US-Peru Alliance: A Moral Crossroads on Immigration and Trade

Yesterday, Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau sat across from Peruvian Foreign Minister Elmer Schialer, hashing out a future built on nearly two centuries of diplomatic ties. The agenda was packed: illegal immigration, economic investment, and the shadowy reach of transnational crime. On the surface, it’s a story of two nations doubling down on cooperation. But peel back the layers, and you’ll find a partnership teetering on a moral edge, one that demands we ask: Who pays the price for these policies?

Peru’s recent moves to tighten its borders, hailed as ‘accelerated efforts’ by Landau, sound like a win for security. Troops and police now swarm checkpoints along the Chile and Bolivia lines, a response to migrants fleeing north from unimaginable hardship. Yet, this militarized stance isn’t just a logistical flex; it’s a human crisis unfolding in real time. Families, already battered by poverty and violence, face rejection or worse at the hands of a system that prioritizes control over compassion.

The United States, with its own fraught history of border policies, has no business cheering this on without a hard look in the mirror. Our leaders tout job creation and trade deals, pointing to the 1.1 million jobs tied to U.S.-Peru commerce in 2023 alone. That’s real, tangible progress. But when we reduce this alliance to dollars and cents, we risk losing sight of the people caught in the crossfire, those who don’t fit neatly into economic spreadsheets or diplomatic photo ops.

Peru’s border crackdown didn’t come out of nowhere. In April 2023, the government declared a state of emergency, sending soldiers to stem the tide of migrants from Venezuela, Haiti, and beyond. It’s a desperate bid to manage chaos, sure, but it’s also a stark reminder of what happens when nations treat human movement like a logistical puzzle instead of a humanitarian call to action. Migrants aren’t just numbers; they’re parents, kids, dreamers, running from collapse and exploitation.

The U.S. has a stake here too. Our $65 million gift of Black Hawk helicopters to Peru in 2024 wasn’t just a shiny toy for their military; it was a signal of intent, a pledge to fight transnational criminal organizations like Venezuela’s Tren de Aragua. These groups thrive on human misery, trafficking people into forced labor and sex slavery while raking in cash through cryptocurrencies. It’s a scourge worth battling, no question. Yet, arming up without addressing root causes, like economic despair or climate displacement, feels like mopping the floor during a flood.

Contrast this with the Los Angeles Declaration on Migration and Protection, which Peru signed onto with noble intent. That pact promised a regional approach, one rooted in dignity and shared responsibility. But when troops line the border and migrants face dead ends, it’s fair to wonder if we’ve traded principle for pragmatism. Advocates for human rights, from Lima to Washington, argue we can secure our nations without turning away the vulnerable. History backs them up; look at the Marshall Plan, where rebuilding lives stabilized entire regions.

Meanwhile, critics of this softer stance, often cloaked in tough-on-crime rhetoric, insist that open borders invite chaos. They point to rising crime stats or strained public resources. Fair enough, those pressures exist. But their solution, a fortress mentality, ignores the data: militarized borders rarely deter desperate people. They just drive them underground, into the arms of the very cartels we claim to oppose. Peru’s own struggles with human smuggling networks prove this point, as traffickers exploit tighter controls to prey on the helpless.

On the economic front, the U.S.-Peru Trade Promotion Agreement shines as a beacon of what’s possible. Since 2009, Peruvian exports to the U.S. have soared by 91%, hitting $101 billion by 2023. Small businesses in Peru’s highlands now ship blueberries and asparagus to American tables, while U.S. machinery keeps their industries humming. It’s a lifeline for millions, no doubt. Landau and Schialer rightly celebrated this, eyeing even deeper investment ties.

Yet, here’s where the disconnect stings. The U.S. pumps $6.6 billion into Peruvian infrastructure, modernizing rail lines and boosting small farmers with $45 million in aid. That’s power in action, lifting communities out of poverty. But when we pair this with applause for Peru’s border clampdown, it’s hard not to see a double standard. Economic growth matters, absolutely, yet it can’t come at the expense of human dignity. Policymakers in Washington know this; they’ve seen trade deals lift nations while leaving the poorest behind.

The counterargument, often whispered in boardrooms or shouted on campaign trails, is that security and prosperity go hand in hand. Without stable borders, they say, economic gains unravel. It’s a tidy narrative, but it falls apart when you dig into the Western Hemisphere’s real challenges: inequality, climate chaos, and corruption. Peru’s 2% growth rate limps along not because of migrants, but because of structural rot and external meddling from powers like China. Fix those, and you won’t need walls.

As the U.S. and Peru near their 200th year of friendship in 2026, this moment isn’t just about patting ourselves on the back. It’s a chance to redefine what alliance means. Yes, transnational crime demands a fierce response, and yes, economic ties can transform lives. But if we let fear or profit dictate our path, we’re no better than the forces we claim to resist. Advocates for a humane approach, from grassroots organizers to diplomats, insist we can do both: secure our region and honor our values.

The choice is ours. We can keep stacking bricks and helicopters against the tide of human need, or we can build something bolder, a partnership that lifts everyone, not just the privileged few. Peru’s people, America’s workers, and the migrants between us deserve a future where justice isn’t a footnote to power. Let’s fight for that, with every ounce of will we’ve got.