New Mexico
Trump or Harris? For these New Mexico farmers, the more pressing question is survival
In New Mexico, nothing is a straight line. Roads curve when they’re not undulating. Agricultural communities pop up like emeralds in a landscape of brown. Brilliant blue skies worthy of an Instagram filter open up in seconds, unleashing torrential rains.
“Latino” in New Mexico is daily life, not a concept. It’s the state with the highest percentage of Latinos — nearly 49% — many with roots here going back centuries.
Seven days. Seven states. Nearly 3,000 miles. Gustavo Arellano talks to Latinos across the Southwest about their hopes, fears and dreams in this election year.
The L.A. antiquarian Charles Fletcher Lummis called it the Land of Poco Tiempo in his 1893 book of the same name, depicting it as a real-life territory of lotus eaters, of indolent pleasure. It’s a stereotype long thrown at Latinos and especially laughable when applied to rural New Mexico.
Here, those who work the land are those who survive.
That’s why I wanted to check in with growers along Interstate 25 — America’s unofficial Chile Highway. Agriculture is an underrated barometer of where a region and its people are heading, since it intersects with so many essential issues: the economy, climate change, immigration.
A sunset on Interstate 25 near Truth or Consequences, N.M.
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
Hard times have long afflicted the Land of Enchantment. It’s been a testing ground for the Manhattan Project and a crossroads for drug trafficking networks, as dramatized in the television series “Breaking Bad.” It has the fourth-highest poverty rate, the seventh-highest drug overdose death rate and the highest alcohol-related death rate, cq all according to federal figures.
Still, New Mexico’s farmers manage to will bounty out of a seemingly inhospitable land. Farmers know that you have to work with what’s in front of you. And you have to fight like hell for it.
On my way to Hatch, I tuned in to local radio stations to blast New Mexico music. The genre sounds like a sweaty 1970s bar — polka beats with horns instead of accordions, songs that veer from oldies-but-goodies to rancheras, with springy bass lines, whirling keyboards and jangly guitars making it impossible to sit still.
It’s popular only in its namesake state and southern Colorado, the homeland of the so-called Hispanos, who trace their heritage to settlers who came from Mexico in the 16th and 17th centuries. I chose the music as a reminder of the proud people I know in the region — and how their small-town roots color their political outlook. Although long a blue state, New Mexico elected Republican Susana Martinez, the country’s first Latina governor, to two terms beginning in 2011.
Hatch is known for its big, meaty green pepper, which has increased in popularity worldwide over the last 20 years. My wife and I have bought them for 15 years — for personal use and for her market in Santa Ana — from Hatch Chile Sales, owned by the Atencio family.
There, I found Michele Atencio sitting at a table, surrounded by all manner of chiles: Habaneros. Chipotles. Hatch, of course. Fresh. Dried. Powdered. Jellies. Strung into ristras — bouquets used as adornments across the Southwest.
The chile season, which lasts from late summer through the fall and envelops New Mexico in a haze of fragrant smoke from all the roasting, had begun a few weeks earlier.
Atencio, 42, who runs the shop while her husband runs the family farm, asked what brought me back after so long — I hadn’t visited in years. I mentioned my Southwest road trip to profile Latino life in the region. Did she have any thoughts about the presidential election?
Usually warm and chatty, Atencio, who was raised in the Mexican state of Zacatecas, got uncharacteristically quiet.
Top, Hatch Chile Sales offers various chiles in different forms, including habaneros, chipotles and hatch — fresh, dried, powdered and jellies too. Above, bouquets of dried chiles known as ristras and various pepper products are part of the inventory at Hatch Chile Sales in New Mexico.
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
“I don’t want to be mean, but we need immigration control,” she said in Spanish. “There are a lot of Venezuelans coming in. They come and they get housing and they get food stamps. And you, who have worked here all your life? You don’t get that. We pay taxes and they get all the benefits.”
She sounded like some of my cousins.
Local farmers have offered jobs to the new migrants, Atencio said, “but they don’t like that work. I don’t get it. They need help. But there’s frustration growing here.”
She rang up my bill. Mamba, a senior pug, wandered around before lying down next to her feet.
Michele Atencio with the bounty from her family farm in Hatch, N.M. She wants the next U.S. president to focus on immigration.
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
“I’m not against them. I get why they come here. But my dad and your dad, they crossed the river. They took years to better themselves,” she said.
I asked whom she was voting for, but she shook off the question.
“Whoever’s next, they need to put better border control,” she said. “I’m not the only one who thinks that.”
I next visited Rosales Produce in Escondida, two hours north.
Linda Rosales, 68, took me in her dirt-caked Silverado through the back roads that connected the fields. Her father-in-law started off as a farmworker before buying his first plot of land in 1969. Today, the family works 500 acres, 60 of them devoted to chiles.
We passed over acequias — a system of communal irrigation ditches originating with the Moors that New Mexico’s farmers have used for centuries.
Top, Linda Rosales’ family farm covers 500 acres, 60 of them devoted to chiles, in Escondida, N.M. Above, the Rosales Produce stand in Escondida, N.M. “The monsoons have been great so far, so the harvest is really good,” Rosales said. “But it’s coming too early.”
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
Water is the eternal conundrum in this state, especially as climate change has diminished the summer monsoons and the Rio Grande and its tributaries slowly dry up.
I asked how the chile harvest was going. In 1990, New Mexico farmers harvested nearly 29,000 acres of chiles, according to the New Mexico Chile Assn. In 2023, the yield had dwindled to 8,500 acres.
“The monsoons have been great so far, so the harvest is really good,” she said. “But it’s coming too early.”
Rosales parked the Silverado at the edge of a field. “See the red ones? That means they’re ripe. They shouldn’t be ripe right now. It’s been too hot. We can only pick until 1 [in the afternoon], because the heat will kill you.”
It wasn’t even 10 in the morning, but I didn’t see many workers.
“There’s no one here to work for us. Nobody has done nothing,” to make it easier to legally hire workers, Rosales said, speaking about both the Trump and Biden administrations. “Trump finished the border wall or whatever. Biden did, too. And you get to see who picks. No one.”
We headed back to the Rosales Produce stand. I asked which presidential candidate she favors.
“Whoever it is, the No. 1 issue for them should be workers,” she said.
The spare beauty of southern New Mexico soon turned into the suburban sprawl of Albuquerque. A digital billboard urged residents to turn off their sprinklers when it rains.
My next stop was Southwest Heritage Mills, which specializes in New Mexican products such as chile powder, dried posole and spice mixes. My wife and I have known owner Felix Torres for nearly a decade. I still remember when his business was a small warehouse space, a tiny upstairs office and a single mill to process blue corn into cornmeal.
Felix Torres, owner of Southwest Heritage Mills, at his headquarters in Albuquerque. He says he’s having trouble hiring workers because the government doesn’t give people the incentive to work anymore.
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
Today, the Air Force veteran has two huge warehouses with an array of equipment: a roaster, a cooking tank, a large mill. He has thought about relocating to a bigger facility near the airport, because business is better than ever. But…
“There’s no incentive to work right now. Even the immigrants don’t want to work,” he said. “They come in. The government takes care of them. It’s a very entitled mentality.
“The immigrants are acting like the Americans,” he continued with an exasperated laugh. We snacked on bizcochitos, an anise-flavored New Mexican shortbread cookie, in his spacious office. “And the Americans are worse!”
Torres is large, soft-spoken and even-keeled. This was the most upset I had ever heard him. The lifelong Democrat left the party this year, tired of what he called its “woke agenda,” but is turned off by Trump’s bluster. He’ll vote for a third-party candidate, if he votes at all.
The 61-year-old, who traces his family in New Mexico back to the 1600s, started his business to honor his home state’s food ways as well as to connect Hispanos and Native Americans with their roots and better deal with modernity. Torres used to have eight employees. Now, he is down to two, and he has to close Fridays to catch up on paperwork.
The federal and state government, he said, needs to “stop giving [people] incentives to not work. Some people will say, ‘That’s pretty callous,’ but that’s how it is.”
After chatting with Torres, I got back on Interstate 25, then headed northwest on U.S. Route 285. Clouds covered Santa Cruz Farm in Española, an hour and a half north of Albuquerque, as I rolled in late in the afternoon.
A sunset on Interstate 25 near Truth or Consequences, N.M., during Gustavo Arellano’s road trip across the Southwest.
The 4½-acre parcel has been in Don Bustos’ family for more than 400 years. With a shock of long white hair and a long beard, the 67-year-old looks like an Old Testament prophet. He’s a board member of the New Mexico Acequia Assn. and has taught young New Mexicans how to farm for decades.
Santa Cruz Farm grows 72 crops throughout the year and uses solar energy to power greenhouses and even water pumps. We passed by apple, nectarine and pear trees, then blackberry brambles as large as a football field. A Great Pyrenees, who had just gotten skunked but nevertheless maintained a grin, protected a flock of turkeys.
Bustos stuffed me with fresh fruit until I was a walking jar of jelly.
“As my dad said, ‘As long as you can feed yourself, the whole world can go to pot, mijo, and you’ll be OK,’” he cracked.
His politics are more liberal than those of the other New Mexican farmers I talked to. He likes Kamala Harris’ plan to combat grocery price-gouging and called Sen. Ben Ray Luján (D-N.M.) a “champion” for the state’s small farmers who fights to get more federal resources for them.
Don Bustos, 67, grows blackberry and dozens of other crops at his Santa Cruz Farm in Española, N.M. His family has owned the 4½-acre parcel for more than 400 years.
(Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
But Bustos, like the others, was skeptical of faraway bureaucrats. Since the U.S. took over New Mexico, Hispanos have fought to keep land grants awarded to them under Spanish and Mexican rule — mostly through the courts but sometimes with violence.
Bustos credits his ancestors for standing up for their rights and organizing other Hispanos against threats to their way of life. But the fight continues: The looming issue for him is water, in a state that continues to grow, especially around Albuquerque, which he calls “the Beast.”
“When the state engineer says water is needed for tech, we need to rise up and say, ‘Basta, it’s for food.’ We’re in the battle of our lives,” he said.
We drove to a nearby house where Bustos was growing chiles for a friend. He turned a wheel that opened an acequia and flooded the field with clear, cold water. It was bucolic, inspiring — but how long could this last?
Federal and state water engineers often come and ask how Bustos knows his methods are efficient.
His answer is simple: “It’s been working for 400 years. Leave us alone.”
A stretch of of the US-Mexico border near Sunland Park, New Mexico, is being cleared to make way for an extension of Trump’s border wall.Gaby Velasquez/Puente News Collaborative
This story was originally published by Inside Climate News in partnership with Puente News Collaborative and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.
On a Saturday morning in March, high school students, mountain bikers and soldiers from a nearby Army base climbed the winding path up Mount Cristo Rey. From the summit, they could see most of El Paso, the sprawling city that dominates a stretch of desert where New Mexico, Texas and the Mexican state of Chihuahua meet.
They paused to trace the line of the Rio Grande, where it divides Mexico and the United States, and then touched the smooth tiles lining the base of the Christ the King statue, a cherished monument that gives the mountain its name.
Two days later, on a Monday morning, explosions rattled the same site. Contractors were blasting the south side of Mount Cristo Rey to prepare the terrain for construction of the border wall President Donald Trump has long promised would run from San Diego in California to Brownsville in Texas.
After the explosions, US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) uploaded a video of the blasts to social media. One earlier post boasted the mountain was getting a “face lift” to “secure a historically challenging terrain.”
The sarcasm didn’t sit well with thousands of residents from both sides of the border, who looked forward to the annual Good Friday pilgrimage to the mountain summit. This year, they would be walking above an active construction zone.
Walls have long separated El Paso and Sunland Park, New Mexico, from the Mexican metropolis of Ciudad Juárez. But building a wall on the rugged slopes of Mount Cristo Rey was long considered impractical. Eventually, the mountain’s slopes became the only significant gap without an imposing border fence in the binational metro area of more than 2.5 million people.
In recent years, Sunland Park and the area around Mount Cristo Rey saw high numbers of unauthorized crossings. Migrant deaths in the nearby desert soared. In lieu of a wall, Border Patrol agents blanketed the mountain and stationed themselves, along with surveillance equipment, on nearby roads.
Border crossings in the El Paso sector slowed during the final year of the Biden administration and have plummeted since Trump returned to office. The second Trump administration is intent on sealing every border gap.
SLSCO, a Texas company based in Galveston, has a $95 million contract to build a 1.3-mile wall on Mount Cristo Rey and two other barriers near El Paso. CBP waived environmental and historical preservation laws in June 2025, clearing the way for a border wall on the mountain. Over the objections of the local Catholic diocese, which owns most of the mountain, work began at the site in January.
Robert Ardovino, a business owner in Sunland Park, is no stranger to the traffic of Border Patrol vehicles and undocumented migrants crossing into New Mexico. But he was appalled to see the side of the mountain being shaved off. “Electronics would have made more sense than destroying a whole mountain,” Ardovino said on a recent afternoon. “But they’re doing what they’re doing.”
He predicted that when the Good Friday pilgrims ascended the mountain, many would be shaking their heads at the destruction. “There is no accountability,” he said. “And the damage will be irreparable.”
“CBP has environmental monitors present during these activities to ensure construction best management practices are being followed and implemented by the construction contractor,” an agency spokesperson said.
An environmental summary report, completed in lieu of an environmental impact assessment, is not available to the public, the spokesperson said.
Mount Cristo Rey is where the land border between the US and Mexico ends and the Rio Grande becomes the dividing line. This point, for centuries called Paso del Norte—the northern pass—has been a crossroads for Indigenous peoples, Spanish colonizers and later settlers traveling west on the early transcontinental railroads.
Once the railroad reached El Paso in 1881, the city grew quickly. A brick company opened on the flanks of Mount Cristo Rey, and a quarry was carved into the mountainside. Later, a copper smelter rose in its shadow. Mexican American workers lived nearby in a company town called Smeltertown.
A priest at Smeltertown’s Catholic church first proposed building a statue on the mountaintop. The 29-foot limestone statue of Christ was dedicated in 1939. The mountain, previously known as Cerro de los Muleros, or Mule Driver’s Mountain, was renamed Mount Cristo Rey.
Smeltertown was demolished in the 1970s. But descendants of several families who lived there still volunteer with the Mount Cristo Rey Restoration Committee, which maintains the trail and monument. They keep a watchful eye on the thousands of people, the religious and the secular, who join the Good Friday walk.
During the first Trump administration, in 2019, a group called We Build the Wall, that included Steve Bannon, tapped private donations to build a half-mile wall on the eastern side of Mount Cristo Rey. Fisher Sand and Gravel, which has received billions of dollars in border wall construction contracts under the Trump administration, built this section of wall on private property. CBP cut a dirt road across the south side of the mountain.
Bannon later pleaded guilty to defrauding donors. Lights illuminating the wall, which separates Mexico from the United States and El Paso from New Mexico, were turned off when the builders’ bank accounts were frozen.
Border wall construction largely stopped during the Biden administration. But once Trump returned to office, Mount Cristo Rey became a priority. Then-Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem waived more than two dozen laws on June 3 to expedite construction of the wall across the mountain. The REAL ID Act of 2005 granted DHS the authority to “waive all legal requirements” necessary to expedite construction of border barriers. Among the laws waived were the National Environmental Policy Act and the National Historic Preservation Act.
Geologist Eric Kappus considers Mount Cristo Rey one of the premier sites anywhere for geology education.
CBP announced plans for a 30-foot-high barrier that would run along the south side of the mountain and loom over the Anapra neighborhood in Ciudad Juárez. Agency plans state the wall will consist of steel bollards spaced four inches apart. It will require drainage gates and access roads.
Funding for CBP’s El Paso Anapra 16-4 Wall Project, which includes Mount Cristo Rey, dates back to DHS 2020 border wall appropriations. Since then, the agency has received 224 written statements about the proposal. According to the summary, 211 comments opposed the wall.
Notably, the Roman Catholic Diocese of Las Cruces urged the agency to exclude Mount Cristo Rey from its barrier plans. In its comments, the diocese referred to the mountain as a place “where faith transcends borders.”
“A grant of entry onto land [the diocese] owns for CBP purposes, whether temporary or permanent, would deter those pilgrims and migrants from exercising their religion as they have done for almost one hundred years,” wrote the Diocese’s general counsel, Kathryn Brack Morrow. “A place of hope, faith, and communion would become a place of fear, exclusion and division.”
Morrow wrote that the Diocese had received multiple requests for access to its property from the Department of Justice, which were denied.
The trail to the summit has not been disturbed by construction. But last year, the area along the border in Sunland Park and at Mount Cristo Rey was designated a National Defense Area, part of the US Army’s Fort Huachuca. People who enter a National Defense Area can be charged with trespassing.
Contractors are blasting the mountain along a 60-mile strip of federal property known as the Roosevelt Reservation. The City of Sunland Park also owns property on the mountain. A city spokesperson said Sunland Park has no jurisdiction over the area where construction is occurring.
The construction company JOBE also owns property on the mountain and declined to comment.
To the untrained eye, Mount Cristo Rey, like many Chihuahuan Desert locales, can appear desolate. A local CBP spokesperson compared it to a “moonscape” in a local news interview. “It’s just rock and sand.”
But for geologists like Eric Kappus, Mount Cristo Rey is a “treasure.”
Kappus discovered a series of dinosaur footprints at Mount Cristo Rey in 2002 while he was a graduate student at the University of Texas at El Paso. The prints were formed between 80 and 100 million years ago when Iguanodons and theropods plodded through mud on the edge of what was then a vast sea.
Kappus said he spent thousands of hours exploring Mount Cristo Rey, looking for fossils and prints. After working as an exploratory geologist and teaching across the country, he still considers it one of the premier sites anywhere for geology education.
“I could teach 75 to 80 percent of an introductory geology class in the field at Mount Cristo Rey,” he said. “It’s like a giant chalkboard.”
“The border wall is quite disrespectful to a lot of work that’s been undertaken by numerous government agencies.”
The prints, preserved in sandstone, were exposed during excavation for the brick yard. The site was later donated to the non-profit INSIGHTS El Paso Science Center. The dinosaur tracks site is not threatened by border wall construction.
William Lukefahr, an INSIGHTS tour guide, led a group down a rocky trail to the dinosaur tracks on a warm March morning. He slowed down to look for plants and animals. He pointed out a Black-spined prickly pear cactus and a Mormon Tea shrub. Then he spotted a spider web encasing a cocoon-like structure made of debris—the home of a desert shrub spider. “This mountain is very unique,” he said. “But there hasn’t been a lot of scientific research done here.”
Other creatures commonly seen on Mount Cristo Rey include coyotes, canyon wrens, and the greater earless lizard. Scruffy sotol and creosote shrubs dot the mountainside. Lukefahr explained that Mount Cristo Rey creates a corridor connecting the mountains in Juárez with those on the western and northern flanks of El Paso.
In their public comments to CBP, more than 80 people expressed concern for Mount Cristo Rey’s prized environment. The agency’s summary statement, in response, explained that a biological survey yielded no federally listed threatened or endangered species. The survey deemed that the habitat has a “low to moderate” suitability for wildlife.
“CBP has also determined there is minimal impact to vegetation and behavioral patterns of wildlife since the project area is flanked by existing barrier and an active patrol road,” the agency wrote.
Ardovino, the local business owner, said that wildlife activity in Sunland Park diminished after Border Patrol was “unleashed” to drive across the desert and carve new roads.
Years ago, he said, there were 18 pairs of burrowing owls, a diminutive variety, on his property. That was until Border Patrol vehicles repeatedly disrupted their habitat. “They’re gone now,” he said. “Concern for the environment is last on [the CBP] list.”
Myles Traphagen coordinates the borderlands project of the Wildlands Network, a nonprofit advocacy group. He said building the border wall will counteract federal efforts to foster endangered species, including the Mexican gray wolf.
US and Mexican government biologists collaborate on wolf reintroduction, with pups from New Mexico transported to Northern Mexico to grow the population and increase genetic diversity. “The border wall is quite disrespectful to a lot of work that’s been undertaken by numerous government agencies,” he said.
In 2017, Traphagen tracked the movements of a Mexican gray wolf outfitted with a GPS collar. The wolf traveled north from Chihuahua into New Mexico, then followed the Rio Grande to Mount Cristo Rey, where it crossed back into Mexico.
He said the border wall will close off this wildlife crossing point.
Ardovino owns property less than a half mile from the blast site. He said his interactions with local Border Patrol agents have always been respectful, although he was not notified before the blasting began. The boom of an unexpected explosion signaled that construction was underway.
The neighborhood of Anapra in Juárez is just feet away from the blast site. Warning signs were posted in the neighborhood in January.
Morrow, the attorney for the Diocese, said she has yet to receive notification from federal agencies of the blasting. Neither has Ruben Escandon Jr., spokesperson for the Mount Cristo Rey Restoration Committee. “Hopefully,” blasting would not occur during the Good Friday walk, he said.
The CBP spokesperson said landowners would be notified, but that there are no landowners in the blast zone.
The Wildlands Network’s Traphagen said that contractors at Mount Cristo Rey are defying common blasting protocols. Blast impact goes well beyond the thin strip of land where construction is underway, he said, and nearby residents and landowners should be notified for safety.
Construction activities are so far limited to the government’s Roosevelt Reservation. But it is unlikely the wall can be built without access to the diocese’s property on the mountain. The Diocese’s attorney was adamant the church will not sell.
The CBP spokesperson said that if the agency is unable to purchase property for border wall construction through voluntary sales, the Department of Justice can use eminent domain.
In public comments, the diocese attorney said attempts to seize the land would violate religious freedom and the right to worship, protected by the First Amendment and the Religious Freedom Restoration Act.
For now, the diocese is holding on to its sacred space. On Good Friday, thousands of people would climb Mount Cristo Rey, as they have every year going back almost a century.
But blast by blast, border wall construction is coming for Mount Cristo Rey.
Local children at the Albuquerque Museum got cameras to keep and used them to capture their hopes and dreams.
ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. – Local children at the Albuquerque Museum got cameras to keep and used them to capture their hopes and dreams.
Saranam teamed up with Pictures of Hope for the event at the Albuquerque Museum. KOB 4 was there as children shared what they want in life and got a surprise.
“My dream is to be a farmer, go to college, a crazy cat lady, a crazy dog lady,” Janise said.
Linda Solomon said the children focused on goals like college and having a home.
“I don’t think there could be anything more special than having children share their dreams,” Linda Solomon said. “Their dreams are so unselfish, they’re not hoping for iPads or things like that, they’re hoping to go to college, to have a home.”
Janise said dreaming helps children plan for the future.
“You can’t really know what you’re going to do if you don’t have like a dream to do it,” Janise said.
“We surprise them with cameras they get to keep,” Solomon said.
Solomon said parents sometimes learn something new when children describe their goals.
“So often parents say to me, ‘I didn’t know my child was dreaming for this in life, I had no idea,’” Solomon said. “We care about their dreams, we care they can achieve these dreams.”
The children will return to the Albuquerque Museum on May 29 for an exhibition. Their pictures will be printed on greeting cards and proceeds will go back to Saranam.
NEW MEXICO (KRQE) – Thousands of people will be making their annual pilgrimage to El Santuario de Chimayo in northern New Mexico and Tomé Hill near Los Lunas Friday morning. The walks are in honor of Good Friday, with many people walking dozens of miles to complete their journey.
Each year many make the trek to the northern New Mexico church or Tomé Hill on Good Friday. Some start their journey in Santa Fe, others walk from as far as Albuquerque. The church in northern New Mexico has been a place of worship since the early 1800’s, bringing thousands from across the state for the chapel, shrine and grounds healing powers. The church is considered to be a sacred site and many believe it holds healing properties. Walkers also take the pilgrimage to Tomé Hill. At the top of the hill are three crosses and a shrine where people pray after making the journey.
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