Thread: Nah, Swift didn't know it was hiring illegals.

For some reason I was unable to C&P this most telling article, in which everyone but Swift knew it was hiring illegal aliens, including local law enforcement. I am actually beginning to believe the former employees, who are suing Swift under the RICO act, have a decent chance of winning.

Please note: when you click on the link it appears blank but, if you scroll down a bit, the article is there.


http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent ... 85389.html

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Town a haven for immigrants

Workers are the lifeblood of Cactus, Texas, but most are there illegally


09:08 AM CST on Sunday, November 19, 2006
By ARNOLD HAMILTON and DEBORAH TURNER / The Dallas Morning News

First of three parts


CACTUS, Texas – He's known in this Panhandle outpost by an unofficial yet majestic title: "El presidente de Cactus."

His two-story Spanish villa – looking over blocks of town-center shanties – is often called "the White House." His portfolio includes the town's only grocery and laundry, at least 18 rental properties and a 575-acre ranch nearby.

It was little more than 30 years ago that Luis Aguilar slipped into this country from Mexico, eventually using a fake name, license and Social Security card to land a job at this town's sprawling beef packing plant. A decade later, he was in the right place at the right time when federal immigration reform granted him amnesty and put him on the path to citizenship.

Cactus, Texas

Part 1
• An immigrant haven on the High Plains
• Identity theft is paper trail to a job
• Cash is king, but corruption reigned

Part 2
• They come to work - and to send money home
• For many in Guatemala, no choice but to leave
• Despite many challenges, school succeeds with youths

Part 3
• Processing plants' dangers don't scare off migrants

Tell Us: Many readers have weighed in with their thoughts on immigration. What's your opinion of the situation in Cactus, Texas?


• City Manager Jeff Jenkins describes Cactus and its people
• Teachers describe efforts to teach English in Cactus
• Law enforcement work is difficult with the increasing number of immigrants

Graphics:
• A closer look at Cactus
• Cactus Elementary School
• A dangerous job

Photos: Coping in Cactus

En español: Read Spanish-language coverage from AlDiaTX.com

Cactus, Texas: Complete coverage
Now, as mayor and arguably the most affluent – and influential – resident in town, he not only rents rooms and sells groceries to a new generation of illegal immigrants, but he also is paid to place them in jobs.

"I'm working like those guys are working," said the native of the state of Chihuahua. "I am helping them make money for their families. I worked just like that."

An hour's drive north of Amarillo, Cactus has an official population of 2,538. But realistically, it's closer to 5,000, and officials here estimate that three of every four residents are illegal immigrants, drawn by work in feedlots or the $11-plus hourly wages at the Swift & Co. plant.

Cactus doesn't register on most U.S. maps, but for some in Mexico and Guatemala who want a better life, it has become a destination town. Their presence has transformed the community, creating national-size problems for its small-town leaders.

As America debates immigration policy in often bipolar terms – amnesty or deportation – Cactus is living the fuzzy, everyday reality of porous borders and the competing interests behind one of the biggest demographic shifts in U.S. history: impoverished millions eager for a better life, industries ready to snap up cheap labor, federal officials impotent to act and local residents left to deal with the resulting troubles.

"We need federal help," Cactus City Manager Jeffrey Jenkins said. "Not knowing the American laws causes a lot of complications that the local government should not have to deal with."

Among those complications:

•Thieves who prey on immigrant workers carrying large sums of cash because banks won't come here

•Fraudulent IDs that make solving crimes by and against immigrants difficult

•Mobile homes, often crowded with more than one family, that sprout seemingly overnight in flagrant disregard of zoning laws;

•Drugs and prostitution;

•And a public school, lacking enough bilingual instructors, that resorts to total English immersion to educate the nearly 77 percent of students who speak little or no English.

The problems of illegal immigration are not unique to Cactus. Across America – especially in rural areas, where workers are sorely needed for difficult, often-dangerous, low-skill jobs – undocumented, south-of-the-border immigrants are rushing in.

But Cactus' challenges are magnified because of its size and remoteness.


Officials here teeter on a political high wire: They know the Swift plant – the town's lifeblood and the county's second-biggest taxpayer – attracts illegal immigrants by the thousands.

But they fear that increased federal and state scrutiny could jeopardize both plant and town, especially if it leads to the roundup and deportation of scores of illegal workers.

Swift officials insist they do all they legally can to verify the authenticity of their employees' documents, even participating voluntarily in a federal program aimed at spotting use of fraudulent Social Security numbers.

But that seems to be little deterrent.

"I know there are hundreds of illegals working at Swift; I see them every day," said one resident who works for a Swift contractor and agreed to speak on condition of anonymity. "They are from Guatemala and Mexico. Hundreds of them have false documents that allow them to work there."


Building a life

Today's Cactus probably isn't exactly what local leaders envisioned in 1972 when they heralded the beef plant's opening as the town's salvation.

In the beginning, its workforce was mostly local. But it didn't take long for immigrant workers to arrive – shoving aside the locals. Laotians became the dominant employee group ... only to be supplanted by Mexicans ... who are slowly, but steadily, being replaced by Guatemalans.

Mr. Aguilar, for one, slipped into the country near Tijuana, Mexico, on foot.

His goal? "A better life."

It was a treacherous, frightening journey from his home in Chihuahua: "When I cross the border, I think it gonna be my last one. I almost freeze to death."

An articulate man in his native language, Mr. Aguilar speaks a broken English learned on the job.

He spent three years working in a restaurant in Battle Mountain, Nev. In 1976, at the urging of a relative, he journeyed to the Texas Panhandle with his 18-year-old wife, Luz, and their infant daughter, Rosa. He called himself Amador Rivas. And he had the documents – albeit, bogus – to prove it.

In Cactus, he was the stereotypically hard-working, invisible immigrant. Soon after arriving, the couple had their second child, Eva. And he worked 12- to 18-hour days in the packing plant's shipping department for $10 an hour – "good money back then," as he put it.

With his job, he was able to provide for his growing family, send money home to Mexico and save a little.

Later, he was promoted to director of shipping and receiving, enabling him to buy an apartment building. For seven years, he and his family occupied two of the four units and rented the rest.

Then, in 1986, he received an unexpected gift: He was one of 2.7 million illegal immigrants awarded amnesty by President Ronald Reagan under the Immigration Reform and Control Act.

With his green card in hand, Mr. Aguilar escaped the oft-murky world of an illegal immigrant and shed his Amador Rivas alias. He could once again be Luis Aguilar. And he made a name for himself as a successful businessman, buying the Cactus Laundromat and Cactus Grocery in 1988.

Using $11,000 he'd saved from his job at Swift – and borrowing the rest – he bought the store from former Cactus Mayor Leon Graham after a fire devastated much of the structure.

"I asked my brother-in-law," he said. "He loaned me $300. My cousin loaned me $300. So I got altogether about $21,000. ... And I started building."

Over time, he became a force in town – and served as a beacon for other south-of-the-border immigrants pursuing the American dream.

His Spanish-style home with its arched doorways and light-colored stucco walls dominates the center of town, commanding respect from those dwelling in the shanty trailer homes that surround it.

"The people of Cactus built my home for me," he said.

He is open about his role in helping undocumented immigrants who follow his path.

"I work as the middle man for places around the Panhandle," said Mr. Aguilar, 50. "They [feedlots] pay me, and I pay the guys. I keep their timecards here in the store. I am hired to find them."

Mr. Aguilar's willingness to help a new generation of illegal immigrants, though, puts him at odds with other town leaders. They complain that they are swamped with problems created by thousands of often unidentifiable residents.



Climate for crime

Cactus today seems less like a Panhandle burg than a colonia – magically airlifted 600 miles north from the border and dropped into the heart of what once was the Anglo-dominated, farm and ranch South Plains.

Decaying World War II-era barracks each bunk as many as a half-dozen Swift & Co. workers whose families were left back home. Most yards are dirt, weeds and gravel.

There are few flowers and even less grass; a soccer field on the west side of town with homemade goalposts; one park with playground equipment and a basketball court; and three times as many places to get an adult beverage as in the much larger nearby county seat, Dumas.

"Alcohol-related problems are paramount [and] ... a lot of cocaine," said Cactus Police Chief Tim Turley.

"But if I had to say what we run across most is fraudulent use of ID," he added. "That is far and above the number one most encountered incident."

Cultures collide on a variety of issues, from education to sex.

Some of the youngest students from newly arrived families must be instructed, for example, on indoor plumbing and proper hygiene.

Other immigrants are bewildered when advised that it is not only socially unacceptable but illegal for men in their 20s to have sex with young teenage girls.

Zoning regulations are difficult to enforce.

"Folks don't believe you should be able to tell them what to do and where to put things," said Mr. Jenkins, the city manager. "And they'll bring in trailers that the walls are falling in, and they'll want to set 'em up and rent 'em to somebody.

"On the reverse end of it, you get the renters ... they think that if they report it or something, they're going to be deported . ... So, they're getting taken advantage of by the landlords in some places."

Unlicensed food stands pop up all over town – a constant headache for officials.

"The mobile stands are hard to track down because they could be there on Saturday night and then they disappear," said Mr. Jenkins. "The state only has one food officer for this area. ... [It] puts a burden on the local government to raise taxes, and it could make someone sick."

All contribute to a climate where criminal mischief can flourish – but uncovering it and prosecuting it is often difficult, if not impossible.

According to police, some Mexicans – worried they could lose their jobs to newly arrived immigrants – have taken to beating, robbing and terrorizing Guatemalans, who are reluctant to report the crimes because they fear they could be deported.

After a string of robberies – and one vicious attack, in particular – Chief Turley ordered his deputies to document anyone walking the streets after midnight. Workers leaving the plant after the midnight shift change were the primary targets, police said.

"I went and bought a Polaroid camera ... and I said from now on, if you see an individual on foot after midnight, they get stopped, photographed and ID'd," Chief Turley said. "Find out where they live. Bar none."

"I tell the Guatemalans I am not unsympathetic to them. I am not immigration. I say, 'We know you are an illegal alien.' "

Chief Turley has learned about the Guatemalan culture. He can't speak Quiche, but can certainly pronounce it. Guatemalans who end up in Cactus come from a war-torn region, he said, where the arrival of police forces rarely equaled public safety.

So he's told his officers to never order a Guatemalan down on his knees.

"If you tell them to get on their knees, they think they are going to get shot in the head," Chief Turley said. "You tell them to sit down."

Police recently investigated allegations that at least two Swift workers were extorting as much as $800 from each prospective employee in exchange for "fixing" document problems.

In the midst of the investigation, local police said, two human resources workers were fired.

A union official insisted the dismissals had nothing to do with "immigration." Swift spokesman Sean McHugh declined to discuss the matter, writing in an e-mail that "it is irresponsible for me to comment on rumors and innuendo."

The fired employees could not be reached for comment. No one answered the door at one former worker's residence. At another, a balding man with a goatee said the ex-employee would not speak to a reporter.

"She is no longer employed there. She has nothing to say," he said, referring questions "to the [Swift] corporate office."

After the firings, police dropped the investigation.


Smooth operation

Modern-day Cactus was built on beef. Swift's sprawling complex stands out on the west side of U.S. Highway 287. The divided four-lane highway – a main artery linking Dallas-Fort Worth to Denver – separates the plant from most residential areas, though neighborhoods south of the facility are expanding rapidly.

Surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, the plant operates around the clock, processing about 5,300 animals daily, according to filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Two eight-hour shifts – one beginning about 6 a.m., the other about 3 p.m. – process the beef.

A third, overnight shift – staffed by a subcontractor – cleans and readies the plant for the next day.

Last summer, Swift workers were on a six-day-a-week schedule, heeding America's increased demand for beef during outdoor grilling season.

State and federal agencies report little evidence of problems at the plant, including worker safety issues.

Casey Williams, a leader in the United Food and Commercial Workers Local 540, said union officials and employee safety monitors meet with the company weekly to discuss plant safety.

"We hardly get any calls to go to Swift for injuries," said Theron Park, the county hospital administrator. "My impression is they have a pretty comprehensive safety program."

Still, it's difficult to know precisely what goes on inside the plant.

Swift declined requests for interviews with its Cactus chief and to visit the facility. And most workers don't want to be noticed, much less interviewed, for fear of losing their jobs or being deported.

"It's a scary thing to be undocumented," said Lydia Hernandez, an immigration counselor at Catholic Family Services Inc. in Amarillo, "because you don't know who's your friend."

Those agreeing to speak describe difficult conditions.

One man employed by a plant contractor describes an almost feudal existence endured by many illegal immigrant workers.

"They are overworked," said the man, who agreed to speak only on condition of anonymity. "I see it every day. They are working them like crazy."

Another longtime employee said plant managers know that not all workers are in the country legally.

"About a month ago, or so, when immigration was around ... we were inside [the plant] working, and all the green helmets and the managers warned everyone: 'If you don't have your papers, don't come out, because immigration is here,' " the worker said.

"That time, it was convenient for them to protect the people and warn them about the trap waiting for them outside. ... They told everyone that they could stay if they wanted or they could go. But immigration was out there."

Mr. McHugh, the Swift spokesman, said he couldn't find evidence of that incident.

Such an action by a Swift manager "would be viewed as a serious breach of our integrity," he said. "We would take appropriate action against that individual.

"We've got a great track record of cooperating fully with law enforcement," he said.

Swift's corporate officials say they do all they can legally to verify the authenticity of documents.

"If it happens 12 times a year, that's probably the most," said Doug Schult, Swift's Colorado-based vice president for human resources, field operations and employee relations.

Town officials routinely praise Swift's efforts to ensure the legitimacy of its workers.

"They're very cooperative in these matters," Chief Turley said.

Even so, the chief said, he frequently fields telephone inquiries from identity theft victims who learn their names, Social Security numbers, birth dates and places were co-opted by workers at the beef plant.

Whether from Connecticut or California, he said, the calls typically begin the same way:

"Where in the hell is Cactus, Texas?"


Difficult work

More than 20 years ago, the beef packing industry was filled mostly with white American workers, earning more than $20 an hour.

Now, studies show, the plants are dominated by Latino immigrants, most paid less than $12 an hour.

Duke Millard, who managed the Cactus plant from the time it was built in 1972 until his retirement in 1999, said it always had a "multiracial" workforce, from its initial 400 or so employees to the 2,700 or so today.

"I never thought of it as an immigrant workforce," he said.

Mr. Williams, who negotiated the Cactus contract for the union, said the plant still hires its share of Anglos, but "they usually don't last."

One reason: "It is one of the hardest jobs I've ever done in my life," said Mr. Williams, who worked in three West Texas packing houses. "It's so physically demanding."

Nothing, he said, seems to spur college enrollment quite like a recent high school graduate spending a few months working in one of the dozen or so plants scattered across what is known as Packing House Alley – stretching from the South Plains into the Oklahoma Panhandle, southwest Kansas and southeastern Colorado.

It's not unheard of, authorities said, to find teenagers working at the plant – they lie about their ages to get hired – when, by law, they are supposed to be in school.

Other young people are drawn to Cactus but never land work.

Consider the case of "Spot," a young man picked up by Cactus police because he abused the 911 emergency phone system. He called – then hung up – more than 40 times over several days, unable to communicate in anything but his native Guatemalan dialect.

Like a lost puppy, officers took him in: feeding him, finding him places to stay, spending time with him, eventually working to try to teach him English and Spanish.

What they learned, Chief Turley said, was heartbreaking: Through broken Spanish, they were able to determine that he was not a 39-year-old named Carlos Torres – as they originally believed – but a 16-year-old named Gaspar Ambrosio Quixan.

"He wanted to go back to Guatemala because he didn't have enough money to buy fake documentation in order to obtain employment" at Swift.

The chief said he couldn't find any government agency that would help – federal agents declined because Gaspar was a juvenile, state officials because he was an illegal immigrant.

One day, Gaspar vanished.

Cactus police have no idea what happened to him.


Spreading the word

Mr. Millard, who managed the plant for five companies over its first 27 years, said he never advertised south of the border for workers – nor did he hire so-called "brokers" to seek out potential employees.

Swift's Mr. Schult said some companies still engage in what he described as "mobile recruiting," but his does not because "all that does is increase the turnover. It's a revolving door."

So how do workers from Mexico and Guatemala end up in Cactus?

"It's a word-of-mouth thing," said Ms. Hernandez of Catholic Family Services. "Someone comes in to work here; they've got friends at home, they tell them about it. "They don't just come in because it's Cactus. Somebody has to bring them in."

The union's Mr. Williams said he gets angry when he hears immigrant workers depicted primarily as law-breakers sponging off American taxpayers.

"A lot of them end up in these industries where no one else will work," he said, adding that all pay income and Social Security taxes, just like all workers.

Social Security earnings from numbers that didn't match names in the government's database – recorded in an "earnings suspense file" – was nearly $520 billion as of 2003, the last year for which government data is available. Three-fourths of that amount came in during 1990-2003.

Social Security taxes paid under these mismatches have increased: In 2001, about $7 billion in taxes was paid on nearly $58 billion in earnings, according to the agency's Dallas office.

Some believe that much of the money comes from undocumented workers who don't attempt to claim the funds because they are afraid of being caught.

Despite the difficulty of the work – its repetitiveness, its physical demands, its blood and guts – Mr. Williams said he understands why some would risk everything to land a job in a place like Cactus, where workers earn the equivalent of $20 to $25 an hour, factoring in such benefits as health care.

"If I lived in Guatemala and couldn't get a job and had a wife and family," he said, "I'd try it, too."


'Drink and work'

For many of the workers, there is a simple rhythm to Cactus life: Work long hours. Cruise Center Drive. Drink beer.

Start over.

The mayor and Cactus police Sgt. Stewart Moss don't seem to agree on much. But they both recognize this pattern.

"For fun ... [we] really don't have much fun here," Mr. Aguilar said. "Just work."

"Drink," added Sgt. Moss.

"Drink and work," agreed Mr. Aguilar.

The cruising along Center Drive is straight out of American Graffiti . Cars and trucks inch along in a bumper-to-bumper processional. They hope to see and be seen.

"That's the only fun they got," Mr. Aguilar said. "If you got stopped just for that ... fun is over."

"Don't you get tired of cleaning the beer bottles out from in front of the Laundromat?" Sgt. Moss asked.

"Not at all," the mayor replied. "I sell it. So what the hell?"

When the police get involved, cultures clash.

"We'll catch somebody doing something they're not supposed to be doing ... and they'll immediately: 'Oh, I'm friends with Luis [Aguilar]," Sgt. Moss said. "So what? That does not excuse you from doing what you did. And I'm sure they've used their one phone call down at the jail to call you."

Mr. Aguilar: "One o'clock in the morning, 2 o'clock in the morning: 'Luis, the cop stopped me ... and I'm over here.' "

Sgt. Moss: "But did they tell you why they were stopped?"

Mr. Aguilar: "No. ... They just tell me, 'Hey, can you do something for me?' And I can't do nothing about it. That's all I can tell them."

He may be revered as El presidente de Cactus by some, but Mr. Aguilar feels others here are aligned against him. They view the former illegal immigrant with suspicion, depicting him – mostly in private – as a power-hungry mayor who thinks he is operating a Mexican-style fiefdom.

"You know what all my problem is with the city," he said. "I used to be illegal alien out there. When I get the mayor ... some people say, 'What the hell we gonna do with the used-to-be-wetback guy sittin' over here as the mayor?'

"All the City Council is against me. I guess [they] don't like my ideas. It's against me. You know, I live in Cactus for 30 years. I care [about] Cactus. I want to do something good for Cactus."

Thought I'd try to C&P but it was tough. Kept blinking like crazy. Hope this is the article you wanted.

Town a haven for immigrants

Workers are the lifeblood of Cactus, Texas, but most are there illegally


09:08 AM CST on Sunday, November 19, 2006
By ARNOLD HAMILTON and DEBORAH TURNER / The Dallas Morning News

First of three parts


CACTUS, Texas – He's known in this Panhandle outpost by an unofficial yet majestic title: "El presidente de Cactus."

His two-story Spanish villa – looking over blocks of town-center shanties – is often called "the White House." His portfolio includes the town's only grocery and laundry, at least 18 rental properties and a 575-acre ranch nearby.

It was little more than 30 years ago that Luis Aguilar slipped into this country from Mexico, eventually using a fake name, license and Social Security card to land a job at this town's sprawling beef packing plant. A decade later, he was in the right place at the right time when federal immigration reform granted him amnesty and put him on the path to citizenship.

Cactus, Texas

Part 1
• An immigrant haven on the High Plains
• Identity theft is paper trail to a job
• Cash is king, but corruption reigned

Part 2
• They come to work - and to send money home
• For many in Guatemala, no choice but to leave
• Despite many challenges, school succeeds with youths

Part 3
• Processing plants' dangers don't scare off migrants

Tell Us: Many readers have weighed in with their thoughts on immigration. What's your opinion of the situation in Cactus, Texas?


• City Manager Jeff Jenkins describes Cactus and its people
• Teachers describe efforts to teach English in Cactus
• Law enforcement work is difficult with the increasing number of immigrants

Graphics:
• A closer look at Cactus
• Cactus Elementary School
• A dangerous job

Photos: Coping in Cactus

En español: Read Spanish-language coverage from AlDiaTX.com

Cactus, Texas: Complete coverage
Now, as mayor and arguably the most affluent – and influential – resident in town, he not only rents rooms and sells groceries to a new generation of illegal immigrants, but he also is paid to place them in jobs.

"I'm working like those guys are working," said the native of the state of Chihuahua. "I am helping them make money for their families. I worked just like that."

An hour's drive north of Amarillo, Cactus has an official population of 2,538. But realistically, it's closer to 5,000, and officials here estimate that three of every four residents are illegal immigrants, drawn by work in feedlots or the $11-plus hourly wages at the Swift & Co. plant.

Cactus doesn't register on most U.S. maps, but for some in Mexico and Guatemala who want a better life, it has become a destination town. Their presence has transformed the community, creating national-size problems for its small-town leaders.

As America debates immigration policy in often bipolar terms – amnesty or deportation – Cactus is living the fuzzy, everyday reality of porous borders and the competing interests behind one of the biggest demographic shifts in U.S. history: impoverished millions eager for a better life, industries ready to snap up cheap labor, federal officials impotent to act and local residents left to deal with the resulting troubles.

"We need federal help," Cactus City Manager Jeffrey Jenkins said. "Not knowing the American laws causes a lot of complications that the local government should not have to deal with."

Among those complications:

•Thieves who prey on immigrant workers carrying large sums of cash because banks won't come here

•Fraudulent IDs that make solving crimes by and against immigrants difficult

•Mobile homes, often crowded with more than one family, that sprout seemingly overnight in flagrant disregard of zoning laws;

•Drugs and prostitution;

•And a public school, lacking enough bilingual instructors, that resorts to total English immersion to educate the nearly 77 percent of students who speak little or no English.

The problems of illegal immigration are not unique to Cactus. Across America – especially in rural areas, where workers are sorely needed for difficult, often-dangerous, low-skill jobs – undocumented, south-of-the-border immigrants are rushing in.

But Cactus' challenges are magnified because of its size and remoteness.


Officials here teeter on a political high wire: They know the Swift plant – the town's lifeblood and the county's second-biggest taxpayer – attracts illegal immigrants by the thousands.

But they fear that increased federal and state scrutiny could jeopardize both plant and town, especially if it leads to the roundup and deportation of scores of illegal workers.

Swift officials insist they do all they legally can to verify the authenticity of their employees' documents, even participating voluntarily in a federal program aimed at spotting use of fraudulent Social Security numbers.

But that seems to be little deterrent.

"I know there are hundreds of illegals working at Swift; I see them every day," said one resident who works for a Swift contractor and agreed to speak on condition of anonymity. "They are from Guatemala and Mexico. Hundreds of them have false documents that allow them to work there."


Building a life

Today's Cactus probably isn't exactly what local leaders envisioned in 1972 when they heralded the beef plant's opening as the town's salvation.

In the beginning, its workforce was mostly local. But it didn't take long for immigrant workers to arrive – shoving aside the locals. Laotians became the dominant employee group ... only to be supplanted by Mexicans ... who are slowly, but steadily, being replaced by Guatemalans.

Mr. Aguilar, for one, slipped into the country near Tijuana, Mexico, on foot.

His goal? "A better life."

It was a treacherous, frightening journey from his home in Chihuahua: "When I cross the border, I think it gonna be my last one. I almost freeze to death."

An articulate man in his native language, Mr. Aguilar speaks a broken English learned on the job.

He spent three years working in a restaurant in Battle Mountain, Nev. In 1976, at the urging of a relative, he journeyed to the Texas Panhandle with his 18-year-old wife, Luz, and their infant daughter, Rosa. He called himself Amador Rivas. And he had the documents – albeit, bogus – to prove it.

In Cactus, he was the stereotypically hard-working, invisible immigrant. Soon after arriving, the couple had their second child, Eva. And he worked 12- to 18-hour days in the packing plant's shipping department for $10 an hour – "good money back then," as he put it.

With his job, he was able to provide for his growing family, send money home to Mexico and save a little.

Later, he was promoted to director of shipping and receiving, enabling him to buy an apartment building. For seven years, he and his family occupied two of the four units and rented the rest.

Then, in 1986, he received an unexpected gift: He was one of 2.7 million illegal immigrants awarded amnesty by President Ronald Reagan under the Immigration Reform and Control Act.

With his green card in hand, Mr. Aguilar escaped the oft-murky world of an illegal immigrant and shed his Amador Rivas alias. He could once again be Luis Aguilar. And he made a name for himself as a successful businessman, buying the Cactus Laundromat and Cactus Grocery in 1988.

Using $11,000 he'd saved from his job at Swift – and borrowing the rest – he bought the store from former Cactus Mayor Leon Graham after a fire devastated much of the structure.

"I asked my brother-in-law," he said. "He loaned me $300. My cousin loaned me $300. So I got altogether about $21,000. ... And I started building."

Over time, he became a force in town – and served as a beacon for other south-of-the-border immigrants pursuing the American dream.

His Spanish-style home with its arched doorways and light-colored stucco walls dominates the center of town, commanding respect from those dwelling in the shanty trailer homes that surround it.

"The people of Cactus built my home for me," he said.

He is open about his role in helping undocumented immigrants who follow his path.

"I work as the middle man for places around the Panhandle," said Mr. Aguilar, 50. "They [feedlots] pay me, and I pay the guys. I keep their timecards here in the store. I am hired to find them."

Mr. Aguilar's willingness to help a new generation of illegal immigrants, though, puts him at odds with other town leaders. They complain that they are swamped with problems created by thousands of often unidentifiable residents.



Climate for crime

Cactus today seems less like a Panhandle burg than a colonia – magically airlifted 600 miles north from the border and dropped into the heart of what once was the Anglo-dominated, farm and ranch South Plains.

Decaying World War II-era barracks each bunk as many as a half-dozen Swift & Co. workers whose families were left back home. Most yards are dirt, weeds and gravel.

There are few flowers and even less grass; a soccer field on the west side of town with homemade goalposts; one park with playground equipment and a basketball court; and three times as many places to get an adult beverage as in the much larger nearby county seat, Dumas.

"Alcohol-related problems are paramount [and] ... a lot of cocaine," said Cactus Police Chief Tim Turley.

"But if I had to say what we run across most is fraudulent use of ID," he added. "That is far and above the number one most encountered incident."

Cultures collide on a variety of issues, from education to sex.

Some of the youngest students from newly arrived families must be instructed, for example, on indoor plumbing and proper hygiene.

Other immigrants are bewildered when advised that it is not only socially unacceptable but illegal for men in their 20s to have sex with young teenage girls.

Zoning regulations are difficult to enforce.

"Folks don't believe you should be able to tell them what to do and where to put things," said Mr. Jenkins, the city manager. "And they'll bring in trailers that the walls are falling in, and they'll want to set 'em up and rent 'em to somebody.

"On the reverse end of it, you get the renters ... they think that if they report it or something, they're going to be deported . ... So, they're getting taken advantage of by the landlords in some places."

Unlicensed food stands pop up all over town – a constant headache for officials.

"The mobile stands are hard to track down because they could be there on Saturday night and then they disappear," said Mr. Jenkins. "The state only has one food officer for this area. ... [It] puts a burden on the local government to raise taxes, and it could make someone sick."

All contribute to a climate where criminal mischief can flourish – but uncovering it and prosecuting it is often difficult, if not impossible.

According to police, some Mexicans – worried they could lose their jobs to newly arrived immigrants – have taken to beating, robbing and terrorizing Guatemalans, who are reluctant to report the crimes because they fear they could be deported.

After a string of robberies – and one vicious attack, in particular – Chief Turley ordered his deputies to document anyone walking the streets after midnight. Workers leaving the plant after the midnight shift change were the primary targets, police said.

"I went and bought a Polaroid camera ... and I said from now on, if you see an individual on foot after midnight, they get stopped, photographed and ID'd," Chief Turley said. "Find out where they live. Bar none."

"I tell the Guatemalans I am not unsympathetic to them. I am not immigration. I say, 'We know you are an illegal alien.' "

Chief Turley has learned about the Guatemalan culture. He can't speak Quiche, but can certainly pronounce it. Guatemalans who end up in Cactus come from a war-torn region, he said, where the arrival of police forces rarely equaled public safety.

So he's told his officers to never order a Guatemalan down on his knees.

"If you tell them to get on their knees, they think they are going to get shot in the head," Chief Turley said. "You tell them to sit down."

Police recently investigated allegations that at least two Swift workers were extorting as much as $800 from each prospective employee in exchange for "fixing" document problems.

In the midst of the investigation, local police said, two human resources workers were fired.

A union official insisted the dismissals had nothing to do with "immigration." Swift spokesman Sean McHugh declined to discuss the matter, writing in an e-mail that "it is irresponsible for me to comment on rumors and innuendo."

The fired employees could not be reached for comment. No one answered the door at one former worker's residence. At another, a balding man with a goatee said the ex-employee would not speak to a reporter.

"She is no longer employed there. She has nothing to say," he said, referring questions "to the [Swift] corporate office."

After the firings, police dropped the investigation.


Smooth operation

Modern-day Cactus was built on beef. Swift's sprawling complex stands out on the west side of U.S. Highway 287. The divided four-lane highway – a main artery linking Dallas-Fort Worth to Denver – separates the plant from most residential areas, though neighborhoods south of the facility are expanding rapidly.

Surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, the plant operates around the clock, processing about 5,300 animals daily, according to filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Two eight-hour shifts – one beginning about 6 a.m., the other about 3 p.m. – process the beef.

A third, overnight shift – staffed by a subcontractor – cleans and readies the plant for the next day.

Last summer, Swift workers were on a six-day-a-week schedule, heeding America's increased demand for beef during outdoor grilling season.

State and federal agencies report little evidence of problems at the plant, including worker safety issues.

Casey Williams, a leader in the United Food and Commercial Workers Local 540, said union officials and employee safety monitors meet with the company weekly to discuss plant safety.

"We hardly get any calls to go to Swift for injuries," said Theron Park, the county hospital administrator. "My impression is they have a pretty comprehensive safety program."

Still, it's difficult to know precisely what goes on inside the plant.

Swift declined requests for interviews with its Cactus chief and to visit the facility. And most workers don't want to be noticed, much less interviewed, for fear of losing their jobs or being deported.

"It's a scary thing to be undocumented," said Lydia Hernandez, an immigration counselor at Catholic Family Services Inc. in Amarillo, "because you don't know who's your friend."

Those agreeing to speak describe difficult conditions.

One man employed by a plant contractor describes an almost feudal existence endured by many illegal immigrant workers.

"They are overworked," said the man, who agreed to speak only on condition of anonymity. "I see it every day. They are working them like crazy."

Another longtime employee said plant managers know that not all workers are in the country legally.

"About a month ago, or so, when immigration was around ... we were inside [the plant] working, and all the green helmets and the managers warned everyone: 'If you don't have your papers, don't come out, because immigration is here,' " the worker said.

"That time, it was convenient for them to protect the people and warn them about the trap waiting for them outside. ... They told everyone that they could stay if they wanted or they could go. But immigration was out there."

Mr. McHugh, the Swift spokesman, said he couldn't find evidence of that incident.

Such an action by a Swift manager "would be viewed as a serious breach of our integrity," he said. "We would take appropriate action against that individual.

"We've got a great track record of cooperating fully with law enforcement," he said.

Swift's corporate officials say they do all they can legally to verify the authenticity of documents.

"If it happens 12 times a year, that's probably the most," said Doug Schult, Swift's Colorado-based vice president for human resources, field operations and employee relations.

Town officials routinely praise Swift's efforts to ensure the legitimacy of its workers.

"They're very cooperative in these matters," Chief Turley said.

Even so, the chief said, he frequently fields telephone inquiries from identity theft victims who learn their names, Social Security numbers, birth dates and places were co-opted by workers at the beef plant.

Whether from Connecticut or California, he said, the calls typically begin the same way:

"Where in the hell is Cactus, Texas?"


Difficult work

More than 20 years ago, the beef packing industry was filled mostly with white American workers, earning more than $20 an hour.

Now, studies show, the plants are dominated by Latino immigrants, most paid less than $12 an hour.

Duke Millard, who managed the Cactus plant from the time it was built in 1972 until his retirement in 1999, said it always had a "multiracial" workforce, from its initial 400 or so employees to the 2,700 or so today.

"I never thought of it as an immigrant workforce," he said.

Mr. Williams, who negotiated the Cactus contract for the union, said the plant still hires its share of Anglos, but "they usually don't last."

One reason: "It is one of the hardest jobs I've ever done in my life," said Mr. Williams, who worked in three West Texas packing houses. "It's so physically demanding."

Nothing, he said, seems to spur college enrollment quite like a recent high school graduate spending a few months working in one of the dozen or so plants scattered across what is known as Packing House Alley – stretching from the South Plains into the Oklahoma Panhandle, southwest Kansas and southeastern Colorado.

It's not unheard of, authorities said, to find teenagers working at the plant – they lie about their ages to get hired – when, by law, they are supposed to be in school.

Other young people are drawn to Cactus but never land work.

Consider the case of "Spot," a young man picked up by Cactus police because he abused the 911 emergency phone system. He called – then hung up – more than 40 times over several days, unable to communicate in anything but his native Guatemalan dialect.

Like a lost puppy, officers took him in: feeding him, finding him places to stay, spending time with him, eventually working to try to teach him English and Spanish.

What they learned, Chief Turley said, was heartbreaking: Through broken Spanish, they were able to determine that he was not a 39-year-old named Carlos Torres – as they originally believed – but a 16-year-old named Gaspar Ambrosio Quixan.

"He wanted to go back to Guatemala because he didn't have enough money to buy fake documentation in order to obtain employment" at Swift.

The chief said he couldn't find any government agency that would help – federal agents declined because Gaspar was a juvenile, state officials because he was an illegal immigrant.

One day, Gaspar vanished.

Cactus police have no idea what happened to him.


Spreading the word

Mr. Millard, who managed the plant for five companies over its first 27 years, said he never advertised south of the border for workers – nor did he hire so-called "brokers" to seek out potential employees.

Swift's Mr. Schult said some companies still engage in what he described as "mobile recruiting," but his does not because "all that does is increase the turnover. It's a revolving door."

So how do workers from Mexico and Guatemala end up in Cactus?

"It's a word-of-mouth thing," said Ms. Hernandez of Catholic Family Services. "Someone comes in to work here; they've got friends at home, they tell them about it. "They don't just come in because it's Cactus. Somebody has to bring them in."

The union's Mr. Williams said he gets angry when he hears immigrant workers depicted primarily as law-breakers sponging off American taxpayers.

"A lot of them end up in these industries where no one else will work," he said, adding that all pay income and Social Security taxes, just like all workers.

Social Security earnings from numbers that didn't match names in the government's database – recorded in an "earnings suspense file" – was nearly $520 billion as of 2003, the last year for which government data is available. Three-fourths of that amount came in during 1990-2003.

Social Security taxes paid under these mismatches have increased: In 2001, about $7 billion in taxes was paid on nearly $58 billion in earnings, according to the agency's Dallas office.

Some believe that much of the money comes from undocumented workers who don't attempt to claim the funds because they are afraid of being caught.

Despite the difficulty of the work – its repetitiveness, its physical demands, its blood and guts – Mr. Williams said he understands why some would risk everything to land a job in a place like Cactus, where workers earn the equivalent of $20 to $25 an hour, factoring in such benefits as health care.

"If I lived in Guatemala and couldn't get a job and had a wife and family," he said, "I'd try it, too."


'Drink and work'

For many of the workers, there is a simple rhythm to Cactus life: Work long hours. Cruise Center Drive. Drink beer.

Start over.

The mayor and Cactus police Sgt. Stewart Moss don't seem to agree on much. But they both recognize this pattern.

"For fun ... [we] really don't have much fun here," Mr. Aguilar said. "Just work."

"Drink," added Sgt. Moss.

"Drink and work," agreed Mr. Aguilar.

The cruising along Center Drive is straight out of American Graffiti . Cars and trucks inch along in a bumper-to-bumper processional. They hope to see and be seen.

"That's the only fun they got," Mr. Aguilar said. "If you got stopped just for that ... fun is over."

"Don't you get tired of cleaning the beer bottles out from in front of the Laundromat?" Sgt. Moss asked.

"Not at all," the mayor replied. "I sell it. So what the hell?"

When the police get involved, cultures clash.

"We'll catch somebody doing something they're not supposed to be doing ... and they'll immediately: 'Oh, I'm friends with Luis [Aguilar]," Sgt. Moss said. "So what? That does not excuse you from doing what you did. And I'm sure they've used their one phone call down at the jail to call you."

Mr. Aguilar: "One o'clock in the morning, 2 o'clock in the morning: 'Luis, the cop stopped me ... and I'm over here.' "

Sgt. Moss: "But did they tell you why they were stopped?"

Mr. Aguilar: "No. ... They just tell me, 'Hey, can you do something for me?' And I can't do nothing about it. That's all I can tell them."

He may be revered as El presidente de Cactus by some, but Mr. Aguilar feels others here are aligned against him. They view the former illegal immigrant with suspicion, depicting him – mostly in private – as a power-hungry mayor who thinks he is operating a Mexican-style fiefdom.

"You know what all my problem is with the city," he said. "I used to be illegal alien out there. When I get the mayor ... some people say, 'What the hell we gonna do with the used-to-be-wetback guy sittin' over here as the mayor?'

"All the City Council is against me. I guess [they] don't like my ideas. It's against me. You know, I live in Cactus for 30 years. I care [about] Cactus. I want to do something good for Cactus."


The People of Cactus, Texas


LUIS AGUILAR

Job: Mayor and businessman

His story: Mr. Aguilar, a native of Chihuahua, Mexico, slipped into the U.S. illegally more than 30 years ago, living and working in Nevada before moving to Cactus. He used fake documents and the name Amador Rivas until he became a citizen after a federal amnesty program in 1986. Today, he owns a 575-acre ranch, a Laundromat, a grocery store and more than a dozen rental properties. He acknowledges helping new illegal immigrants find work in the area.

He says: "I used to be illegal alien out there. When I get the mayor ... some people say, 'What the hell we going to do with the used-to-be wetback guy sittin' over here as the mayor? ... You know, I live in Cactus for 30 years. I care [about] Cactus. I want to do something good for Cactus."


JEFFREY JENKINS

Job: City manager

His story: Mr. Jenkins says, "Folks don't believe you should be able to tell them what to do and where to put things. ... And they'll bring in trailers that the walls are falling in, and they'll want to set 'em up and rent 'em to somebody. ...On the reverse end of it, you get the renters ... they think that if they report it or something, they're going to be deported or something's going to happen. So, they're getting taken advantage of by the landlords in some places. And that's sad to see."

He says: "And it's the federal government that's just not accountable. ...It's definitely a broken system."

About This Series


The nation's immigration debate is often focused on extremes – amnesty or deportation for the nation's 12 million illegal immigrants.

But in one Texas Panhandle town, all the political, economic and human complexities of the problem come into sharp focus.

In this series, The Dallas Morning News and Al Día examine Cactus, Texas: a town where three out of four residents are thought to be illegal immigrants; the slaughterhouse where many work; and the local officials who walk a political tight wire with the biggest employer in town.

Today: A look at Luis Aguilar, now the mayor of Cactus, who slipped into this country from Mexico, eventually using a fake name, license and Social Security card to land a job at this town's sprawling beef packing plant.

Monday: Tomas Cus and his fellow Guatemalans talk about their work, their lives and their reasons for migrating to Cactus.

Tuesday: Each year, thousands of illegal immigrants gravitate toward meatpacking plants in places like Cactus. Their attraction to the nation's most dangerous factory job has created an environment that's increasingly difficult to monitor, experts say.

Originally Posted by crazybird

Thought I'd try to C&P but it was tough. Kept blinking like crazy. Hope this is the article you wanted.

It didn't want to let me cut and paste either.

From the same series (which I was able tp C&P):

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent ... 77bd3.html


08:12 AM CST on Sunday, November 19, 2006
By ARNOLD HAMILTON / The Dallas Morning News

CACTUS, Texas – An Iraq war veteran jailed on a DWI-related penalty he knew nothing about. A mother threatened with the loss of state aid because she failed to alert authorities to a job she never held.

For Texans Alfredo Richard Toscano Jr. and Joanna Laureles, it was the first hint their identities had been hijacked, sold to illegal immigrants trying to get jobs at the local meatpacking plant.

Police and prosecutors say they are swamped with such cases – most linked to the dozen beef and pork operations that have transformed this region into Packing House Alley.

An illegal immigrant from Mexico brazenly peddled fake documents from his home next door to the Cactus police chief for nearly two years before Texas Rangers busted what turned out to be one cog in a multistate operation.

The exasperated Cactus police chief, Tim Turley, said he didn't have the manpower, equipment or expertise to investigate properly. Worse, he said, he never could interest federal law officers.

"The document business is booming," he said. "You've got, what, 11 million illegal aliens? Somebody's got to provide those documents."

It's unknown how many immigrants use phony documents to land jobs, but federal records offer clues: In the last five years, the Social Security Administration mailed 8 million notices annually to individuals and employers, flagging problems with workers' identifying information.

Nearly half of "earnings in suspense" – Social Security funds collected, but unclaimed – came from the agricultural industry, including meatpacking, the agency said last year. About 13 percent came from the service industry, and 11 percent from the restaurant industry.

Sometimes it's a clerical error. Many times, though, the notices expose illegal workers who purchased the lost, stolen or duplicate identifying documents – from Social Security cards and birth certificates to fake driver's licenses – essential to landing a job in the U.S.

"Everybody knows," said Mark A. Grey, who has studied the packing industry as director of the University of Northern Iowa's Center for Immigrant Leadership and Integration. "You can't even call them undocumented [workers]. Everybody has documents. They're 'unauthorized.' "

Dr. Grey and other experts describe a delicate public relations ballet involving corporations, unions, law enforcement and elected officials – all aware of the problem but loath to investigate too aggressively for fear it could dry up a ready source of cheap labor, force plants out of business and cripple tax revenues.


'You need IDs?'

Even if they had the want-to or the tools, authorities say it isn't easy to nab those in the fake-identity trade. Improperly documented workers rarely seem to know much about the brokers, and they are reluctant to share specifics.

Natividad Villa, the 25-year-old Mexican who worked at the Swift & Co. beef processing plant in Cactus under Sgt. Toscano's name, told Texas Rangers he bought his fake ID for $600 from an unidentified, long-haired white man in nearby Dumas who drove a red Jeep Cherokee.

Mr. Villa then used that to get a valid Missouri driver's license, which he was carrying when his true identity was discovered. Held in the Moore County Jail, he declined to speak to a reporter.

In the last three years, Chief Turley said, he and his officers have seized dozens of falsified ID cards – most from Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas, New Mexico and Texas. Sometimes the fraud is so obvious it's almost comical, he said.

There was the Guatemalan with a license for Nelson Wilson.

"He couldn't even pronounce the name," the chief said. Even so, it wasn't enough to make a case because "we couldn't find the real Nelson Wilson to refute it."

The most prized documents: lost or stolen birth certificates and Social Security cards. Job-seeking immigrants generally pay between $1,000 and $1,500, using the papers to create a new, hirable identity. Fake IDs alone typically sell for about $800.

"The price of good papers has actually gone down" because of an oversupply, said Northern Iowa's Dr. Grey. "There's more available."

Document brokers can set up shop almost anywhere – at flea markets, in motel rooms, in their cars and vans. Even next to the Cactus police chief.

"They'd rent an apartment for a while and put out the word: You need IDs? Come see us," said David Green, district attorney in four Panhandle counties.

With false identities so prevalent, even the most routine traffic stop can become an adventure: Police aren't certain who is being questioned – or arrested.


Veteran's troubles

In March 2002, Mr. Villa was arrested for drunken driving in Moore County, with a license bearing the name Alfredo Richard Toscano Jr. He pretended to be Sgt. Toscano in the court where he pleaded guilty.

Seven months later, the real Alfredo Richard Toscano Jr. was headed to his niece's sixth birthday party and stopped for speeding in Claude, Texas.

A bewildered Sgt. Toscano was arrested, his car impounded. The reason: His driver's license was suspended because of the drunken-driving conviction.

"I've never gotten a DUI in my life," said Sgt. Toscano, an Amarillo native and Iraq war veteran stationed at Fort Sill, Okla.

"I'm sorry," the officer said. "I have to go by what this says."

He spent about nine hours behind bars, wearing an old-fashioned jail uniform: white with black stripes across it, his inmate number on the front.

The next morning, a sympathetic judge promised to alert the Texas Rangers to his plight.

Six weeks later, a Texas Ranger confronted Mr. Villa – still posing as Alfredo Richard Toscano Jr. – at the Swift plant.

Mr. Villa admitted his real identity and was sentenced to probation on an aggravated perjury charge. But his case was not over: Last November, a trooper stopped a vehicle in Ochiltree County in which Mr. Villa was a passenger. Mr. Villa, authorities said, produced another false ID.

Mr. Green wants to revoke his probation. And federal agents are taking steps to deport him.

Sgt. Toscano said he doesn't know how his identity was stolen. He's never been burglarized. He's never so much as lost his wallet.


Shocked mother

Ms. Laureles discovered that her identity was used by an undocumented Guatemalan woman at the Swift plant, when state welfare officials compared a list of recipients to Texas Workforce Commission records.

It turned up a match, showing that Ms. Laureles appeared to be collecting food stamps and Medicaid for her two daughters, ages 1 and 2, at the same time she was employed at the Cactus packing plant.

But it was Maria Gonzales – posing as Ms. Laureles – who was working there.

The real Ms. Laureles, 21, lived in Plainview, 100 miles south. She said she'd never heard of the plant.

Even worse: She was on the verge of losing her welfare assistance and possibly facing charges for defrauding the state.

"It was a big shock," she said.

With the help of Plainview and Cactus police, the matter was cleared up. Ms. Laureles kept her state assistance. Ms. Gonzales, 22, lost her job and surrendered all documents in Ms. Laureles' name.

Ms. Gonzales, who couldn't be reached for comment, was released on bond and permitted to return to Guymon, Okla., to care for her infant child.

But her case isn't near being prosecuted. Chief Turley said he is overwhelmed by so many similar incidents that he hasn't had time to compile all the evidence.

Ms. Laureles just wants it to end so "nobody else is using my papers."

Originally Posted by greyparrot

For some reason I was unable to C&P this most telling article, in which everyone but Swift knew it was hiring illegal aliens, including local law enforcement. I am actually beginning to believe the former employees, who are suing Swift under the RICO act, have a decent chance of winning.

Please note: when you click on the link it appears blank but, if you scroll down a bit, the article is there.


http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent ... 85389.html

You know they should also sue the Union also. The Union took there money and didn't represent them.

The way the lengthy links are S T R E T C H I NG out this thead, it's probably best to click on them for easier reading.

dallas morning news is my local paper and i too have a hard time cutting and pasting. im surprised that this cactus texas stuff came as a surprise since i posted about it about a month ago on this very sight.

but its nice to see that its being posted again to gain even more attention than before


the theft of a real americans ID and numbers makes me wonder just how much swift knew especially when you consider the fact that the names and numbers were coming back as matches. nd no im not defending swift in any way what so ever

You know they should also sue the Union also. The Union took there money and didn't represent them.

EXCELLENT point Scub!