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The attention and the scrutiny have been overwhelming for the 36-year-old mother of four, who's working on her bachelor's degree at ASU (in biology and Chicano studies) and receives only a $300-per-month stipend for her work on the council. (Regular council members receive $200 a month.)
She isn't wealthy and has no entourage or PR advisers, as the mayor of Phoenix does. Suddenly, because of her defiance of the sheriff, she's being interviewed one day by playwright/actress Anna Deavere Smith for inclusion in a future one-woman performance by Smith. The next day she's being vilified, with TV reporters trespassing in her front yard to get a better shot of the car she was driving when she was ticketed.
"That whole thing was blown way out of proportion," said Jimenez of the headlight kerfuffle. "I never said I was being racially profiled. And I have every intention of taking care of the ticket."
She didn't have to say she was racially profiled because many immigrant rights activists said it for her.
As any journalist who's waited weeks or months for a police report from the MCSO knows, the sheriff's flacks turned over the police report on Jimenez in record time. It was in the hands of reporters within 24 hours after the citing — which signals that the small-town politician now joins many other public officials, political foes, supporters of political opponents, and journalists on the sheriff's enemies list.
Quite a feat for a newbie public servant who's been in office less than six months and who hasn't decided whether she'll continue in local government or go to dental or law school.
"This gig as mayor, I tell people, is just part of the journey to where I'm supposed to end up," she said. "There are times when I've thought about resigning, but I've never been a quitter in my life."
Arguably, it was Jimenez's act of defiance that started Arpaio on the road to widespread derision. He's facing more negative public opinion than ever, the threat of a federal investigation, and mounting criticism from other elected officials emboldened by Jimenez's bravery.
Yet the skullduggery of small-town politics is ongoing. Jimenez and her allies maintain a slim 4-3 majority on the Town Council. Her cousin, Patricia Jimenez, faces a recall election in September over what seem like relatively petty, personality-based issues. If her cousin loses the recall, the mayor will face a council vote to demote her to councilwoman (the mayor of the town is elected by and from the council).
There also has been talk of recalling the mayor, though petitions cannot circulate until June, according to state law. Outsiders to Guadalupe politics may be bewildered by the fact that the faction considering the mayor's recall also opposes the sheriff. Unsubstantiated rumor, jealousy, and small-time rivalries seem to be driving the local conflict.
For example, in a letter to all town residents announcing a May 4 Sunday meeting at Our Lady of Guadalupe to discuss alternatives to the MCSO, Deacon Bernasconi attacked Mayor Jimenez, stating:
"You are probably aware that the mayor of Guadalupe made a threat to Sheriff Arpaio that Guadalupe was going to terminate the contract with the sheriff's department. Unfortunately, the mayor spoke without thinking. Elective officials should not make drastic decisions without thinking of the consequences and without having a plan first."
Informed that it was the other way around — based on Arpaio's videotaped meltdown on April 3 — Bernasconi admitted that he hadn't been present at the verbal donnybrook or seen Channel 12's online footage of it. He said he based his statements on information given to him by others.
In fact, the footage reveals that Mayor Jimenez was calm and respectful compared to Arpaio, and it was clearly Arpaio who threatened Jimenez.
"If you don't like the way I operate," Arpaio told her, "you go get your own police department. You've got 90 days to cancel your contract — 90 days! You wanna cancel it, feel free to."
The threat from Arpaio was, if the mayor didn't want deputies harassing the town's brown-skinned citizenry, she must find some other agency to patrol its streets.
"We'll look into that," Mayor Jimenez replied before walking away.
Jimenez telephoned Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon that night, and met with him later in April to see what sort of letter Phoenix would need from Guadalupe to review the prospect of providing police protection for the town.
Jimenez narrowly escaped a vote of no-confidence on May 21, when three council members called a Town Council meeting and placed the reconsideration of the mayor's and vice mayor's positions on the agenda. The tiny council chambers were filled with TV cameras expecting something dramatic. About a minute into the proceedings, Jimenez, citing the illness and hospitalization of council member Patricia Jimenez's father, moved that the agenda be tabled and the meeting adjourned. The ayes had it, 4-3.
(As this story went to press, council members opposed to Jimenez were pushing for another no-confidence vote.)
An activist affiliated with Rusty Childress' anti-immigrant organization, United for a Sovereign America, was at the meeting and has been present at all Town Council meetings since April 3. He denied that he was spying for nativists, but there's no doubt that Childress and assorted Arpaio backers are cheering the squabbling in Guadalupe and the attempted removal of Mayor Jimenez.