Migration is as natural as breathing, as eating, as sleeping. It

“Migration is as natural as breathing, as eating, as sleeping. It is part of life, part of nature. So we have to find a way of establishing a proper kind of scenario for modern migration to exist. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean the world. We need to find ways of making that migration not forced.” Thus spoke Gael García Bernal, the actor and activist, whose words echo with the timeless voice of human history. For what is more ancient than the movement of peoples? Long before nations and borders, before maps were drawn and lines carved into earth, humankind wandered, seeking food, safety, and opportunity. His teaching is a reminder that migration is not anomaly, but essence—woven into the rhythm of life itself.

The meaning of this declaration lies in its universality. Just as we all breathe, just as we all eat and sleep, so too we all descend from those who once migrated. The rivers of our ancestry flow across continents; none of us are children of stasis. To deny migration, then, is to deny nature itself, to set ourselves against the current of life. García Bernal warns us that the challenge is not whether migration will exist, but whether we will shape it wisely—whether it will be guided by compassion and foresight, or twisted by fear and cruelty.

History shows us this truth again and again. Consider the Great Migration of African Americans in the early twentieth century, when millions fled the South in search of dignity and opportunity in the cities of the North. Though driven by oppression, this movement reshaped the culture of a nation, giving birth to the Harlem Renaissance and transforming the social fabric of America. Or look further back, to the migrations of peoples across the Eurasian steppes, movements that gave rise to new kingdoms, languages, and traditions. These stories reveal the dual nature of migration: when forced, it bears pain; when free, it bears renewal.

The origin of García Bernal’s words lies in his own heritage and witness. As a son of Mexico, he has seen how poverty, violence, and political strife have compelled countless people to leave their homes, often at great peril. He has lent his voice to those who cross deserts and rivers, not by choice but by necessity. His cry is not only for the migrant, but for humanity itself: that we must move beyond fear and resentment to craft a world where migration is recognized as natural and given space to flourish without coercion.

There is a heroic challenge here. For the world too often greets the migrant with hostility, forgetting that migration built the very nations that now resist it. The settler, the pioneer, the exile, the refugee—all are branches of the same tree. To treat migration as crime is to cut the roots of our own history. García Bernal summons us to a nobler vision: to imagine a future where the wandering of peoples is not driven by hunger or war, but by hope and curiosity, where no one flees out of desperation but moves in freedom, as birds do in their flight, as rivers do in their course.

The lesson for us is both simple and demanding. We must look upon the migrant not as stranger but as kin, remembering that at some point, our ancestors too were wanderers seeking safety. We must urge leaders to create policies that respect the dignity of those who move, ensuring that migration is not a sentence of suffering but an opportunity for renewal. And in our daily lives, we must open hearts and communities to those who arrive among us, bearing with them not only needs but gifts: new songs, new stories, new strengths.

Therefore, dear listener, take these words as a call to remembrance and to action. Migration is not the breaking of nature but its fulfillment. To honor it is to honor life itself. Let us strive for a world where people move not in chains of necessity but in the freedom of choice, where borders do not wound but guide, and where humanity walks together across the earth as it has since the beginning of time—wandering, discovering, and becoming whole.