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Phoenix, Arizona – 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).
Copyright © 2010 Hispanic Institute of Social Issues
Grassroots Journalism
www.barriozona.com
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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.
By Xochitl Bervera - Special Contribution
BARRIOZONA
February 1, 2010
Phoenix Witness Big Demonstration to Condemn
Maricopa Sheriff and Demand Immigration Reform