping places along a highway route, used by smugglers to warehouse and consolidate the migrants that pay to be smuggled to northern markets.  The migrants’ garments had been taken by the smugglers to prevent their escape and keep them hidden from law enforcement. A neighbor in the next house had complained about suspicious activity, and the stash house was discovered. No information was shared regarding the health condition of the men. No follow-up could be found. Their story was overshadowed by the bigger Walmart trailer story, which though sensationalized at the time, disappeared quickly thereafter.

Ten days later, on August 13, 2017, 17 migrants were found locked in the back of an abandoned trailer at the truck stop where I fuel my own vehicle on Highway 281. It was a sweltering August day, but the migrants were rescued after they used a cell phone to call their relatives in Mexico. The relatives alerted U.S. authorities. Because there were 17 migrants in the trailer in the August 2017 truck-stop episode, it was easy to confuse this situation with another trailer smuggling incident that happened in May 2017, this one at the Falfurrias check point. That May incident included 18 migrants.. With so many incidents along my particular highway route, the details are easy to jumble, and the victims easy to lose track of. As these events take place in our neighborhood, my friends and family care about these happenings. But our conversations are befuddling at times and we have a hard time recalling the details of so many smuggling cases.

Among my “neighbors” on the highway are not just fellow ranchers, but smugglers and traffickers. What differentiates us is our cargo.

Just days later, I was horrified to hear of yet another freezer trailer smuggling incident at the Falfurrias checkpoint on August 21, 2017. The distinctive element here was that the trailer’s freezer was running. So, instead of sweltering conditions, the interior temperature of the transport ran 49°F (9.4°C). The 60 migrants were issued snow parkas by their traffickers, and laid down shoulder to shoulder in efficient, space saving rows, hidden among boxes of icy produce. While I don’t know the names of any of the migrants, I do know the name vegetable that hid them. It was broccoli.

For privacy reasons, Customs and Border Patrol does not share the names of the migrants. Newspapers can share their names, only if the migrant agrees to be interviewed, perhaps while recovering in the hospital, or in the aftermath of dismantling a stash house. But the dead; well, many of the dead are never identified.

Currently, our area’s best known, internationally recognized figure is the nameless, faceless, and many times lifeless, migrant. Just like the numerous incidents of discovered human smuggling are amalgamated into a single depressing situation, the nationality and individuality of the smuggled humans is amalgamated into a single persona. They are dark specters that we see as an issue, not a human being. In my mind’s eye, I only see men, but statistics show a growing percentage of migrants are women and children.

Yet, even if we knew their names, knowing doesn’t translate to understanding them, their intentions, or their story. Migrants are present everywhere in my South Texas community, sometimes walking through our cattle ranch, sometimes traveling next to me on the highway. But no matter how hard I might try to learn more about them, I don’t know who or, more importantly, where they are, often until it’s too late.

Forget the latest transgressing Hollywood ingénue; for South Texans, migrants are our local celebrities. They are the reason our area is occasionally featured in the global news feed, and the motivation for Washington politicians to visit our border community. Shoulder to shoulder I travel among them, though I can’t see them. I don’t know them and I am not sure how to help them. Their journeys begin elsewhere, compelled by violence and poverty. They come from circumstances beyond my comprehension, where I cannot affect change. Rescuing a migrant today does not prevent another from taking that risk tomorrow.

My highway neighborhood is famous for people I don’t even know.