On the day of the raid, Sanchez posted another hand-painted message: "If you are profiled or harassed, call me."
Andrew works as a resident program specialist at the Arizona State Hospital. More importantly, he has an automobile that functions. In a poor community, a man with a car is a busy fellow.
Andrew Sanchez believes Arpaio’s deputies have targeted him and his family because he dared to speak out.
Mistaken identity? Manuel Valenzuela says MCSO deputies drew guns on him after he was stopped while driving Andrew Sanchez's car.
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"Before the sun went below the mountains, people started gathering in anticipation of Arpaio," said Sanchez. "And people called me for rides to work. They were afraid to walk, afraid to drive themselves."
The daughter of a former elected official phoned. She'd been stopped while on foot and forced to produce identification. She asked Sanchez to take her to her home, where she had more anti-Arpaio signs.
"When we got to her house, she grabbed shoe polish," recalled Sanchez. "She wrote on my car window: 'Proud to be brown' and 'Go home, Arpaio.'"
After serving as an impromptu taxi driver, Sanchez picked up his sister Elaine, who was the swing-shift supervisor at Jack in the Box.
As they eased past the Family Dollar store and drove through Arpaio's "crime suppression," Sanchez tooted his horn.
He was promptly pulled over, and after producing registration, license, and proof of insurance, he was interrogated. Sanchez was ticketed for honking his horn. The lawmen commented upon the anti-Arpaio signs in his backseat and the greased windows asking the sheriff to leave Guadalupe.
Although a judge tossed the complaint, Sanchez believes strongly that Arpaio's deputies have targeted him and his family because he dared to speak out.
Later in April, on his way to a graduation party, Sanchez was pulled over once more, this time for a broken taillight.
Sanchez's brother-in-law, Manuel Valenzuela, borrowed Andrew's car in April to take his wife dinner where she works.
He operated the vehicle without a valid driver's license; when the deputies flashed their lights, he turned into his mother's yard instead of promptly pulling over.
Valenzuela claims the officers emerged from their car with guns drawn. They handcuffed and arrested Valenzuela.
He had driven Andrew's car with the high beams on.
Sanchez said that for all the officers knew, the person driving the car was Andrew himself. He is suspicious. His car was impounded, and the deputies made a number of calls to relatives announcing that they'd impounded Andrew's car.
That next month, on May 28, his sister Elaine was confronted in her own yard and arrested.
She was told that the light illuminating her license plate was out. But the officers who put her in jail never charged her with that offense. Indeed, as she drove south on Avenida del Yaqui, the deputies drove north, in the opposite direction. They had to make a U-turn to follow her.
They made the U-turn to follow her before they could see her rear license plate.
Elaine Sanchez was ordered to appear in court on July 1, 2008. A judge dismissed the disorderly conduct charge.
Sanchez and her kin believe that the deputies focused on her family to make a point: Political dissent does not change who runs Guadalupe.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio runs Guadalupe.
It is worth remembering that the mayor of Guadalupe's confrontation with Arpaio was on April 3, the first night of the immigration sweep.
The sheriff told the press that he'd been invited into Guadalupe by the village's administrators.
But on the night of the raid, Mayor Rebecca Jimenez handed Arpaio a press release calling for an end to the roundup. Guadalupe's leaders had not summoned the sheriff.
In front of rolling television cameras, Arpaio erupted.
"Forget the press release!" said the sheriff. "That doesn't matter. Action is what speaks . . . You said you didn't want us back here tomorrow. Is that what you said?"
"Yes," replied the mayor.
"Well, we will be back here tomorrow. Full force!"
Arpaio then threatened the mayor.
"If you don't like the way I operate, you go get your own police department," said the sheriff. "You've got 90 days to cancel your contract — 90 days. You wanna cancel it, feel free to."
Arpaio's troops did, indeed, return. The next day, his deputies circled the square during the confirmation ceremony of youngsters at Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic church. Families terrified of being swept up in the dragnet avoided the religious rite or sent their children with others.
Two weeks later, on April 18, Sheriff Arpaio made good on his threat to Mayor Jimenez. He notified Guadalupe that it had 180 days to "study and research the law enforcement needs of the community and explore other law enforcement alternatives.
"I want nothing to do with [Mayor Jimenez] and the little town of Guadalupe," said Arpaio.
In the weeks that followed, the impoverished community learned that it could not afford to hire either Phoenix or Tempe to patrol its streets; Guadalupe had to swallow its pride. Jimenez was forced out as mayor, in part, by council members offended that she had raised Arpaio's ire and potentially lost the town its police services. A new mayor was installed, and the village approached Arpaio on bended knee and asked that he return.
This vengeance by Sheriff Arpaio was hardly an isolated act.
