A network of 47 midwives across Mexico is stepping in to provide essential prenatal care to pregnant migrants along their journey north.

In spite of the high mortality rate, large numbers of refugees are still continuing to cross. And for pregnant women, the road to Europe is all the more perilous.

The crises that compel refugees to attempt the dangerous journey to Europe haven't ended. Many, including pregnant women, continue to risk drowning, meeting violent pushbacks at sea and land borders, living in unsafe conditions in the camps, and facing racist violence and discrimination.

While Greece has slowly begun to reopen, overcrowded refugee camps on the Greek island of Lesbos are still under lockdown. And without government intervention, experts and activists say that residents there are just sitting ducks waiting for an outbreak of the coronavirus to sweep through the camps like wildfire.

As Venezuela spirals from rampant hyperinflation and violent political clashes, a health crisis has stricken the South American country, it’s the most vulnerable migrants—children, babies and pregnant women—who are being hit the hardest.

Coverage of family separations at the U.S.-Mexico border has stirred outrage. But is what's happening new?

Governments’ political orientation does not determine whether they pursue more or less restrictive migration policies. New research from Katharina Natter and Hein de Haas debunks accepted wisdom on the politics of migration.

Accusing migrant women of bringing ‘anchor babies’ to Europe misunderstands their journeys and motives, says researcher and anthropologist Sine Plambech. Understanding their real stories explains why so few are willing to return.

Just out of graduate school in Mexico City, Lissette Marquez longed to travel the world on an American cruise ship. She was thrilled to obtain a guest-worker visa that allowed her to join a ship crew in California. But instead of the ideal job she had envisioned, Marquez said she found herself toiling long hours, earning less than a $4 hourly wage, and feeling isolated.

“No hate! No fear! Refugees are welcome here!” Shouts are rising into the night sky in Brooklyn as I write this. I just left the Brooklyn federal courthouse, where hundreds of people are chanting that and more, some slogans more angry and profane than others.

When there’s not an acute famine in the Horn of Africa, the media tends to leave the misery in that part of the world unreported. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t heard much about Ethiopia specifically in awhile, minus a few international journalist friends mentioning that there is a migration problem for women who are seeking better lives in the Arab peninsula. As of this morning though, I can’t pretend to ignore what’s going on in the region any longer.

Imagine living every day with the terror that, at any moment, you might be ripped apart from your family, your home, your job, your livelihood, your friends. Imagine feeling as though you have no choice but to risk all of this to report a case of rape or domestic violence. Such is the dilemma for countless immigrant women in the United States: Either suffer silently—often at the hands of husbands or family members—or go to the police and risk deportation.