SADIST'S DELIGHT
This tweeter's been spending a lot of time behind bars lately. And no, he doesn't mean he's been mixing martinis moonlightin' down at Durant's.
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Actually, he's been hanging out with chicks in stir. But that's not what you think either, so get your noggin out of the Roger Corman-esque B-movie mud.
Most recently, The Bird paid a visit to Sheriff Joe Arpaio's notorious Estrella Jail for women, down on Durango Street near Tent City. It's where Ciria Lopez-Pacheco's been cooling her heels since she was forcibly separated from her two young children by a ski-masked MCSO deputy on the evening of January 9, the first night of Joe's recent West Valley sweep.
Since The Bird's online wing-man, Feathered Bastard, first shared her story with the world — and posted video taken by Phoenix activist Sal Reza of Lopez-Pacheco's son and daughter, 5 and 7, scared and weeping for their mom — a lot's happened.
First, both the New York Times' editorial blog The Board, and the highly read Web site Huffington Post, named for its millionaire intellectual/pundit founder Arianna Huffington, picked up on the story and posted the video. As of the writing of this column, the YouTube video's been watched close to 13,000 times.
Second, Lopez-Pacheco went before an El Mirage municipal judge on her unpaid traffic ticket for driving on a "suspended" license. (In reality, she never had a license.) The judge was a mensch, lowering the frail woman's fine of $700-plus to about $238. Lopez-Pacheco paid, and the court ordered her unconditional release.
However, as this yardbird visited Lopez-Pacheco on the Saturday after her hearing, the 25-year-old Mexican-born woman was still in MCSO custody on a hold from Immigration and Customs Enforcement for being in the United States sans papers.
With activist Lydia Guzman of the organization Respect/Respeto on hand, translating for this unilingual feather duster, Lopez-Pacheco explained in Spanish that she blamed herself for the arrest. Her family had moved to a new abode recently, and she had let the ticket slip.
The irony, of course, is that if Arizona allowed undocumented immigrants to obtain driver's licenses, Lopez-Pacheco wouldn't have had the problem that got her busted. After all, her registration and insurance were both in order.
Her handcuffs chained to a desk, like those of the scores of other women in the visitation room, Lopez-Pacheco recounts the night she was snatched from her children. An MCSO deputy in a marked car, and wearing a ski mask, pulled her over. Speaking to her in Spanish, he identified himself as an immigration cop — one of the 160 cross-trained MCSO deputies empowered to enforce immigration law.
He told her he pulled her over because her lights were off. She replied that the lights were on, flicking them off and on, then off again.
"Well, they're off now," he cracked, in classic cop humor.
The deputy ran her name and discovered that Lopez-Pacheco had a "failure to pay" warrant against her. This allowed him to take her into custody and add her to the list of "illegals" nabbed in the sweep. Lopez-Pacheco's children were terrified of the masked man, who told them their mom would be coming with him and that everything would be all right.
The children (both American citizens by birth) cried loudly as Lopez-Pacheco sat handcuffed in the back of the cruiser, trying to calm them through a partially opened back window. The masked deputy ordered the kids to hush, but they wept inconsolably. That's when the frustrated gendarme popped the trunk of his vehicle, took out two stuffed toys, and handed them to the children.
But the kids still cried for their mother, so he let them kiss and hug her goodbye. Afterward, he raised the back window, so she couldn't talk to them. Eventually, Lopez-Pacheco's niece came to collect them, and Lopez-Pacheco was taken away for detention.
As she relates her story, she stares longingly at the children of other prisoners as they are paraded past her. Guzman asks her whether she would like her children to be brought to visit her, but she shakes her head no. She would want to hold them, she says, but such touching, even by family members, isn't allowed in Joe's jails.
The conditions in Estrella are abysmal. In other words, exactly what you'd expect. For a lunch of bread, disgusting "white" ham that Lopez-Pacheco fears to eat, tap water, and an orange, Joe charges $1.25 per diem to inmates with money on their jail accounts.
Inmates with money left can spend it on canteen items, but the cost is prohibitive. A traveler's size bottle of shampoo costs $9, according to Lopez-Pacheco. A single packet of Kool-Aid is $1. Lopez-Pacheco has spent all her money on toiletries and writing paper, instead of on chips and candy. As a result, she is hungry all the time. When she went to her court date in El Mirage, she missed her meals for the day.
Worst of all was the strip and cavity search she had to endure to leave jail for court. The searches are performed in a place where all the male guards can watch. And, yes, they do watch.