Phoenix Witnesses Big Demonstration to Condemn
Maricopa Sheriff and Demand Immigration Reform
Maricopa Sheriff and Demand Immigration Reform
A chronicle of the January 16th immigrant march in Phoenix, Arizona, written from the perspective of
a member of the Georgia Latino Alliance for Human Rights (GLAHR) who came in support from
Atlanta.
a member of the Georgia Latino Alliance for Human Rights (GLAHR) who came in support from
Atlanta.
By Xochitl Bervera - Special Contribution
Phoenix, Arizona, February 1, 2010 - Marchers gathered in Falcon Park, three miles north of the
Maricopa County Jail and across the street from Carl Hayden High School, where 94% of the
student body is Latino and the 75% graduation rate is far higher than the national average. When
we arrived at 9:00 a.m, there were already hundreds of protesters milling around, talking, laughing,
waiting in line for the bathrooms, signing in, and picking up the beautifully printed official march
posters.
By 10:00 a.m., the number was in the thousands. And the air was electric. Dozens of men and
women wore orange Puente shirts and gathered in clusters around the park, planning, talking,
holding banners and bull horns. Sal Reza of Tonatierra paced back and forth on the back of the
flatbed truck that was acting as the stage, stepping over instruments and getting the line up
together.
The crowd held elders, young mothers, families with babies in strollers, and school aged children
holding signs declaring “We Are Human!” There were 15-foot high, beautifully hand painted Virgen
de Guadalupe, comical and scathing depictions of Arpaio, and painstakingly detailed posters
depicting unity among indigenous peoples and demanding freedom. A small group of cholos sported
handsomely printed “Fuck Joe Arpaio” tees while they smoked cigarettes and looked tough. A white
man asked whether they had Tees for sale and the toughest looking of them all broke into a big
grin. “Sure!” he said, before regaining his cool, “Ten dollars.”
The paleta man rang his bell and kids pointed to their fathers which ice cream bar they wanted.
Others waited their turn for elotes and mangoes, chile sprinkled on top. If it weren’t for the political
signs, one could be excused for mistaking the friendliness and positive energy for a festival or a
fiesta of some sort. But the signs were clear. “Abajo con Arpaio/Down With Arpaio,” “Stop the
Abuse, End the Raids” “Open the Borders,” “We are Human,” “Immigration Reform Now!” There
was a Haitian solidarity sign. Children carried posters with a giant butterfly printed on it and the
words “Freedom/Libertad.”
A gigantic rubber Sheriff Arpaio head bumbled through the crowd, waving his nightstick and rubbing
a big belly. A couple of young women snuck up behind him and dramatically kicked him in the rear.
The crowd around him laughed loudly and pointed. It made the real Sheriff’s comeuppance seem
inevitable, if not immediate.
And then the ceremony started with the smell of copal and the sound of a conch. A circle formed
around the dozen Native dancers, who moved to the beat of the drums and ankle rattles, feathers
on their heads. They blessed the crowd, turned to the North, South, East and West, held their arms
up high and then crouched low to the earth. The elder in the center held up a cob of corn and said,
“este es el único pasaporte que necesitamos,” (this is the only passport we need).
Then the speakers on the truck bed boomed with Sal’s “Bienvenidos!” We all turned towards his
voice: mothers and grandfathers, teenage boys with their Mexi-Mohawks and giant earrings, girls in
skinny jeans and traditional Mexican blusas, toddlers chewing on signs, Anglos wearing “Arpaio
Doesn’t Speak for America” T-shirts, and Korean drummers from Los Angeles who came in solidarity.
Zach de la Rocha of Rage Against the Machine shared the stage with Linda Ronstadt, Los
Jornaleros del Norte, and Dolores Huerta. The speakers delivered the same message in different
ways – some singing, some speaking, some funny, some serious: Basta ya! It’s time for Sheriff
Arpaio to go!
And then the organizers called us into action. At the front were the dancers and drummers, and
from our vantage point at the top of a picnic table, the sea of people was impressive. Thousands
and thousands of people had joined the crowd since we’d arrived.
The chants began: “Si Se Puede! Si Se Puede!” Hundreds of people surged by us chanting in
unison. A group of young people with a bullhorn got closer to the front and teased the others, “Se
Se boring!” they laughed. And began jumping up and down. “El que no brinca es migra! El que no
brinca es Arpaio!” Jump, hop, dance. Over ten thousand people filled the street with raised fists
and an urgent energy. The march stretched two miles long.
Marching, we passed supporters who smiled and waved. The chants changed. “Uneté, uneté, a la
lucha, uneté!” Kids stood on cars and mothers came out of their house to watch. On one corner, we
passed a police officer standing on his car taking pictures of the protesters. On another, two
Department of Justice (DOJ) officials looked on. A couple with a dog on a leash joined in the march
shouting newly learned chants.
The final rally was much like the initial one –songs and speeches that many gathered to hear while
others drifted off toward home or work. There was no direct confrontation with Arpaio or dramatic
end, but the power of the marchers was undeniable and we left confident that Arpaio’s days are
numbered. All over this nation, we need to continue to push for federal intervention in Maricopa
County. What happens there affects us all.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Xochitl Bervera, works in the area of Public Education and Communications for the Georgia Latino Alliance
for Human Rights (GLAHR).
Maricopa County Jail and across the street from Carl Hayden High School, where 94% of the
student body is Latino and the 75% graduation rate is far higher than the national average. When
we arrived at 9:00 a.m, there were already hundreds of protesters milling around, talking, laughing,
waiting in line for the bathrooms, signing in, and picking up the beautifully printed official march
posters.
By 10:00 a.m., the number was in the thousands. And the air was electric. Dozens of men and
women wore orange Puente shirts and gathered in clusters around the park, planning, talking,
holding banners and bull horns. Sal Reza of Tonatierra paced back and forth on the back of the
flatbed truck that was acting as the stage, stepping over instruments and getting the line up
together.
The crowd held elders, young mothers, families with babies in strollers, and school aged children
holding signs declaring “We Are Human!” There were 15-foot high, beautifully hand painted Virgen
de Guadalupe, comical and scathing depictions of Arpaio, and painstakingly detailed posters
depicting unity among indigenous peoples and demanding freedom. A small group of cholos sported
handsomely printed “Fuck Joe Arpaio” tees while they smoked cigarettes and looked tough. A white
man asked whether they had Tees for sale and the toughest looking of them all broke into a big
grin. “Sure!” he said, before regaining his cool, “Ten dollars.”
The paleta man rang his bell and kids pointed to their fathers which ice cream bar they wanted.
Others waited their turn for elotes and mangoes, chile sprinkled on top. If it weren’t for the political
signs, one could be excused for mistaking the friendliness and positive energy for a festival or a
fiesta of some sort. But the signs were clear. “Abajo con Arpaio/Down With Arpaio,” “Stop the
Abuse, End the Raids” “Open the Borders,” “We are Human,” “Immigration Reform Now!” There
was a Haitian solidarity sign. Children carried posters with a giant butterfly printed on it and the
words “Freedom/Libertad.”
A gigantic rubber Sheriff Arpaio head bumbled through the crowd, waving his nightstick and rubbing
a big belly. A couple of young women snuck up behind him and dramatically kicked him in the rear.
The crowd around him laughed loudly and pointed. It made the real Sheriff’s comeuppance seem
inevitable, if not immediate.
And then the ceremony started with the smell of copal and the sound of a conch. A circle formed
around the dozen Native dancers, who moved to the beat of the drums and ankle rattles, feathers
on their heads. They blessed the crowd, turned to the North, South, East and West, held their arms
up high and then crouched low to the earth. The elder in the center held up a cob of corn and said,
“este es el único pasaporte que necesitamos,” (this is the only passport we need).
Then the speakers on the truck bed boomed with Sal’s “Bienvenidos!” We all turned towards his
voice: mothers and grandfathers, teenage boys with their Mexi-Mohawks and giant earrings, girls in
skinny jeans and traditional Mexican blusas, toddlers chewing on signs, Anglos wearing “Arpaio
Doesn’t Speak for America” T-shirts, and Korean drummers from Los Angeles who came in solidarity.
Zach de la Rocha of Rage Against the Machine shared the stage with Linda Ronstadt, Los
Jornaleros del Norte, and Dolores Huerta. The speakers delivered the same message in different
ways – some singing, some speaking, some funny, some serious: Basta ya! It’s time for Sheriff
Arpaio to go!
And then the organizers called us into action. At the front were the dancers and drummers, and
from our vantage point at the top of a picnic table, the sea of people was impressive. Thousands
and thousands of people had joined the crowd since we’d arrived.
The chants began: “Si Se Puede! Si Se Puede!” Hundreds of people surged by us chanting in
unison. A group of young people with a bullhorn got closer to the front and teased the others, “Se
Se boring!” they laughed. And began jumping up and down. “El que no brinca es migra! El que no
brinca es Arpaio!” Jump, hop, dance. Over ten thousand people filled the street with raised fists
and an urgent energy. The march stretched two miles long.
Marching, we passed supporters who smiled and waved. The chants changed. “Uneté, uneté, a la
lucha, uneté!” Kids stood on cars and mothers came out of their house to watch. On one corner, we
passed a police officer standing on his car taking pictures of the protesters. On another, two
Department of Justice (DOJ) officials looked on. A couple with a dog on a leash joined in the march
shouting newly learned chants.
The final rally was much like the initial one –songs and speeches that many gathered to hear while
others drifted off toward home or work. There was no direct confrontation with Arpaio or dramatic
end, but the power of the marchers was undeniable and we left confident that Arpaio’s days are
numbered. All over this nation, we need to continue to push for federal intervention in Maricopa
County. What happens there affects us all.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Xochitl Bervera, works in the area of Public Education and Communications for the Georgia Latino Alliance
for Human Rights (GLAHR).
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Published by the Hispanic Institute of Social Issues in Phoenix, Arizona
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GIGANTIC MARCH "The crowd held
elders, young mothers, families with
babies in strollers, and school aged
children holding signs declaring “We Are
Human!” Photo by Eduardo
Barraza/BARRIOZONA
elders, young mothers, families with
babies in strollers, and school aged
children holding signs declaring “We Are
Human!” Photo by Eduardo
Barraza/BARRIOZONA
HUGE CROWD "Over ten thousand
people filled the street with raised fists
and an urgent energy. The march
stretched two miles long." Photo by
Eduardo Barraza/BARRIOZONA
people filled the street with raised fists
and an urgent energy. The march
stretched two miles long." Photo by
Eduardo Barraza/BARRIOZONA