Citizens deciding fate of pioneering sanctuary state law

INDEPENDENCE, ORE. >> Delmiro Trevino, a U.S. citizen born in Texas, was waiting for a meal in a restaurant in Independence, Oregon, in 1977 when three sheriff’s deputies and a policewoman demanded he show documents proving he was an American.

“I was ashamed. It wasn’t right, what they were doing,” Trevino, now 67 with gray hair, said in an exclusive interview with The Associated Press.

The incident of racial profiling led to Oregon becoming America’s first sanctuary state. But now, Oregonians are deciding in the Nov. 6 election whether to repeal the law, even as some other states, such as Vermont, have adopted sanctuary policies and others, like Texas, have banned towns from approving them.

Measure 105 in Oregon has become the most contentious ballot measure facing voters in the mostly Democratic state.

Some people want the state to conform to federal law.

But among people of color — U.S. citizens and people in the country illegally — it has triggered memories of times when immigration roundups were common and fears that they’ll be stopped by police.

Rep. Sal Esquivel, one of three Republican state lawmakers who sponsored Measure 105, said the sanctuary law “undermines respect for our most precious inheritance, the rule of law.”

“Our nation cannot remain sovereign without laws that regulate which foreign nationals come here, when, and in what numbers,” Esquivel wrote in the voters’ pamphlet.

The measure has split law enforcement.

Sheriff Thomas Bergin of Clatsop County, along Oregon’s northern coast, said in a public letter that the sanctuary law “tells illegal immigrants that Oregon considers immigration law violations so inconsequential as to be unworthy of police and sheriffs’ attention.”

Fifteen sheriffs added their names to the letter. Twenty did not.

Law enforcement officers who oppose the repeal effort, such as Sheriff Pat Garrett of Washington County near Portland, said they need to direct their resources elsewhere instead of going after migrants, and that erasing the sanctuary law would make migrants afraid to report crimes when they’re victims or witnesses.

“Throwing out the law would open the door to racial profiling, and would degrade community trust in law enforcement,” state Rep. Diego Hernandez, a Portland Democrat, said in an email.

Latinos remember what it was like before the sanctuary law went on the books.

“The culture in the mid20th century was, ‘You can work here, but don’t start looking at our girls or going to our churches,’” said Rocky Barilla, the first Latino elected to the Oregon Legislature. “Police were knocking on doors of apartment buildings. They set up roadblocks on Highway 99 and stopped people, especially if they were brown or Latino.”

One winter night in 1977, three Polk County deputies and an Independence policewoman went into the Hi-Ho restaurant in the picturesque riverside city and confronted Trevino. Born in Weslaco, Texas, the soft-spoken Trevino had moved to Oregon with his family as a boy. He worked in a plywood mill.

One of the deputies grabbed Trevino by the arm, forcing him to stand as customers looked on. Like most Americans, Trevino didn’t routinely carry a birth certificate or other proof of citizenship.

“They asked me if I am an American, and asked me if I had a passport,” Trevino recalled.

The officers, acting on behalf of federal immigration agents, let him go after the policewoman said she recognized Trevino as a long-term local. Still, a deputy accosted him later.

Trevino was so bothered that he and his wife Oralia went to a legal aid group. There, they found Barilla, who suggested Trevino sue the law officers and the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Trevino felt queasy about taking that step.