"It is very humiliating," whispers Lopez-Pacheco.
There are other indignities, still. For the inmates' one hour of exercise, the guards roust them early in the a.m., while it's still dark. As a result, they rarely see the sun. There are no clocks on the walls, and only the guards have watches, but they won't tell inmates the time. There's no heat, and it's cold at night, with only one blanket per bed. In the common area, there's a TV, but it hasn't been turned on since she's been there.
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Just what did Lopez-Pacheco do to deserve this hellhole? Oh, that's right, she came to the United States in search of a better life, like millions before her.
Lopez-Pacheco's grateful that Sal Reza caught her children on camera, that other people are learning about what's going on in Joe Arpaio's Maricopa County, even if she ultimately will be returned to Mexico and kept from her kids indefinitely.
As Guzman and this jailbird prepare to amscray, she says, smiling weakly, "Tell everyone [who has supported her] thank you, and give them kisses from me."
As this column went to press, ICE agents took custody of Lopez-Pacheco at Estrella. Instead of transporting her to a federal detention facility, she was to be shipped back to Mexico, likely because she had already been removed from the country once before. She didn't get to see her kids before she boarded the bus to the border.
INSIDE PERRYVILLE
Visiting hours at the Santa Cruz unit of Goodyear's Perryville Prison seem civilized compared to those at Joe's gulags. The women serving their sentences here are allowed to touch their visitors, albeit briefly. They aren't chained to desks.
In a visitation area that resembles a grade-school lunchroom, with its fold-up tables, female prisoners in orange sweats sometimes meet with whole families at a time. They play games like Scrabble and hangman with their relations, and people are free to move around, go to the bathroom, or get a Coke from the vending machine.
It's a deceptive, limited freedom. Visitors have been vetted in an extensive process that can take months. And visitation hours are set for weekends only. Here, the women are in state prison and have been convicted of serious crimes, such as second-degree murder or selling meth. In Joe's jails, about 70 percent of prisoners are awaiting trial and are assumed innocent until proven otherwise.
But in state prison, the atmosphere's sadder. Even the youngest inmate seems weighed down by the many years she must serve.
The trip to Perryville came about because the Arizona Department of Corrections wouldn't allow The Bird a "media visit" with inmate Courtney Bisbee. The DOC wasn't discriminating; it just doesn't grant one-on-one, in-person interviews between prisoners and the press. AZ DOC spokesman Bill Lamoreaux said media interviews must take place over the phone. In-person interviews are all but unheard of, he said, because of manpower and security issues.
The DOC does, however, allow a media member the same rights as any other private citizen — that is, a visit with an inmate sans note pad, writing instruments, tape recorder, or camera — which is why The Bird drove over.
This avian's alter ego found the DOC's no-formal-interview policy unusual while writing a cover story last fall on Bisbee and her fight for freedom. Other states are not as restrictive in this regard. In 2003, his alter ego visited Damien Echols, a convicted murderer on death row for a triple homicide many believe he didn't participate in. Obtaining a one-on-one interview was as tough as faxing a request to the Arkansas authorities involved. As a result, the interview took center stage in a feature for LA Weekly.
Currently, The Bird's aware that an ABC News producer's seeking access to Perryville for a formal interview with Bisbee regarding her trial and conviction on charges of child molestation, for which she's serving an 11-year sentence. Here's hoping the DOC will grant an exception, so that the world can judge Bisbee's character, as best it can, via television.
Bisbee's vivacious and intelligent, and she can discuss her case with the expertise of a lawyer. She spends her free time reading law and writing legal documents. Other inmates consult her for advice about their cases.
Unlike many in prison who admit to some or all guilt in what led up to their convictions, Bisbee steadfastly maintains her innocence and works tirelessly for her exoneration.
"I'll never stop fighting until I'm reunited with my daughter," Bisbee explained to this eagle during our conversation at Perryville. She referred to her child, Taylor Lee, whom she lost custody of in 2005 because of the charges then pending against her.
As detailed in New Times' cover story, there's mounting evidence that Bisbee was wrongly convicted of molesting a 13-year-old boy while employed as a school nurse at Horizon High School in Phoenix. Nik Valles, the brother of Bisbee's accuser, Jon Valles, recanted his testimony in her 2006 bench trial before Judge Warren Granville. Also, Jon's former girlfriend Sarah Babcock testified during a lawsuit that Valles admitted to her that he had lied about the accusations, and that nothing sexual happened between him and Bisbee.