Esperanza frets when storms strike and the wind heaves her frail little house. The weather has been violent in Texas this year, and three days ago her family was kept awake at night as the rain lashed their home, a cabin attached to a trailer.  It was an ominous start to the Atlantic hurricane season, which officially began on 1 June and runs until 30 November.  While the remote but real possibility of a direct hit from a major storm is a concern for many who live near the coast, hurricane season carries extra menace for the thousands of undocumented immigrants near the border with Mexico in Texas’s Rio Grande Valley.  Related: Immigrants appeal Texas judge’s order to turn over personal information  Interior Border Patrol checkpoints have long been stationed along highways in California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. Built to catch and deter smugglers, they form a sort of virtual border wall up to 100 miles from the actual frontier.  Normally, encounters are routine: an officer asks a vehicle’s occupants basic questions such as if they are US citizens, and may demand to see proof of legal immigration status.  But for undocumented people fearful of being apprehended, the checkpoints represent a barrier that could become life-threatening in the event of a hurricane severe enough to prompt an evacuation order. People would face agonising choices: stay home and try to ride out the storm, leave and take the chance that checkpoints are suspended or agents do not stop them, or attempt to circumvent security on foot – a potentially life-threatening decision in any weather.  An estimated 400,000 Texans live in colonias, ramshackle settlements that hug the border. Many residents are undocumented and a significant number of families, perhaps a third, are mixed status like Esperanza’s. While she and her husband are undocumented, their two children were born in America and thus are US citizens, able to move freely across the country.  Esperanza, who declined to give her full name, is one of many thousands of people in the valley who have traded freedom of movement for the promise of a better life: they have willingly walked into a geographical trap because they believe in America’s potential to give their children a future without limits.  After several years in the US, Esperanza’s family left and returned to Mexico about 13 years ago. But, worried by cartel violence, they have now returned north – the parents entering on visas they have overstayed.  Even more than the opportunity to visit other parts of the US, Esperanza would love to take trips to Mexico. But increased security has made it harder to shuttle back and forth across the border, legally or otherwise, she said through a translator.  “We made a big sacrifice, left everything behind and came here with nothing, no clothes, no money,” she said.  Now she lives “in the darkness, always in hiding”, hoping that one day she will be able to fulfill a dream that makes her emotional just thinking about it: taking her kids to Disneyland.  She has been advised by a lawyer that the best and quickest prospect of a green card is for her 16-year-old daughter to apply on her parents’ behalf when she turns 21. That means at least another five years of living in the shadows.  It can be stressful: searching for migrants who have newly arrived, Border Patrol agents sometimes pass close by her house, which is only a couple of miles from the frontier. Its decor hints at lives with firm yet fragile roots. It has many of the trappings of a typical family home, with flowers in vases and a wedding photo next to the sofa and the TV. But in other ways, the living room is bare and temporary, with half-painted walls, no carpet and a tap in the kitchen that spurts water not safe enough to drink.  “Even though I have limitations here, I still feel better here than in Mexico. I now feel like this is my home,” Esperanza said. But her children’s documents are always close at hand in case bad weather wrecks the house or forces the family to flee – in which case they would split up.  “I would send them up ahead [with relatives] and find a way to join them,” Esperanza said. “I’ll make sure that my kids are fine first and then I’ll find a way to make it to the other side.” Whatever it takes to ensure her children are safe, and then to reunite the family.  Immigrant advocates said they are seeking, but have not received, assurances from the Border Patrol that checkpoints will be suspended in the event of a hurricane that prompts an evacuation order. They worry that the agency will maintain operations rather than risk giving drug traffickers easy access to the north, possibly for several days, though this could slow an evacuation down for everyone.  Gonzalo Benavides, emergency management coordinator in Brooks County, which includes the busy Falfurrias checkpoint, said the decision was a federal matter. A spokesperson for Immigration and Customs Enforcement did not respond to requests for comment.  When Hurricane Isaac made landfall in Louisiana in 2012, the authorities said in a statement: “The laws will not be suspended.” But they added: “There will be no immigration enforcement initiatives associated with evacuations or sheltering related to Isaac, including the use of checkpoints for immigration enforcement purposes in impacted areas during an evacuation.”  Patricia Pena, executive director of La Frontera Ministries International, hopes that a clear policy can be communicated long before a hurricane hits, especially since isolated families would be hard to reach at the last minute. “It would be nice if the Border Patrol or some kind of authority would make that announcement for the families to know that they don’t have to perish here; they can make it to the other side,” she said.  Related: Think undocumented workers are all cleaners and laborers? I was a priest | Juan Carlos Ruiz  “I would say, if you want your thermal radars and drug-sniffing dogs, go ahead, but if someone’s undocumented and they want to get to safety, let them through,” said Amber Arriaga-Salinas of Proyecto Azteca, which is planning to host emergency preparedness workshops for colonia residents later this summer.  “I get very worried in hurricane season because I know and my husband knows there’s no way we’re going to go back to Mexico because of the insecurity,” said a woman who gave her name as Sarai. “The only risk we can take is going up, to be deported.” She is an undocumented Mexican immigrant with four American children. The family lives in a colonia that is prone to flooding.  Sarai said that she was unable to visit a sick family member because of the checkpoints. In other cases, being south of the checkpoints can complicate seeking medical care.  If the family was forced to flee, Sarai said, “I would not let my kids go in front by themselves. I would go with them.” She would arrive at a checkpoint and hope for the best: “I would take the risk even though I’m very afraid.”
To those ‘living in darkness’, concerned that movement could mean being apprehended, border checkpoints represent a potentially life-threatening barrier