Thread: Posse Patrols

Sheriff's posse patrols for immigrants
County arresting migrants under smuggling law

Judi Villa
The Arizona Republic
May. 24, 2006 12:00 AM

NEAR GILA BEND - In a desolate corner of Maricopa County, sheriff's Deputy Jason Schweizer pulls onto a dusty farm road and cuts his lights.

For the next 15 minutes, Schweizer watches the darkness as nighttime begins to turn into day. A Chevrolet Avalanche piques his interest.

The new pickup looks out of place rolling down the little-used road that usually carries only farmworkers and beat-up trucks. Its windows are tinted dark. A cover is over the bed. Telltale signs the vehicle could be transporting undocumented immigrants, just what Schweizer and other deputies are specifically looking for.

The pickup is driving three, maybe four, miles over the speed limit when Schweizer pulls out behind it. When the driver swerves over the center line a couple of times, Schweizer flips on his red-and-blue lights.

The driver has a California identification card, no license. That's been suspended, he says. Schweizer takes a step forward, peers toward the back seat and spots a blanket. A head and an ear peek out.

Three people are under the blanket. One in the front seat. Six more hidden in the bed.

"Are they all illegal?" Schweizer asks the driver.

Yes.

"Are they paying you?"

Yes.

Everyone ends up in handcuffs.

"I kinda got lucky," Schweizer says. "It was the only vehicle going by."

For nearly three months, the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office has been the only law enforcement agency in the state seeking out and arresting undocumented immigrants for conspiracy to smuggle themselves into the United States.

The genesis was an anti-human smuggling statute, passed in August, that gave prosecutors a tool to go after coyotes, or smugglers, who traffic in undocumented immigrants. The Maricopa County Attorney's Office later issued an opinion saying undocumented immigrants suspected of paying coyotes could be prosecuted as conspirators.

Since March, 209 undocumented immigrants and 15 smugglers have been arrested.

Despite objections from the Arizona Civil Liberties Union and a court challenge, Sheriff Joe Arpaio said he'll keep at it. The message is simple, he says, and resonates with "the silent majority": "Stay out of Maricopa County. You're going to go to jail."

A recent poll conducted by KAET-TV and the journalism school at Arizona State University found that 59 percent of registered voters support Arpaio's efforts.

"I have compassion for the Mexican people," Arpaio said. "I'm torn between compassion and doing my job as the elected sheriff.

"I firmly believe you have to enforce the law by arresting these people that violate the law. . . . I'm trying to do what I should do for the people who live here."

Earlier this month, Arpaio added 300 volunteer posse members to a task force that goes into the desert every night looking for undocumented immigrants. The posse can't conduct traffic stops, but it puts extra eyes on some of the most popular smuggling routes in southwestern Maricopa County.


On the hunt


It's 1:07 a.m., and there aren't many cars on Interstate 8 outside of Gila Bend. Deputy Thad Jones has the air-conditioner cranked as he drives down the highway in silence. In the back of his unmarked four-wheel-drive vehicle are bottles of water and military-style meals ready to eat.

This is his fourth time pulling overnight patrol with the Anti-human Smuggling Unit, and Jones has yet to find his first immigrant. But he knows what he's looking for: vehicles with the back ends weighted down. Blacked-out windows. Cars loaded with people.

"It seems to me as soon as they hit blacktop they're going as fast as they can go," Jones says. "The vehicle that's going 100 mph is the one that has the illegals in it."

But this is such a vast area, about 5,000 square miles, that a little luck doesn't hurt either.

"See any taillights?" Jones says as he flips a U-turn in the median. A man pulls to a stop on the shoulder of the road. He is alone. His son has just died, and he is en route to Tucson.

"There's so many roads they could be taking. It's hit and miss," Jones says. "Ideally, we have the state statute and if everybody enforces it, it won't stop the problem in total but it'll greatly reduce it. . . . We're trying to do what we can."


On popular route


The partial moon above has a hazy glow as Jones turns off on Painted Rock Road. A canal runs alongside a narrow, dirt road, leading to an old set of corrals where deputies believe immigrants catch rides.

His tires kick up dust as he circles behind the corrals.

Underneath the paloverde trees are piles of trash and empty gallon jugs that probably held water for thirsty border crossers. "I'm just taking a peek to see if there's any activity, any vehicle blacked out somewhere," Jones says.

He taps his horn: "I've been told if you come into an area like this and honk your horn, people will come out."

He waits. Nothing.

"They could be going somewhere else. (Or) tonight could just be a night they're not moving," Jones says.

He heads back to the highway. Up and down the road for 10 minutes, 20, 30. Jones pulls over a woman with a headlight out. He checks on an older man who has pulled to the shoulder to take his medication.

An hour passes. Jones pulls onto Vekol Road. It's 3:01 a.m., still pitch black as the 18-wheelers rumble by on the interstate. A sign warns people to be careful; this is a popular smuggling route.

Jones shines a flashlight out his window. He scans the open desert, underneath the brush and inside a wide pipe with tires piled inside.

He gets out to check a pile of clothes underneath a tree. They're not even covered with dust. There's a loaf of bread and a diabetic's testing kit.

But no one is here, and the interstate beckons.


Who's Joe Arpaio?


Jesus Contreras steps out of the darkness at 3:43 a.m.

Contreras, 35, has been walking from the border more than three days. He's thirsty and hungry.

"¿Agua?" he says to Jones. He guzzles one bottle in what seems like a second, then another. Jones gives him a chicken breast, and he drains two more water bottles.

Contreras, a farmer in Mexico, says he is alone, heading to Washington to meet his wife and two daughters, who are U.S. citizens. It's his first time crossing the border.

"Where are we?" Contreras asks. "Where is Phoenix?"

Contreras will go instead to the sheriff's substation in Gila Bend where he will be interrogated and then turned over to immigration officials and sent back to Mexico. He can't be arrested for conspiracy because he wasn't being smuggled.

But deputies will try to find out if Contreras was traveling with a group, if he paid to be part of that group. Was he trying to meet with a coyote? What time? Where? How?

"It'll give us a better idea of what's going on out here," Jones says.

Contreras looks dejected. He has never heard of Joe Arpaio or his task force. But he won't try to cross again.

"I'm going to stay in Mexico," he says.


Teaching a lesson


Since Arpaio started arresting immigrants in March, five have pleaded guilty to solicitation to engage in human smuggling, a felony. Maricopa County Attorney Andrew Thomas said his office is insisting immigrants plead to a felony charge. He wants them to serve a couple of months in jail, then get put on probation and handed over to immigration officials for deportation.

A felony record will bar immigrants from ever becoming U.S. citizens and make it difficult for them to even enter the country legally.

"I have no desire to fill our prisons with illegal immigrants," Thomas said, "but they do need to be taught a lesson. If they want to come to the United States, they need to do it the right way. They will pay a high price for immigrating illegally into the country."

Outside Gila Bend, Deputy Will Gatewood says finding immigrants is like "looking for a needle in a haystack." But, he says, arresting them could eventually be a deterrent.

"I'm not heartless," Gatewood says. "If you felt like you had to come here for your family, there's a part of me that understands that. But if you're here illegally, you're here illegally. . . . You could go to jail."

On the dirt shoulder of Old Highway 80, the 10 immigrants Schweizer found in the pickup truck sit handcuffed together. A woman swirls the dirt with her fingertips. The coyote, also in handcuffs, leans against a patrol car and hangs his head.

Schweizer sees the impact happening a little at a time.

"It's 10 less," he says, "and whoever they talk to that says don't come this way."

Reality, though, is this enforcement isn't likely to stop illegal immigration. Maybe, when word gets around, it'll slow down a bit. But like drug traffickers before them, human smugglers also will probably adapt, says Deputy Benjamin Anderson. Maybe they'll push their routes east or west of Maricopa County. Maybe they'll just find new ways to sneak through.

"It's going to discourage some people," Anderson says. "But the people who want to come over, who have family here, are going to come over.

"There will still be people who risk it

"Are they all illegal?" Schweizer asks the driver.

Yes.

"Are they paying you?"

Yes.

Everyone ends up in handcuffs.

too bad all arrests aren't that simple