theintercept--2020-08-22--Her Former Colleagues Called in a “Wellness Check.” Then Police Shot Her to Death.

documented an appointment with his patient Sandy Guardiola that took place on October 3 , 2017 .
“ She smiles often , ” he wrote .
She was in “ good spirits.
” Guardiola , a parole officer in upstate New York , was scheduled to start work at a new office location following a four-week medical leave after a car accident .
She asked the doctor to sign paperwork allowing her to return to her job .
She was , he noted , “ excited about going back to work.
” When Guardiola ’ s two adult children spoke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she seemed well .
To this day , they do not understand why a police officer was sent to their mother ’ s apartment in Canandaigua , New York , to carry out a wellness check on October 4 .
Neither of them had been called , although they were listed as her emergency contacts at work .
All they know is that Scott Kadien of the Canandaigua Police Department entered Guardiola ’ s home without her permission and shot her three times while she was in her bed .
She died in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shooting of a Latina woman in a small upstate New York town , with a population that is 96 percent white , did not make national news .
Even local coverage was scant .
A grand jury declined to charge Kadien , who claimed that Guardiola shot at him first ( she legally owned a gun , owing to her job ) .
Amid national antiracist uprisings , however , with renewed focus on the plague of racist police killings , Guardiola ’ s son and daughter are pushing for their mother ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is one of all too many deaths that illustrate the risk of entrusting police forces with overseeing community wellness .
And , like most every police killing , the story of Guardiola ’ s death is one of cop impunity , unanswered questions , and ongoing injustice .
“ Everything we ’ ve turned up about this case has been outrage after outrage , ” said Luna Droubi , an attorney representing Guardiola ’ s children , Andrew and Alysa Ocasio .
In 2018 , the family filed a federal civil rights suit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Kadien , Guardiola ’ s apartment complex , and her employer .
The case is ongoing , with Guardiola ’ s children striving to correct the public record about their mother ’ s death .
Droubi told me that even the wellness-check request call , which catalyzed the deadly course of events , was “ illogical.
” The call was made by parole officers in Rochester , New York , where Guardiola had stopped working prior to her accident , having already chosen to transfer to a different location .
According to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ discrimination in the Rochester office ; she was due to start work in Binghamton , New York , following her approved medical leave .
Yet it was her former office colleagues who called 911 to request a wellness check .
Guardiola did not pick up her phone or respond to knocks on her apartment door .
Her children believe that she had gone to bed in the afternoon , taken a sleeping aid , and put in ear plugs , knowing that she ’ d have to wake up extremely early the next @ @ @ @ @ @ @ three-hour commute to work .
The police officer , Kadien , entered Guardiola ’ s apartment with a master key fob .
He claims that he announced himself many times and only fired his weapon after Guardiola shot first .
A bullet from Guardiola ’ s gun was indeed found at the scene , but in the wall far to the side of where Kadien had stood to shoot her .
The trajectory of that bullet , and the nature of the bullet wounds in Guardiola ’ s body , her children ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she was defensively covering her face when her weapon went off .
According to a statement from the attorneys ’ firm , which hired a renowned forensic pathologist to review the case , “ the evidence clearly suggests that Ms. Guardiola was shot while she was reaching for her weapon and that at no time did she pose a threat to Sergeant Kadien.
” As Droubi told me , “ the forensics speak for themselves.
” Other troubling details haunt the scene .
Why , for example , did the officer call for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ calling for the emergency medical technicians who were on standby across the street ?
There was a 10-minute gap , while Guardiola was still alive yet bleeding to death , between the shots firing and the medics being summoned .
Why was Guardiola put in handcuffs ?
“ They were supposed to be there for her wellness , not to apprehend a criminal , ” her 24-year-old daughter , Alysa , told me .
And why , in the immediate aftermath , did law enforcement officials lead Guardiola ’ s family to believe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I had just spoken to her , ” Alysa said , echoing the words of the doctor that she had been in “ good spirits ” and was making future plans .
“ We knew something was very off , ” Guardiola ’ s son , Andrew , said of the police narrative .
antiracist uprisings have given rise to crucial and long overdue challenges to the role of policing in the U.S. A vast array of roles performed by cops , to the detriment of so many lives , should be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and community workers , untangled from a system of criminal justice , surveillance , and violence .
Resource redistribution is necessary for wellness ; the brutal policing of Black , Indigenous , and Latinx communities is not .
“ There needs to be a change in how wellness checks are done , and who does them , ” Alysa said .
“ You see it all around the country — people having manic episodes being killed or detained.
” Within the white supremacist context of this country , where Black , Indigenous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ framed as a threat , summoning the police for wellness checks risks sentencing to death the person whose wellness is purportedly at stake .
In New York , Chicago , North Carolina , Alabama , Minneapolis , and elsewhere in recent years , people — predominantly Black people — have been shot by police called for wellness checks .
The very notion that armed cops are best suited to deal with an unwell person is belied by the sheer fact that disabled individuals make up a third to a half of all people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was not ill , as her doctor had attested .
Had she been , it ’ s hard to imagine a universe in which sending an armed cop into her apartment would be a solution toward wellness .
Police killings like Guardiola ’ s clarify the American myth of a citizen ’ s protected private property .
White property is inviolable .
The discriminatory application of “ Stand Your Ground ” laws make this clear .
So , too , do spectacles like that of wealthy , white supporters of President Donald Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ protesters from an ostentatious mansion .
Racism and property are intractably bound in a country built by people owned as property , on stolen land .
Police raids , deadly so-called wellness checks , and no-knock searches , not to mention the patrolling of public housing — all examples of how the state continues to treat the property of Black , Indigenous , and other communities of color as violable .
For months , Breonna Taylor ’ s name has been chanted at protests across the country .
She was murdered in March @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who entered her home on a no-knock search warrant .
Taylor and her partner believed there were intruders in their home , because there were .
Andrew has been attending numerous Black Lives Matter rallies and protests in recent months .
While his mother was Latina , not Black , he rightly sees her death as part of an unbroken history of racist police killings .
“ If my mom was a white woman , I think the whole interaction in her apartment would have maybe gone differently , ” he said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mother moved to Canandaigua just three months prior to her death , she had often told him about receiving stares from the town ’ s majority-white residents .
Alysa said that her mother ’ s new office transfer was part of a longer-term plan to move downstate and away from that environment .
In certain ways , Guardiola ’ s children recognize that their mother ’ s story is unusual in a movement antagonistic to the police and the carceral system .
She was , after all , a parole officer .
She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on Rikers Island , the infamous New York City jail , before obtaining a master ’ s degree in social work from Columbia University and retraining as a parole officer .
She specialized in working with parolees with mental health issues , and both her kids spoke of her desire to bring her caring attitude to her work , which adds a dark irony to her death in the context of a wellness check orchestrated by that same system .
Neither of Guardiola ’ s children approach their advocacy for their mother from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ see reform and , at the very least , Alysa said , “ recognition of wrongdoing ” where there has been none .
“ At first , I held onto the hope that since my mother was a law enforcement official , that the system that she served would serve her , ” said Andrew .
Her death , and the lack of any accountability for it , make clear the response to the slogan chanted again and again by protesters at police : “ Who do you protect ?
Who do you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few people indeed .

Photo: Courtesy of Andrew Ocasio
Neurologist Eugene Tolomeo documented an appointment with his patient Sandy Guardiola that took place on October 3, 2017. “She smiles often,” he wrote. She was in “good spirits.”
Guardiola, a parole officer in upstate New York, was scheduled to start work at a new office location following a four-week medical leave after a car accident. She asked the doctor to sign paperwork allowing her to return to her job. She was, he noted, “excited about going back to work.”
When Guardiola’s two adult children spoke to her that week, they said she seemed well. To this day, they do not understand why a police officer was sent to their mother’s apartment in Canandaigua, New York, to carry out a wellness check on October 4. Neither of them had been called, although they were listed as her emergency contacts at work. All they know is that Scott Kadien of the Canandaigua Police Department entered Guardiola’s home without her permission and shot her three times while she was in her bed. She died in the hospital that afternoon.
“Everything we’ve turned up about this case has been outrage after outrage.”
The police shooting of a Latina woman in a small upstate New York town, with a population that is 96 percent white, did not make national news. Even local coverage was scant. A grand jury declined to charge Kadien, who claimed that Guardiola shot at him first (she legally owned a gun, owing to her job).
Amid national antiracist uprisings, however, with renewed focus on the plague of racist police killings, Guardiola’s son and daughter are pushing for their mother’s story to become known. Hers is one of all too many deaths that illustrate the risk of entrusting police forces with overseeing community wellness. And, like most every police killing, the story of Guardiola’s death is one of cop impunity, unanswered questions, and ongoing injustice.
“Everything we’ve turned up about this case has been outrage after outrage,” said Luna Droubi, an attorney representing Guardiola’s children, Andrew and Alysa Ocasio. In 2018, the family filed a federal civil rights suit against the Canandaigua police, the city, Kadien, Guardiola’s apartment complex, and her employer. The case is ongoing, with Guardiola’s children striving to correct the public record about their mother’s death. Droubi told me that even the wellness-check request call, which catalyzed the deadly course of events, was “illogical.”
The call was made by parole officers in Rochester, New York, where Guardiola had stopped working prior to her accident, having already chosen to transfer to a different location. According to her children, Guardiola said she faced discrimination in the Rochester office; she was due to start work in Binghamton, New York, following her approved medical leave.
Yet it was her former office colleagues who called 911 to request a wellness check. Guardiola did not pick up her phone or respond to knocks on her apartment door. Her children believe that she had gone to bed in the afternoon, taken a sleeping aid, and put in ear plugs, knowing that she’d have to wake up extremely early the next day to embark on her new, three-hour commute to work.
The police officer, Kadien, entered Guardiola’s apartment with a master key fob. He claims that he announced himself many times and only fired his weapon after Guardiola shot first. A bullet from Guardiola’s gun was indeed found at the scene, but in the wall far to the side of where Kadien had stood to shoot her. The trajectory of that bullet, and the nature of the bullet wounds in Guardiola’s body, her children’s legal team says, suggest that she was defensively covering her face when her weapon went off. According to a statement from the attorneys’ firm, which hired a renowned forensic pathologist to review the case, “the evidence clearly suggests that Ms. Guardiola was shot while she was reaching for her weapon and that at no time did she pose a threat to Sergeant Kadien.” As Droubi told me, “the forensics speak for themselves.”
Other troubling details haunt the scene. Why, for example, did the officer call for police backup after the shooting, before calling for the emergency medical technicians who were on standby across the street? There was a 10-minute gap, while Guardiola was still alive yet bleeding to death, between the shots firing and the medics being summoned. Why was Guardiola put in handcuffs? “They were supposed to be there for her wellness, not to apprehend a criminal,” her 24-year-old daughter, Alysa, told me.
And why, in the immediate aftermath, did law enforcement officials lead Guardiola’s family to believe that she had effectively committed suicide-by-cop? “I had just spoken to her,” Alysa said, echoing the words of the doctor that she had been in “good spirits” and was making future plans. “We knew something was very off,” Guardiola’s son, Andrew, said of the police narrative.
The recent antiracist uprisings have given rise to crucial and long overdue challenges to the role of policing in the U.S. A vast array of roles performed by cops, to the detriment of so many lives, should be carried out by social, health care, and community workers, untangled from a system of criminal justice, surveillance, and violence. Resource redistribution is necessary for wellness; the brutal policing of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx communities is not.
“There needs to be a change in how wellness checks are done, and who does them,” Alysa said. “You see it all around the country — people having manic episodes being killed or detained.”
Within the white supremacist context of this country, where Black, Indigenous, and other people of color are framed as a threat, summoning the police for wellness checks risks sentencing to death the person whose wellness is purportedly at stake. In New York, Chicago, North Carolina, Alabama, Minneapolis, and elsewhere in recent years, people — predominantly Black people — have been shot by police called for wellness checks. The very notion that armed cops are best suited to deal with an unwell person is belied by the sheer fact that disabled individuals make up a third to a half of all people killed by law enforcement officers. Guardiola was not ill, as her doctor had attested. Had she been, it’s hard to imagine a universe in which sending an armed cop into her apartment would be a solution toward wellness.
“There needs to be a change in how wellness checks are done, and who does them. You see it all around the country — people having manic episodes being killed or detained.”
Police killings like Guardiola’s clarify the American myth of a citizen’s protected private property. White property is inviolable. The discriminatory application of “Stand Your Ground” laws make this clear. So, too, do spectacles like that of wealthy, white supporters of President Donald Trump imperiously pointing guns at Black Lives Matter protesters from an ostentatious mansion.
Racism and property are intractably bound in a country built by people owned as property, on stolen land. Police raids, deadly so-called wellness checks, and no-knock searches, not to mention the patrolling of public housing — all examples of how the state continues to treat the property of Black, Indigenous, and other communities of color as violable. For months, Breonna Taylor’s name has been chanted at protests across the country. She was murdered in March by plainclothes officers in Louisville, Kentucky, who entered her home on a no-knock search warrant. Taylor and her partner believed there were intruders in their home, because there were.
Photo: Courtesy of Sandy Guardiola’s family
Andrew has been attending numerous Black Lives Matter rallies and protests in recent months. While his mother was Latina, not Black, he rightly sees her death as part of an unbroken history of racist police killings. “If my mom was a white woman, I think the whole interaction in her apartment would have maybe gone differently,” he said. He told me that since his mother moved to Canandaigua just three months prior to her death, she had often told him about receiving stares from the town’s majority-white residents. Alysa said that her mother’s new office transfer was part of a longer-term plan to move downstate and away from that environment.
In certain ways, Guardiola’s children recognize that their mother’s story is unusual in a movement antagonistic to the police and the carceral system. She was, after all, a parole officer. She had previously worked as a corrections officer on Rikers Island, the infamous New York City jail, before obtaining a master’s degree in social work from Columbia University and retraining as a parole officer. She specialized in working with parolees with mental health issues, and both her kids spoke of her desire to bring her caring attitude to her work, which adds a dark irony to her death in the context of a wellness check orchestrated by that same system.
Neither of Guardiola’s children approach their advocacy for their mother from an abolitionist stance; they want to see reform and, at the very least, Alysa said, “recognition of wrongdoing” where there has been none.
“At first, I held onto the hope that since my mother was a law enforcement official, that the system that she served would serve her,” said Andrew.
Her death, and the lack of any accountability for it, make clear the response to the slogan chanted again and again by protesters at police: “Who do you protect? Who do you serve?” The answer is very few people indeed.


theintercept--2020-08-23--Despite Huge Number of Misconduct Complaints, Cops at NYPD's 75th Precinct Keep Getting Promotions

night in mid-December 2015 , Justin McClarin was asleep in his basement apartment when New York Police Department Officers David Grieco and Michael Ardolino broke into his room .
Grieco and Ardolino put McClarin in painfully tight handcuffs .
When McClarin complained , the officers ignored him .
Instead , they took McClarin outside and slammed him down on the pavement so hard that his shoulder became dislocated .
The officers had neither an arrest nor search warrant .
In a pending lawsuit from which this account is gathered , McClarin claims that they refused to give him a reason @ @ @ @ @ @ @ McClarin to the hospital to treat his dislocated shoulder , Grieco and Ardolino took him to the NYPD ’ s notorious 75th Precinct .
While he was restrained , officers at the 75th allegedly shot McClarin with a BB gun five times .
The lawsuit also claims that the two officers knowingly lied to the district attorney , accusing McClarin of committing an undisclosed felony , leading to charges that were ultimately dropped .
McClarin was released , but not before he spent six days in police custody .
McClarin ’ s lawsuit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ responsible for the alleged constitutional violations in part because of a pattern of the failure to hold police officers — in particular , the cops involved in McClarin ’ s case — to account .
According to a database that tracks lawsuits , between 2015 and 2018 , Ardolino was sued seven times , with one case settled , three pending , and three with unknown outcomes .
The same data set lists 32 lawsuits that name Grieco , with 15 settled with cash from the city , nine pending , six with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s favor , and one case dismissed with prejudice .
The officer with the second-highest number of cases in the precinct has been sued 15 times .
The suits have been costly for the city : The resolved cases against Grieco alone have resulted in more than $ 400,000 in payouts from the city to plaintiffs .
( The NYPD declined to comment about the McClarin case and the officers ’ records of lawsuits . )
Officers like Grieco and Ardolino have brought notoriety to the 75th Precinct .
Based in East @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by poverty and a troubling history of racist neglect by the authorities , the 75th was the most sued precinct of New York City cops from 2015 to 2018 , according to CAPstat , a website created by public defenders that tracks federal civil rights lawsuits against New York police .
( CAPstat ’ s organizers emphasize that the website “ is a demonstration project and does not represent the universe of data of police misconduct in New York City.
” ) The city has had to defend itself in 90 lawsuits brought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ while the next most-sued precinct had 40 cases brought against it .
The lawsuits , though , are only part of the story .
An Intercept analysis of newly available records from the files of the Civilian Complaint Review Board , known as the CCRB , shows that , in addition to the lawsuits , the 75th Precinct also leads the city in complaints of misconduct by the public .
When it comes to serious allegations about police misconduct , the 75th Precinct has the worst record in New York .
And the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ consequences .
Instead , in the years following substantiated complaints against them , officers in the 75th Precinct routinely got raises and promotions .
There have been 1,364 allegations of misconduct against the 75th Precinct logged with the CCRB .
In contrast , the neighboring 73rd Precinct has 688 ; the 69th , also adjacent , has 418 .
The 104th and 102th Precincts have 170 and 182 complaints , respectively .
Many other precincts have under 50 .
The 78th Precinct , which covers the tony neighborhood of Park Slope , Brooklyn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ give a granular picture of allegations about police misconduct at the 75th Precinct — The Intercept found multiple cases in which officers from the 75th were accused of knowingly fabricating evidence , making a false arrest , or brutalizing residents — and the nearly complete lack of any accountability .
The most severe disciplinary measures taken against police named in the complaints were docked vacation days , even when the CCRB recommended termination or suspension without pay .
Defense attorneys are well-aware of the 75th Precinct ’ s reputation .
“ In my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ East New York in Brooklyn , was not only one of the most prolific in terms of quantity of arrests , but also in violence , misconduct in all its forms , and routine constitutional violations , ” Scott Hechinger , senior staff attorney and director of policy at Brooklyn Defender Services , a public defense group , told The Intercept .
He added that despite the 75th Precinct ’ s notorious history , prosecutors continue to work with officers and the city continues to defend them in expensive lawsuits : “ The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reinforced by all system actors.
” Grieco , one of the officers at the center of the McClarin lawsuit , appears to be uniquely prolific in racking up CCRB complaints .
In addition to all the lawsuits , Grieco has also had 49 allegations made against him through the CCRB .
In only 11 of those cases did the board exonerate him of any wrongdoing .
In comparison , 41 percent of current NYPD service members have never had any complaints lodged against them , according to the CCRB ’ s 2018 annual @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one complaint , 3 percent have had five , and only 9 percent have had six or more .
Like other cops in the 75th Precinct , all the lawsuits and CCRB complaints appear to have had little impediment to Grieco ’ s career .
In the fiscal year 2017 , after 11 years on the job and two years after the incident with McClarin , Grieco was promoted to detective third grade .
His salary increased $ 10,000 .
A year later , in the 2018 fiscal year , Grieco was again @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and got another raise for $ 20,000 more .
An Intercept analysis cross-referencing CAPstat salary data with CCRB complaints shows that this was a widespread pattern at the 75th Precinct .
Rather than being punished when civilian complaints of misconduct against them were substantiated , police at the 75th routinely got promotions and raises .
It took the killing of George Floyd by Minneapolis police — and the global protest movement the killing sparked — for even a limited accounting of the CCRB records to become public .
In the wake of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ law known as 50-a , which allowed police to keep misconduct records secret .
With the law off the books , public-interest advocates , including the press , sought to make the misconduct records public through public records requests and , subsequently , in court — where police unions sued to suppress the information and a judge blocked the release of police disciplinary records until August 18 .
Eventually , the investigative news organization ProPublica released an incomplete set of CCRB data , which The Intercept used for its investigation .
The ProPublica @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some of the worst cases — as well as those in which the board was unable to reach the complainant or secure their cooperation .
( On Thursday , the New York Civil Liberties Union released a slightly broader data set with higher search functionality . )
Repealing 50-a was one of the few meaningful reforms backed by New York politicians who have long been averse to reforming the police .
The recent widespread calls for the police ’ s funding to be drastically reduced gained little traction .
The newly released misconduct @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with pay and promotion data from CAPstat , starkly illustrate the limits of police accountability within the existing institutions .
“ We ’ ve tried reforms in the past , but the NYPD won ’ t follow the Constitution and aren ’ t deterred by criminal laws , let alone their own patrol guide , ” said Hechinger of the Brooklyn Defenders .
In its analysis of CCRB data and lawsuits , cross-checking the information with officers ’ pay history , The Intercept limited the data to cases in which the CCRB found @ @ @ @ @ @ @ substantiated and the misconduct extreme enough to recommend disciplinary charges — cases in which the cop in question faced termination , suspension without pay , docked vacation days , or “ admonishment.
” ( Substantiated complaints with no disciplinary charges can lead to docked vacation days or more training , but the penalty applied is at the discretion of the police commissioner . )
The CCRB data paints a damning picture of the 75th .
Fifty-five active police officers at the precinct have at least one complaint that was “ substantiated with charges @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were none of these officers terminated , but , since 2000 , police commissioners have not even applied the CCRB ’ s less harsh recommendation of temporary suspension without pay .
Not a single one of the officers clocked fewer hours after the CCRB ’ s conclusion , according to CAPstat .
The NYPD declined to comment on The Intercept ’ s analysis of lawsuits and CCRB data on the 75th Precinct .
Instead , Sgt .
Jessica McRorie , a police spokesperson , pointed to years of reforms and trainings instituted for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ New York City Police Department has worked to refine its internal disciplinary system .
Last year , an independent outside panel of former prosecutors and judges reviewed the system and found it to be fair and effective , ” McRorie wrote in an email , adding that the department had also implemented further reforms recommended by the panel .
“ All of this advances the NYPD ’ s priority to make its internal disciplinary system as fair , effective , and transparent as it can for an agency privileged to manage a vast @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Andrew Case , a former CCRB spokesperson , said suspensions are exceedingly rare .
He once oversaw a complaint by a man who was beaten from behind by an officer with a baton with so much force , it ruptured his spleen .
The officer barely faced consequences .
“ He got 10 vacation days docked , ” Case said .
“ That ’ s their idea of what discipline should be.
” Not only did officers in the 75th Precinct with substantiated charges go undisciplined , but they also continued to make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ raises and by harnessing NYPD ’ s infamous use of overtime pay .
( As an example of overtime bloat , cops collectively raked in some $ 115 million in overtime pay in the first two weeks of the George Floyd protests . )
Every officer from the 75th Precinct who had complaints that were “ substantiated with charges ” got multiple raises in the years following the conclusion of their CCRB investigations , according to The Intercept ’ s analysis .
More than half got raises the same year the CCRB substantiated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the officers in question also racked up thousands of dollars more in overtime pay than they had earned the year before complaints against them .
Take Grieco , who is known by the nickname “ Bullethead.
” In 2014 , the year after the most serious CCRB complaint against him was substantiated , Grieco made $ 50,279 in overtime , up from $ 24,706 the year before .
In 2015 , he made $ 74,125 in overtime , nearly doubling his income over his salary of $ 78,026 .
Then came the promotions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Today ’ s troubled 75th Precinct is not a historical aberration ; the precinct has a long and sordid history of abuse , misconduct , and even criminal activity .
In the 1980s , a group of detectives collaborated with drug cartels , taking bribes , running crack and cocaine , and robbing cartel rivals .
One former officer , who helped plot to murder the wife of a rival drug dealer , served 13 years in prison and another detective served eight .
Other officers who were involved served no time .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mollen Commission to study police corruption and misconduct — with damning results about corruption and abuse , in particular everyday brutality against the people of East New York .
Yet police in the 75th have carried on the patten of abuse at alarming rates .
And , unlike the cartel case , many officers faced no consequences for their criminal activity .
In 1992 , two men were arrested for the murder of a 16-year-old girl , despite the absence of any physical evidence that they were involved .
The two men , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t face murder charges , but were convicted of kidnapping in the case and served 23 and 15 years in prison , respectively .
In 2015 , Wagstaffe and Connor were fully exonerated after DNA evidence cleared them .
The state Appellate Division found that cops had withheld critical evidence — and then lied about it .
Wagstaffe and Connor sued the city on the basis that they had been framed for murder by the cops .
Eventually , they settled for a $ 25 million payout at the public ’ s expense @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Of the four officers named in the suit , two remain on the police force , one has since passed , and the fourth retired and is celebrated among NYPD for being featured in the book “ The Making of a Detective.
” None of the police officers ever faced any consequences .
“ What I think police officers did to Reggie is tragic , ” Conners ’ s lawyer , Emma Freudenberger , told The Intercept .
“ And there are how many Reggie Connors who are sitting in prison because @ @ @ @ @ @ @ following the rules ?
” Given this decadeslong history and the absence of consequences for the police involved , advocates have little faith in the reforms championed by powerful New York politicians like Gov .
Andrew Cuomo and New York Mayor Bill de Blasio .
While de Blasio doesn ’ t have the authority to discipline rogue cops , Case , the former CCRB spokesperson , said , he does have the ability to hold the police commissioner accountable — but that ’ s unlikely to happen .
“ The police commissioner serves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ If the mayor wanted to replace him , he could , ” Case said .
“ I don ’ t think de Blasio wants to do that .
He ’ s trying to please the cops , but they never liked him.
” Hechinger agrees that the incremental reforms being proposed by politicians are unlikely to work .
“ If we don ’ t take decisive action knowing what we know now , ” he said , “ we will send the loud and clear message of continued impunity to the 75th and @ @ @ @ @ @ @

On a cloudy night in mid-December 2015, Justin McClarin was asleep in his basement apartment when New York Police Department Officers David Grieco and Michael Ardolino broke into his room. Grieco and Ardolino put McClarin in painfully tight handcuffs. When McClarin complained, the officers ignored him. Instead, they took McClarin outside and slammed him down on the pavement so hard that his shoulder became dislocated. The officers had neither an arrest nor search warrant. In a pending lawsuit from which this account is gathered, McClarin claims that they refused to give him a reason for his arrest.
Instead of taking McClarin to the hospital to treat his dislocated shoulder, Grieco and Ardolino took him to the NYPD’s notorious 75th Precinct. While he was restrained, officers at the 75th allegedly shot McClarin with a BB gun five times. The lawsuit also claims that the two officers knowingly lied to the district attorney, accusing McClarin of committing an undisclosed felony, leading to charges that were ultimately dropped. McClarin was released, but not before he spent six days in police custody.
McClarin’s lawsuit is seeking to hold New York City responsible for the alleged constitutional violations in part because of a pattern of the failure to hold police officers — in particular, the cops involved in McClarin’s case — to account. According to a database that tracks lawsuits, between 2015 and 2018, Ardolino was sued seven times, with one case settled, three pending, and three with unknown outcomes. The same data set lists 32 lawsuits that name Grieco, with 15 settled with cash from the city, nine pending, six with unknown outcomes, one verdict in Grieco’s favor, and one case dismissed with prejudice. The officer with the second-highest number of cases in the precinct has been sued 15 times. The suits have been costly for the city: The resolved cases against Grieco alone have resulted in more than $400,000 in payouts from the city to plaintiffs. (The NYPD declined to comment about the McClarin case and the officers’ records of lawsuits.)
Officers like Grieco and Ardolino have brought notoriety to the 75th Precinct. Based in East New York, a Brooklyn neighborhood stricken by poverty and a troubling history of racist neglect by the authorities, the 75th was the most sued precinct of New York City cops from 2015 to 2018, according to CAPstat, a website created by public defenders that tracks federal civil rights lawsuits against New York police. (CAPstat’s organizers emphasize that the website “is a demonstration project and does not represent the universe of data of police misconduct in New York City.”) The city has had to defend itself in 90 lawsuits brought against the 75th during that period, while the next most-sued precinct had 40 cases brought against it.
The lawsuits, though, are only part of the story. An Intercept analysis of newly available records from the files of the Civilian Complaint Review Board, known as the CCRB, shows that, in addition to the lawsuits, the 75th Precinct also leads the city in complaints of misconduct by the public. When it comes to serious allegations about police misconduct, the 75th Precinct has the worst record in New York. And the officers involved in the encounters rarely face consequences. Instead, in the years following substantiated complaints against them, officers in the 75th Precinct routinely got raises and promotions.
1,364 Complaints
There have been 1,364 allegations of misconduct against the 75th Precinct logged with the CCRB. In contrast, the neighboring 73rd Precinct has 688; the 69th, also adjacent, has 418. The 104th and 102th Precincts have 170 and 182 complaints, respectively. Many other precincts have under 50. The 78th Precinct, which covers the tony neighborhood of Park Slope, Brooklyn, has only 46.
“In my practice, the 75th Precinct was not only one of the most prolific in terms of quantity of arrests, but also in violence, misconduct in all its forms, and routine constitutional violations.”
The records give a granular picture of allegations about police misconduct at the 75th Precinct — The Intercept found multiple cases in which officers from the 75th were accused of knowingly fabricating evidence, making a false arrest, or brutalizing residents — and the nearly complete lack of any accountability. The most severe disciplinary measures taken against police named in the complaints were docked vacation days, even when the CCRB recommended termination or suspension without pay.
Defense attorneys are well-aware of the 75th Precinct’s reputation. “In my practice, the 75th Precinct, covering East New York in Brooklyn, was not only one of the most prolific in terms of quantity of arrests, but also in violence, misconduct in all its forms, and routine constitutional violations,” Scott Hechinger, senior staff attorney and director of policy at Brooklyn Defender Services, a public defense group, told The Intercept. He added that despite the 75th Precinct’s notorious history, prosecutors continue to work with officers and the city continues to defend them in expensive lawsuits: “The cloak of absolute protection for cops is reinforced by all system actors.”
Grieco, one of the officers at the center of the McClarin lawsuit, appears to be uniquely prolific in racking up CCRB complaints. In addition to all the lawsuits, Grieco has also had 49 allegations made against him through the CCRB. In only 11 of those cases did the board exonerate him of any wrongdoing. In comparison, 41 percent of current NYPD service members have never had any complaints lodged against them, according to the CCRB’s 2018 annual report. Twenty-one percent have had only one complaint, 3 percent have had five, and only 9 percent have had six or more.
Like other cops in the 75th Precinct, all the lawsuits and CCRB complaints appear to have had little impediment to Grieco’s career. In the fiscal year 2017, after 11 years on the job and two years after the incident with McClarin, Grieco was promoted to detective third grade. His salary increased $10,000. A year later, in the 2018 fiscal year, Grieco was again promoted, this time to sergeant, and got another raise for $20,000 more.
An Intercept analysis cross-referencing CAPstat salary data with CCRB complaints shows that this was a widespread pattern at the 75th Precinct. Rather than being punished when civilian complaints of misconduct against them were substantiated, police at the 75th routinely got promotions and raises.
Officers Ian Gullo and Kevin Martinez patrol the Louis H. Pink Houses in Brooklyn, part of “Operation Impact” in the 75th Precinct on Dec. 18, 2008. Photo: Daniel Barry/The New York Times/Redux
No Discipline
It took the killing of George Floyd by Minneapolis police — and the global protest movement the killing sparked — for even a limited accounting of the CCRB records to become public. In the wake of the protests, New York repealed a controversial law known as 50-a, which allowed police to keep misconduct records secret.
With the law off the books, public-interest advocates, including the press, sought to make the misconduct records public through public records requests and, subsequently, in court — where police unions sued to suppress the information and a judge blocked the release of police disciplinary records until August 18. Eventually, the investigative news organization ProPublica released an incomplete set of CCRB data, which The Intercept used for its investigation. The ProPublica data set omitted both ongoing prosecutions — some of the worst cases — as well as those in which the board was unable to reach the complainant or secure their cooperation. (On Thursday, the New York Civil Liberties Union released a slightly broader data set with higher search functionality.)
Repealing 50-a was one of the few meaningful reforms backed by New York politicians who have long been averse to reforming the police. The recent widespread calls for the police’s funding to be drastically reduced gained little traction.
The newly released misconduct complaint records, however, when cross-referenced with pay and promotion data from CAPstat, starkly illustrate the limits of police accountability within the existing institutions. “We’ve tried reforms in the past, but the NYPD won’t follow the Constitution and aren’t deterred by criminal laws, let alone their own patrol guide,” said Hechinger of the Brooklyn Defenders.
In its analysis of CCRB data and lawsuits, cross-checking the information with officers’ pay history, The Intercept limited the data to cases in which the CCRB found the allegation against the officer to be substantiated and the misconduct extreme enough to recommend disciplinary charges — cases in which the cop in question faced termination, suspension without pay, docked vacation days, or “admonishment.” (Substantiated complaints with no disciplinary charges can lead to docked vacation days or more training, but the penalty applied is at the discretion of the police commissioner.)
The CCRB data paints a damning picture of the 75th. Fifty-five active police officers at the precinct have at least one complaint that was “substantiated with charges” on their record. Not only were none of these officers terminated, but, since 2000, police commissioners have not even applied the CCRB’s less harsh recommendation of temporary suspension without pay. Not a single one of the officers clocked fewer hours after the CCRB’s conclusion, according to CAPstat.
“We’ve tried reforms in the past, but the NYPD won’t follow the Constitution and aren’t deterred by criminal laws, let alone their own patrol guide.”
The NYPD declined to comment on The Intercept’s analysis of lawsuits and CCRB data on the 75th Precinct. Instead, Sgt. Jessica McRorie, a police spokesperson, pointed to years of reforms and trainings instituted for officers. “For years, the New York City Police Department has worked to refine its internal disciplinary system. Last year, an independent outside panel of former prosecutors and judges reviewed the system and found it to be fair and effective,” McRorie wrote in an email, adding that the department had also implemented further reforms recommended by the panel. “All of this advances the NYPD’s priority to make its internal disciplinary system as fair, effective, and transparent as it can for an agency privileged to manage a vast number of interactions with the public.”
Andrew Case, a former CCRB spokesperson, said suspensions are exceedingly rare. He once oversaw a complaint by a man who was beaten from behind by an officer with a baton with so much force, it ruptured his spleen. The officer barely faced consequences. “He got 10 vacation days docked,” Case said. “That’s their idea of what discipline should be.”
Not only did officers in the 75th Precinct with substantiated charges go undisciplined, but they also continued to make more and more money — both from raises and by harnessing NYPD’s infamous use of overtime pay. (As an example of overtime bloat, cops collectively raked in some $115 million in overtime pay in the first two weeks of the George Floyd protests.)
Every officer from the 75th Precinct who had complaints that were “substantiated with charges” got multiple raises in the years following the conclusion of their CCRB investigations, according to The Intercept’s analysis. More than half got raises the same year the CCRB substantiated complaints against them. Almost all of the officers in question also racked up thousands of dollars more in overtime pay than they had earned the year before complaints against them.
Take Grieco, who is known by the nickname “Bullethead.” In 2014, the year after the most serious CCRB complaint against him was substantiated, Grieco made $50,279 in overtime, up from $24,706 the year before. In 2015, he made $74,125 in overtime, nearly doubling his income over his salary of $78,026. Then came the promotions.
The Long History of the 75th
Today’s troubled 75th Precinct is not a historical aberration; the precinct has a long and sordid history of abuse, misconduct, and even criminal activity. In the 1980s, a group of detectives collaborated with drug cartels, taking bribes, running crack and cocaine, and robbing cartel rivals. One former officer, who helped plot to murder the wife of a rival drug dealer, served 13 years in prison and another detective served eight. Other officers who were involved served no time. The case prompted the formation of the Mollen Commission to study police corruption and misconduct — with damning results about corruption and abuse, in particular everyday brutality against the people of East New York.
Yet police in the 75th have carried on the patten of abuse at alarming rates. And, unlike the cartel case, many officers faced no consequences for their criminal activity. In 1992, two men were arrested for the murder of a 16-year-old girl, despite the absence of any physical evidence that they were involved. The two men, Everton Wagstaffe and Reginald Connor didn’t face murder charges, but were convicted of kidnapping in the case and served 23 and 15 years in prison, respectively.
In 2015, Wagstaffe and Connor were fully exonerated after DNA evidence cleared them. The state Appellate Division found that cops had withheld critical evidence — and then lied about it. Wagstaffe and Connor sued the city on the basis that they had been framed for murder by the cops. Eventually, they settled for a $25 million payout at the public’s expense.
The city never admitted any wrongdoing. Of the four officers named in the suit, two remain on the police force, one has since passed, and the fourth retired and is celebrated among NYPD for being featured in the book “The Making of a Detective.” None of the police officers ever faced any consequences.
“What I think police officers did to Reggie is tragic,” Conners’s lawyer, Emma Freudenberger, told The Intercept. “And there are how many Reggie Connors who are sitting in prison because police aren’t held accountable for following the rules?”
Given this decadeslong history and the absence of consequences for the police involved, advocates have little faith in the reforms championed by powerful New York politicians like Gov. Andrew Cuomo and New York Mayor Bill de Blasio. While de Blasio doesn’t have the authority to discipline rogue cops, Case, the former CCRB spokesperson, said, he does have the ability to hold the police commissioner accountable — but that’s unlikely to happen. “The police commissioner serves at the pleasure of the mayor. If the mayor wanted to replace him, he could,” Case said. “I don’t think de Blasio wants to do that. He’s trying to please the cops, but they never liked him.”
Hechinger agrees that the incremental reforms being proposed by politicians are unlikely to work. “If we don’t take decisive action knowing what we know now,” he said, “we will send the loud and clear message of continued impunity to the 75th and all precincts through the city.”


theintercept--2020-08-23--Border Wall Construction Set to Begin Near Historic Cemeteries in South Texas

has broken ground on the construction of an 18-foot steel and concrete border wall next to the oldest Protestant church in South Texas and two historic cemeteries , which are part of an important yet little-known chapter in the history of slavery and the Underground Railroad .
Congress exempted the Eli Jackson Cemetery and the Jackson Ranch Church and Cemetery from border wall construction in the 2020 appropriations bill , but the administration has chosen to go ahead with building the wall there anyway , skirting congressional intent and “ not following the spirit of the law , ” according @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who authored the language protecting the sites .
The church and cemeteries are part of a ranching settlement founded in 1857 by Nathaniel Jackson , a white plantation owner , and Matilda Hicks , a former slave , along with the couple ’ s adult children , their relatives , and 11 freed slaves .
The Jacksons provided refuge to escaped slaves in the small town of Pharr , near McAllen , Texas , and helped ferry them across the river to freedom in Mexico , where slavery had been abolished .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Ramírez , a Jackson family descendant , and her brother Dr. Ramiro Ramírez , as well as relatives of other families buried in the two cemeteries , have been lobbying members of Congress to save the sites , which are registered with the Texas Historical Commission .
In March 2019 , the Ramírez family joined with other border residents and advocates in a lawsuit against the administration to stop wall construction from disturbing or destroying the cemeteries .
“ We filed the lawsuit , and then we got the good news about the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And we were hoping that that meant the property would not be touched.
” Still , Ramírez said that she and others kept a close eye on the cemeteries and church , watching for any signs of construction starting in the area .
“ We ’ ve been observant and vigilant , ” she said .
“ Because the government doesn ’ t tell us anything.
” In the last two weeks , she said , their worst fears came true , when a family member noticed heavy machinery staged near the cemeteries @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had been bulldozed and cleared .
Alarmed , Ramírez asked their lawyer , Sarah Burt , an attorney for Earthjustice , to contact the government .
Burt said she received an email reply on Monday , August 17 , from the Justice Department saying that construction would begin “ in the next two weeks.
” The Justice Department wrote that the wall wouldn ’ t pass through either cemetery , Burt said , but would be built on a levee that abuts the two cemeteries and on land being acquired from private owners @ @ @ @ @ @ @ government had “ nearly completed the land acquisition process.
” Despite these assurances , Burt said the government has not shared a finalized plan or spoken to the Ramírez family and other landowners about how the wall will impact the cemeteries , the church , and several homes nearby .
Of greatest concern is a 150-foot enforcement zone that runs alongside the wall , which consists of an all-weather road , light towers , cameras , and other technology .
The Eli Jackson Cemetery backs up against the levee , while the Jackson @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feet away .
Sylvia Ramírez said she reached out to a U.S. Customs and Border Protection liaison about the enforcement zone and he told her that the government was considering a reduced enforcement zone in the area of the cemeteries .
But Ramírez said she hasn ’ t seen anything official .
And she ’ s worried about the digging and heavy machinery around old burial sites , many of which , due to their age , have no headstone or marker .
“ It ’ s horrifying to think of , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reason , they ’ re just not willing to share information with us.
” CBP did not respond to requests for comment from The Intercept .
On Tuesday , before a campaign rally in Yuma , Arizona , Trump received an update on the border wall .
Flanked by the Army Corps of Engineers and CBP , he touted his construction of nearly 300 miles along the southern border .
“ You know , you don ’ t hear about the wall anymore because we won , ” Trump said .
“ When @ @ @ @ @ @ @ us — you never hear about it again .
And we have page after page of achievement that you never hear of anymore.
” At the event , Lt. Gen. Todd Semonite of the Army Corps of Engineers claimed the administration was currently building at a pace of “ over 10 miles a week ; over 2 miles a day.
” Trump vetoed a bipartisan agreement for $ 1.375 billion to fund 55 miles of new wall in February 2019 , then declared a national emergency , requiring the Department of Defense to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the wall ’ s construction , and the Treasury Forfeiture Fund to provide up to $ 600 million .
“ Three hundred … are already in right now , basically , ” said Semonite during the event in Yuma .
“ There ’ s another 300 that are being built right now in every — all along places across these four states .
Forty-nine different projects are all going in the ground .
And then the last 133 are in design and acquisition .
We ’ re writing the contracts ; we ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a hurry , Cuellar said , because with the exception of 5 miles , all of the wall Trump has built has either replaced or reinforced border fences constructed under Bush and Obama .
With the election looming , the Trump administration has escalated its construction timeline , Cuellar said , in many cases granting lucrative contracts to construction companies without having rights to the land on which the wall will be built , and abusing the Real ID Act to waive environmental assessments and other federal requirements to speed up construction .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the president ’ s goals of building new miles , ” Cuellar said .
“ And trying to obligate the next administration by entering into these contracts now .
You can see what they ’ re doing .
In my hometown of Laredo , they don ’ t own the land .
They haven ’ t condemned the land , but they have already awarded the contracts.
” Because of a binational treaty with Mexico that prevents building any type of structure in the Rio Grande floodplain that would push floodwaters into either @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new construction can only happen north of the Rio Grande levee , which is up to a mile from the actual river in Texas .
This means that the wall ’ s construction not only directly impacts homes and businesses , but also nature preserves and important cultural and heritage sites like the Eli Jackson Cemetery and the Jackson Ranch Church and Cemetery .
In January 2019 , during the longest government shutdown in U.S. history spurred by Trump ’ s demand for $ 5.7 billion to build the border wall , Cuellar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ solution .
Cuellar , who is vice chair of the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Homeland Security , said he fought to exempt five important environmental and historical sites in the path of the wall , including La Lomita , a 19th-century Catholic chapel , and the Rio Grande Valley-Bentsen State Park .
“ Literally , the last thing that got negotiated on that agreement was my language , ” he said .
“ I was getting calls from the chief of staff at the White House and from the secretary of homeland security @ @ @ @ @ @ @ re holding up the process.
’ ” There was a lot of pressure to let the exemptions go , he said , even from some Democrats , who did not represent border communities .
“ I said no , we got ta have this language to protect these areas.
” In the next appropriations bill , Cuellar said , he added “ historic cemeteries ” to the list .
He wanted the exemption language to apply to “ within one mile ” of the exempted sites , but he could not get Republicans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would have solved a lot of our problems today , ” he said .
What the Trump administration is doing now , Cuellar said , is technically following the letter of the law , “ but not the spirit of my intent.
” They are not building “ within ” but “ next to and around the sites , ” he said , which are “ sensitive and controversial ” for border communities .
“ Don ’ t build it a foot away , you know , even though you ’ re abiding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poking the bear in the eye.
” With the Real ID Act waivers , lack of notification to landowners , and secret contracts , Cuellar said , it ’ s difficult for anyone — even himself — to understand what ’ s happening with the current border wall construction .
“ I ’ m the vice chair of Homeland Security Appropriations and I have requested the contracts many times and never seen them , ” he said .
Sylvia Ramírez said she and her family members are examining their legal options to stop @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doesn ’ t touch the cemeteries , they will still be on the south side of the barrier and cut off from the rest of the United States , where flooding could be exacerbated by the construction .
They have not been told how they will be able to access the church and cemeteries after the wall is completed .
“ We ’ re not happy that we ’ re on the south side of it , ” she said .
“ It ’ s not acceptable to me , and it never @ @ @ @

The Trump administration has broken ground on the construction of an 18-foot steel and concrete border wall next to the oldest Protestant church in South Texas and two historic cemeteries, which are part of an important yet little-known chapter in the history of slavery and the Underground Railroad.
Congress exempted the Eli Jackson Cemetery and the Jackson Ranch Church and Cemetery from border wall construction in the 2020 appropriations bill, but the administration has chosen to go ahead with building the wall there anyway, skirting congressional intent and “not following the spirit of the law,” according to U.S. Rep. Henry Cuellar, D-Laredo, who authored the language protecting the sites.
The church and cemeteries are part of a ranching settlement founded in 1857 by Nathaniel Jackson, a white plantation owner, and Matilda Hicks, a former slave, along with the couple’s adult children, their relatives, and 11 freed slaves. The Jacksons provided refuge to escaped slaves in the small town of Pharr, near McAllen, Texas, and helped ferry them across the river to freedom in Mexico, where slavery had been abolished.
For the past three years, Sylvia Ramírez, a Jackson family descendant, and her brother Dr. Ramiro Ramírez, as well as relatives of other families buried in the two cemeteries, have been lobbying members of Congress to save the sites, which are registered with the Texas Historical Commission. In March 2019, the Ramírez family joined with other border residents and advocates in a lawsuit against the administration to stop wall construction from disturbing or destroying the cemeteries.
“We filed the lawsuit, and then we got the good news about the exemption,” said Ramírez. “And we were hoping that that meant the property would not be touched.”
Still, Ramírez said that she and others kept a close eye on the cemeteries and church, watching for any signs of construction starting in the area. “We’ve been observant and vigilant,” she said. “Because the government doesn’t tell us anything.”
Their worst fears came true when a family member noticed heavy machinery staged near the cemeteries.
In the last two weeks, she said, their worst fears came true, when a family member noticed heavy machinery staged near the cemeteries and large swaths of land nearby that had been bulldozed and cleared. Alarmed, Ramírez asked their lawyer, Sarah Burt, an attorney for Earthjustice, to contact the government.
Burt said she received an email reply on Monday, August 17, from the Justice Department saying that construction would begin “in the next two weeks.”
The Justice Department wrote that the wall wouldn’t pass through either cemetery, Burt said, but would be built on a levee that abuts the two cemeteries and on land being acquired from private owners. According to the email, the government had “nearly completed the land acquisition process.”
Despite these assurances, Burt said the government has not shared a finalized plan or spoken to the Ramírez family and other landowners about how the wall will impact the cemeteries, the church, and several homes nearby. Of greatest concern is a 150-foot enforcement zone that runs alongside the wall, which consists of an all-weather road, light towers, cameras, and other technology. The Eli Jackson Cemetery backs up against the levee, while the Jackson Ranch Church and Cemetery is about 100 feet away.
Sylvia Ramírez said she reached out to a U.S. Customs and Border Protection liaison about the enforcement zone and he told her that the government was considering a reduced enforcement zone in the area of the cemeteries. But Ramírez said she hasn’t seen anything official. And she’s worried about the digging and heavy machinery around old burial sites, many of which, due to their age, have no headstone or marker. “It’s horrifying to think of,” she said. “And for whatever reason, they’re just not willing to share information with us.” CBP did not respond to requests for comment from The Intercept.
On Tuesday, before a campaign rally in Yuma, Arizona, Trump received an update on the border wall. Flanked by the Army Corps of Engineers and CBP, he touted his construction of nearly 300 miles along the southern border. “You know, you don’t hear about the wall anymore because we won,” Trump said. “When you win — if you’re us — you never hear about it again. And we have page after page of achievement that you never hear of anymore.”
At the event, Lt. Gen. Todd Semonite of the Army Corps of Engineers claimed the administration was currently building at a pace of “over 10 miles a week; over 2 miles a day.”
After Congress passed a bipartisan agreement for $1.375 billion to fund 55 miles of new wall in February 2019, Trump declared a national emergency, requiring the Department of Defense to reallocate $6.1 billion in funds to the wall’s construction, and the Treasury Forfeiture Fund to provide up to $600 million.
“Three hundred … are already in right now, basically,” said Semonite during the event in Yuma. “There’s another 300 that are being built right now in every — all along places across these four states. Forty-nine different projects are all going in the ground. And then the last 133 are in design and acquisition. We’re writing the contracts; we’re designing it.”
Trump is in a hurry, Cuellar said, because with the exception of 5 miles, all of the wall Trump has built has either replaced or reinforced border fences constructed under Bush and Obama.
With the election looming, the Trump administration has escalated its construction timeline, Cuellar said, in many cases granting lucrative contracts to construction companies without having rights to the land on which the wall will be built, and abusing the Real ID Act to waive environmental assessments and other federal requirements to speed up construction.
“I’m the vice chair of Homeland Security Appropriations and I have requested the contracts many times and never seen them.”
“They’re trying to meet the president’s goals of building new miles,” Cuellar said. “And trying to obligate the next administration by entering into these contracts now. You can see what they’re doing. In my hometown of Laredo, they don’t own the land. They haven’t condemned the land, but they have already awarded the contracts.”
Because of a binational treaty with Mexico that prevents building any type of structure in the Rio Grande floodplain that would push floodwaters into either country, much of Trump’s new construction can only happen north of the Rio Grande levee, which is up to a mile from the actual river in Texas. This means that the wall’s construction not only directly impacts homes and businesses, but also nature preserves and important cultural and heritage sites like the Eli Jackson Cemetery and the Jackson Ranch Church and Cemetery.
In January 2019, during the longest government shutdown in U.S. history spurred by Trump’s demand for $5.7 billion to build the border wall, Cuellar was appointed to help negotiate a bipartisan solution. Cuellar, who is vice chair of the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Homeland Security, said he fought to exempt five important environmental and historical sites in the path of the wall, including La Lomita, a 19th-century Catholic chapel, and the Rio Grande Valley-Bentsen State Park. “Literally, the last thing that got negotiated on that agreement was my language,” he said. “I was getting calls from the chief of staff at the White House and from the secretary of homeland security saying, ‘Hey, you’re holding up the process.’”
There was a lot of pressure to let the exemptions go, he said, even from some Democrats, who did not represent border communities. “I said no, we gotta have this language to protect these areas.”
In the next appropriations bill, Cuellar said, he added “historic cemeteries” to the list. He wanted the exemption language to apply to “within one mile” of the exempted sites, but he could not get Republicans to agree to it. “That would have solved a lot of our problems today,” he said.
What the Trump administration is doing now, Cuellar said, is technically following the letter of the law, “but not the spirit of my intent.” They are not building “within” but “next to and around the sites,” he said, which are “sensitive and controversial” for border communities. “Don’t build it a foot away, you know, even though you’re abiding by the law. I call it poking the bear in the eye.”
With the Real ID Act waivers, lack of notification to landowners, and secret contracts, Cuellar said, it’s difficult for anyone — even himself — to understand what’s happening with the current border wall construction. “I’m the vice chair of Homeland Security Appropriations and I have requested the contracts many times and never seen them,” he said.
Sylvia Ramírez said she and her family members are examining their legal options to stop the construction. Even if the wall doesn’t touch the cemeteries, they will still be on the south side of the barrier and cut off from the rest of the United States, where flooding could be exacerbated by the construction. They have not been told how they will be able to access the church and cemeteries after the wall is completed. “We’re not happy that we’re on the south side of it,” she said. “It’s not acceptable to me, and it never will be.”
Correction: August 28, 2020
This article has been updated to clarify that Trump declared a national emergency to fund the border wall after signing a bipartisan spending bill in 2019; he did not veto the bill, as originally stated.