Juan Patrcio – 1984- 2003

At about 8:40 AM on February 22, 2003, Juan Patricio Peraza Quijada, a 19-year-old young man staying at Annunciation House, found himself standing in the middle of San Antonio Street facing a semi circle of Border Patrol Agents with their hand guns drawn. One of those Agents shot and killed him. In El Paso, Juan Patricio has become the symbol of everything that is wrong with present immigration policy, the great need for just and humane comprehensive immigration reform, and the terrible consequences of the current enforcement-only immigration policy used by the US Government. Over the past decade, it is a policy that has resulted in the deaths of thousands of immigrants who have died in deserts, drowned in rivers or automobile accidents, or, like Juan Patricio, been killed by Border Patrol Agents. It is a policy that has resulted in the division of families when the undocumented members of a family are detected, detained and deported, forcing one part of the family to live in the US and the other part in another country. It is a policy that has expanded the construction of detention facilities to the point that today there are now more than 30,000 detention beds being used on a daily basis in the US, with many of those beds now located in El Paso, Chaparral, Sierra Blanca, Pecos, etc. It is a policy that now regularly uses criminal prosecution with its corresponding prison sentences to punish undocumented individuals caught living and working in the US.

For many years, now, the effort to get Congress to pass just and humane comprehensive immigration reform has been politically hijacked by individuals who view immigrants as threats, terrorists, criminals, tax evaders, and drains on the societal service network. In spite of an overabundance of well researched and credible documentation that debunks all of these myths, the past decade has been marked by the implementation of an enforcement-only immigration policy.

By commemorating Juan Patricio’s life and death, it is a way for a community to again state that this is not what immigrants deserve, that this is not acceptable immigration policy, and that deaths such as that of Juan Patricio contradict the core principles of justice and human rights to which the US aspires.

In remembering Juan Patricio, we reiterate our call and commitment to work for and support justice for immigrants and the passage by the US Congress of comprehensive, just, and humane immigration reform legislation.

PLEASE JOIN US!

JUAN PATRICIO MEMORIAL MASS
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 21st
11:00 AM
AT ANNUNCIATION HOUSE
1003 EAST SAN ANTONIO AVENUE

Attached is a bilingual flyer that we ask you to CIRCULATE among your email contacts. For questions or additional information, CALL Annunciation House at 545-4509 or 533-4675.

Ruben L Garcia
Director

Camera by: Seth Donald, Joanna Heatwole, Maria Salazar

Sound: Seth Donald, Chad Heatwole

Judge RICHARD P. MESA’S legal decision in the case of

CESAR PERAZA BARRAZA and,

RAMONA IRENE QUIJADA-SOTO,

Statutory Death Beneficiaries of

JUAN PATRICIO PERAZA, Deceased,

Plaintiffs,

v.s.

THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,

Defendant

When law enforcement officers — the very individuals entrusted to uphold peace and safety — shoot and kill members of the community, a rigorous investigation into the origins of such an incident must be conducted.

The case of Juan Patricio Peraza is no exception.

Posted on August 2, 2008

U.S. Magistrate Judge Richard P. Mesa delivered a verdict late last Friday in the case of Cesar Peraza Barraza and Ramona Irene Quijada Soto versus the United States of America, regarding the 2003 shooting death of Juan Patricio Peraza, at the time a 19-year-old national of Mexico, by Border Patrol Agent Vernon Billings.

LINK

By ALICIA A. CALDWELL

Associated Press

EL PASO A 19-year-old illegal immigrant shot to death by a U.S. Border Patrol agent four years ago was nothing more than a scared kid, a lawyer for the family suing the government told a judge Friday.

“It was five agents and a scared 19-year-old boy with a pipe,” Enrique Moreno argued in his closing argument of the federal civil trial in the death of Juan Patricio Peraza. “Those agents … knew the rules.

LINK

Did you perform your duties to the best of your ability? the defense lawyer asked.

Yes, I did.

Were your actions based on your training as a Border Patrol agent?

Yes, they were.

Could you have done anything differently to prevent the shooting?

No, he said.

Except for not shooting, I suppose.

In the cross-examination Enrique Moreno again went over the list of things that VB didn’t know, and didn’t find out, when he arrived on the scene. He didn’t know the number of officers, their position, who was in charge, whether progress had been made, whether the subject had a means of escape…the list went on. And all of those things were important, weren’t they?

VB agreed that they were.

According to his training, a Border Patrol agent was required to assess these things before resorting to deadly force, was he not?

He was.

And without knowing all this you decided, within five or six seconds after arriving on the scene, to kill a man.

After VB’s testimony there was some brief rebuttal and submission of evidence. Then both prosecution and defense closed their cases. The court took a three-hour break and reconvened after lunch for closing statements. Enrique Moreno spoke first. “The truth is in the details,” he told the judge, and he promised to walk carefully through the important details of the case. But first, he wanted to offer some perspective. How was it possible that five trained Border Patrol agents could not subdue one scared boy with a pipe?

Two agents were somewhere they shouldn’t have been: a homeless shelter. They picked out Juan Patricio for questioning, and a foot chase began. Now, they were not chasing a murderer, a terrorist, or an armed man. They were chasing a nineteen-year-old boy for immigration violations. But the chase became a standoff: five agents and a scared nineteen-year-old with a pipe. Those five agents knew the rules. They established distance between themselves and the subject, a distance that all five agents estimated at fifteen to twenty feet. They never saw Juan Patricio swing the pipe. Rather, he was using it to maintain that distance.

Then Agent VB arrived on the scene. He didn’t have a clue about what was going on. He came racing in, squealing his tires, and he yelled, and he startled Juan Patricio. He approached eight feet closer than any other agent. Within five or six seconds after he arrived on the scene, he had killed a nineteen-year-old boy. The foot chase had turned into a shooting.

We as a society allow Border Patrol agents to carry guns, said Enrique. Their job can be difficult. All we ask is that they use ordinary care; that they be reasonable. Every agent has testified that you don’t just barge into a situation like this. You could make things worse. Instead, you have to assess. You have to act strategically and tactically. And here, Agent VB failed.

The government would tell the court that this shooting was justified. That they had made a fair, objective and thorough investigation into the incident and decided no disciplinary action was needed. This is the same agency that whisked its agents away after the shooting, bought them pizza and Coke, left them in a common room and told them to work on their statements. And never asked the shooter a single question about what had happened.

“Your honor,” said Enrique, “I don’t mean to be flippant. But I wonder, if Agent R had run over Juan Patricio with his car, and killed him, and done some damage to the vehicle, at least a memo might have been generated.”

Mr. Brown began the defense’s closing statement with some things about tort law, and then turned to the heart of his argument. The government did not dispute, he said, that this was a foot chase that turned into a shooting. But it did disagree with the prosecution about what led to this. “Let’s look at how Mr. Peraza got here,” said Mr. Brown. He crossed into the country illegally—twice. He was deported once and had come back across. After he arrived at Annunciation House (and this case was not about Annunciation House, or whether that house should even exist, Mr. Brown added as an aside), he was stopped by Border Patrol, and he ran. Mr. Peraza was a boxer. He’d been deported once, so he knew the routine. It shouldn’t have been a threatening situation. Yet Mr. Peraza resisted, and assaulted a Border Patrol Agent.

Mr. Peraza was one hundred percent responsible for this situation, said Mr. Brown. All he had to do to end it peacefully was to put down the pipe. Instead, he forced the agents to make split-second decisions. And so he is like a drunk driver who gets into a crash and then says, That other car should have gotten out of my way. Or like a drag racer who runs a stop sign, hits another car, and says, They should have seen me coming.

Mr. Brown paused. I know we’re not supposed to get personal, he said, but I want to say a word to the plaintiffs, to Mr. Peraza and Ms. Quijada. I know this trial has been difficult for them. Everything we’ve said has focused on their son’s actions on this single day. We don’t mean to speak badly of Mr. Peraza in general. We’re sorry if this has caused them pain; it was not meant in that way.

Enrique had one final comment. I struggle to see how the example of the drunk driver applies here, he said. Perhaps a better analogy would be if a police officer pulled over a drunk driver…and shot him.

There were a few closing remarks from the judge, purely administrative. Then the trial was over.

The lawyers have until May 5th to turn in their final reports, after which I suppose the judge will make his decision. I really have no clear sense of which way he will rule. Who will he decide bears responsibility for the death of Juan Patricio? The defense argued that Juan himself set in motion the chain of events that led to his death. Whether that’s true depends, I suppose, on how far back one traces the chain.

Juan Patricio, faced with six armed agents, would not put down his weapon. That is true. But before that, he was chased and struck on the head by an agent. That is also true. The agent was chasing him because he had resisted arrest. True. He was arrested as a result of two agents targeting a homeless shelter, a house of hospitality for migrants, a place that according to Border Patrol policy they were supposed to leave alone. Also true.

But even before that, Juan Patricio crossed into the country without documents. This is where Mr. Brown began his closing argument; this, he seemed to imply, was the beginning of the chain. Juan Patricio entered the country illegally, and after that—the defense implied—he merely got what was coming to him.

In this country we don’t execute people for immigration violations, Enrique had said in his closing statement. In a sense, though, we do. Juan Patricio’s death is the extreme example, and fortunately it is relatively rare. But people certainly are criminalized for immigration violations; they risk death in the deserts of Arizona or at the militarized fences of Texas to come work in our fields and our factories; and every day, everywhere in this country, they die the small gradual deaths of poverty, of invisibility, of racism and ignorance and fear and intimidation. They are called illegals—a name we don’t give even to murderers, a slur that seeks to revoke their very humanity.

After attending most of this trial and writing pages and pages about it, I would like to be able to finish with some sort of conclusion—some insight—with faith, perhaps, that truth will prevail or that justice will be served. But at the end of the week I find myself nearly out of words. I feel like a child who has witnessed an earthquake: it is all too big for me. I know only that words are important; words define the realm of the possible. We cannot think a thing unless we have a word for it. And so I would offer new words to the agents that testified this week: instead of subject and compliance, the words person and compromise, the words restraint and humility. To Cesar and Irene I would offer grief, but in grief memory, and dignity, and solidarity. And I would offer words to the newspapers, to the politicians and policemen and ordinary people of this country: instead of illegal, brother and sister; instead of alien, human.

el día de San Juan. He would see his mother on Mother’s Day, each summer, and at Christmas. At age sixteen he finished school and returned to Puerto Piñazco to work—to seguir adelante, Irene said. He worked in construction earning 1800 pesos a week. He shared part of his earnings with his mother and spent another portion on his younger brothers—bringing them pizzas, toys.

Irene described each photograph that Paco Dominguez, one of her lawyers, displayed on the projector: Juan playing with friends, wearing a bow tie at his school graduation, shown with his sister or nieces or his youngest brother Ricardo. The final picture was one of Juan and his sister Rosario at a dance. In that picture he was nineteen years old. Since his birthday was October 23, the picture can’t have been taken more than a few months before he was killed on February 22.

I know this is hard, said Paco to Irene. But I want you to tell the judge what kind of son Juan Patricio was. The interpreter translated his words into Spanish, then translated Irene’s answer back to English. A perfect son, said Irene. Muy alegre, muy amable…very joyful, very kind. She used to dance with him on the beach, outside, any place. If there was no music he would sing. When he saw her sweeping around the house he’d say Here, give me the broom. If she picked up something heavy he would take it from her. And from a young age, he told her that someday he’d go to the United States and work so that she wouldn’t have to.

After he was killed, Irene’s sister brought Irene the bad news—or at least part of it. She said that they had to go to Mexicali right away, because Juan Patricio was very ill. Fue agarrado en la linea and he had been badly beaten. Irene had not even known Juan was in the United States. She sold a car part to pay for enough gasoline to drive to Mexicali, but then her sister said No—they are bringing him here.

Why bring him here? asked Irene. The best doctors are over in Mexicali.

But they waited in Puerto Piñazco until the middle of the week, when Juan’s body arrived. He was buried in Puerto Piñazco. Some three hundred people came to the funeral.

How did you feel that day? asked Paco.

How can you say? With my soul cut in two…destroyed.

You cried at the funeral?

Yes.

When did you stop crying?

“I haven’t stopped crying,” said Irene.

I was appalled when the defense lawyer stood up to question Irene. She had been sobbing on the witness stand; we’d had to take a break so she could compose herself. What could the defense possibly ask about? What inconsistencies would they probe for in her grief?

The lawyer asked whether Juan Patricio had worked as a boxer. He had trained a little as a boxer, but never reached that goal, Irene said. The lawyer pointed out that he had worked in construction, so he must have been very strong. Irene said they used mechanical shovels to lift things, so Juan only had to move levers.

Are you taking medication for depression? he asked.

Puro té.

Your daily routine hasn’t really changed since his death, has it?

Everything is pesado now, said Irene.

Would it surprise you that the autopsy found traces of marijuana in Mr. Peraza’s blood? Do you know whether he had any tattoos? Did he have a girlfriend?

Irene answered yes, yes, no. The lawyer said he was finished and Irene stepped down. The judge ordered a short break, during which the women went en masse to the bathroom. It had been an upsetting testimony; even the court interpreter was crying. Irene told me that yes, it had been very hard; but it was the truth. The interpreter told me later it had been hard for her, too. She gets very close to people when she translates for them. I think about that—how although the interpreter is acting in service of the court, and is not on “our side” per se, nor is she quite an impartial observer. Perhaps when you speak for someone else, as she is doing, you cannot help but put yourself in the other’s shoes.

Cesar Peraza was the next witness. He began by stating his name and his date of birth, and it seemed to me he was already beginning to up. He confirmed Irene’s testimony regarding Juan’s childhood—how Cesar had supported Juan at school until Juan went to work in construction. Juan was a very good worker and would sometimes help his father with his taco cart. He would accept no payment from Cesar. When he began to work in construction, he used his first paycheck to buy his little brothers a Nintendo. “He made people love him quickly,” said Cesar through the interpreter.

Late in the afternoon on Saturday, February 22, 2003, Cesar heard a cousin and an aunt yelling for him. He thought they wanted tacos. They came to him and took him by the shoulders and set him down on the sidewalk and told him—and here Cesar broke down and could hardly get the words out—they have killed your son. He felt the earth open. No—no, he said, that can’t be. My son is in Puerto Piñazco. Later he would go to the police station in Mexicali, where pictures of Juan Patricio had been emailed. He confirmed that the dead young man was his son. It was something very hard, he said. Something I hope never happens even to the one who killed my son.

I looked over at Agent VB, who was sitting at the defense table with his lawyers. His head was bowed and he looked at his hands, which moved restlessly in his lap. This couldn’t be easy for him. After cross-examination Cesar was excused, and the plaintiffs rested.

The defense began to present its case after lunch. First they made a motion to have everyone agree that the plaintiffs would not claim pre-death pain and suffering, funeral expenses, or loss of inheritance. Then they called their first witness: Border Patrol agent JG. JG was about a year out of his training period at the time Juan Patricio was shot. On the morning of February 22, 2003, he had been assigned to backup duty. That meant he didn’t park in one place for surveillance but was free to “roll” around El Paso. He was down at the Paso Del Norte port of entry when he heard an agent call on the radio. “Just by the sound of his voice, I knew that something was going on.” He headed over. When he arrived, one marked car was already there. Two other agents were talking in the street. They were soon joined by a third, CD, who ran out from an alley. I noticed that this witness, JG, knew all the names of the agents present and could even explain where each was standing—details none of the other agents who’d testified had been able to remember. It made me wonder whether JG had been recently coached…

When the standoff began, JG drew his own weapon and joined his fellow officers in formation around the subject, who held a pipe. JG testified that Agent R started giving commands alone, while the other agents “kind of backed up.” R was some fifteen feet from the subject, too far away to be struck with the pipe. The subject yelled, I’m not letting you guys take me! Shoot me if you want me! He was taunting and swinging the pipe.

Show us, said the defense lawyer. The defense produced one of their evidence exhibits: a metal pipe some four or five feet long, hollow, wrapped in yellow tape. I had to agree it looked formidable. JG stood up and demonstrated, raising the pipe over his shoulder like a bat and giving it a half-swing forward. He asserted that when faced with Mr. Peraza and that pipe, VB was authorized to use deadly force on the basis of three criteria: means, intent, and opportunity for harm. The defense asked JG why he himself didn’t shoot the subject. JG replied that Agent R was in his line of fire.

Is there anything you could have done to avoid the shooting?

No, sir.

Why not?

Mr. Peraza wasn’t listening to us…

And you would have shot him if you’d had a clear line of fire?

Yes.

During cross-examination, Lynne Coil asked again whether JG would have shot Juan Patricio right then, if he’d had a clear shot. JG said yes.

Right away? asked Lynne.

Yes.

She gave him a copy of his deposition and had him read what he had said when she asked him that question some months ago: I would have needed time to assess—to see if there was anyone behind Mr. Peraza. Lynne went over a few more inconsistencies in the testimony—for example, whether Juan Patricio had lowered the pipe at any time. (JG said no; Agent T yesterday had testified yes.) Then JG was excused, and Agent JGr was summoned.

JGr was still a trainee on February 22, 2003. That morning, he was assigned to city patrol with CD. This meant they were to drive around the city looking for people to pick up. JGr and CD began their morning patrol in west El Paso. Then CD suggested they go to Annunciation House, where he had picked up undocumented people before. When they arrived at Annunciation House they saw a young man exiting the door, and CD said he wanted to question that man. The agents parked and made contact with Mr. Peraza, who told them he was from Mexico. JGr called in a background check. While his attention was elsewhere, the subject took off running. CD followed on foot. JGr got back into his car and began to drive down the block, looking for the subject. He finally met up with his partner on San Antonio Street and radioed for backup. Three more agents, R, T, and JG, arrived at the scene, which eventually became a standoff. JGr did not see VB arrive, and was not aware of him until VB yelled at the subject and the subject charged. But JGr testified that means, motive and intent were all present, authorizing the use of deadly force.

Why didn’t you shoot Mr. Peraza?

Agent VB just reacted faster.

Were you about to shoot?

Yes.

Was the shooting justified?

Yes.

After Mr. Peraza was shot, JGr was ordered to go back to Camp Montana and write a memorandum about the incident. He was interviewed by the El Paso police department later that afternoon. He said that he did talk to the other agents about the incident before making his reports, but only about the names of the streets involved. He said, as well, that there was nothing he or VB could have done differently that day to avoid the death of Mr. Peraza.

On cross-examine, Enrique Moreno pointed out that all of the officers in this incident, except for R, were fairly new; two, including JGr, were still on probation. Did JGr know then of Border Patrol’s policy not to work shelters, schools or churches? He did. Did he know that Annunciation House was a shelter? No, he did not. And so it did not seem inappropriate to him that they should patrol by the house or stop an inhabitant of the house for questioning.

Enrique went through the sequence of events. JGr did not see Mr. Peraza swing the pipe. He did not see R, the lead agent, holster his gun at any time, and did not hear R yell “Take your finger off the trigger.” If R had done either of these things, JGr insisted he would have noticed. He didn’t remember whether anyone had made a move to handcuff Mr. Peraza after he’d been shot, but agreed that this would have been totally unnecessary. After the shooting, he testified that he went back to Camp Montana, where the agents who had been at the scene had pizza and Coke in a common room and were given time to work on their memos. They were not segregated. In his memo and his police interview, JGr could not remember any of the pertinent distances—for example the distance between VB and Mr. Peraza.

And so if you don’t remember distances, said Enrique, you can’t really tell us whether the shooting was justified, can you?

I can, sir.

But isn’t distance important?

When?

When you’re deciding whether to kill a man.

Yes, it’s important.

You can’t tell us any of the distances, but you can reach the conclusion?

Yes, sir.

No further questions.

The final witness of the day was R, the senior Border Patrol agent at the shooting. He was on line watch on the morning of February 22, 2003. He heard trouble on the radio and headed to San Antonio Street. When he arrived, he stopped to talk with JGr, then drove his vehicle further down the street. He saw CD run out into the street followed by a man holding a pipe. R drove his vehicle in between the two men and got out, gun in hand. “Drop the pipe!” he yelled.

Mr. Peraza yelled back, “Ese puto me pegó y le voy a chingar.” R replied, If he hit you we’ll work it out, we’ll tell a supervisor…

Mr. Peraza tapped his forehead and said, “Tírame. Mátame.” Shoot me.

They stood in confrontation for a while, as Mr. Peraza shuffled forward and back and R moved to maintain a safe distance. At one point, R thought He’s going to run. He holstered his gun and moved forward. A moment later he saw Mr. Peraza run at angle away from him. He heard a pop! pop! and the subject went down.

Why didn’t you shoot him? asked the defense lawyer.

I wasn’t in fear of my life.

Did you want it to end like this?

No. I didn’t want him to get shot. I was thinking he looked like one of my sons. I wanted him to put the pipe down and let me arrest him.

Who was in control of this situation?

He was. He could have ended it.

Agent R demonstrated how R fell: first crossing his arms over his chest, then twisting halfway around, lowering himself to one knee, and falling finally face down on the ground.

During cross-examination, Enrique Moreno asked R about his communication with the subject. No matter what question Enrique posed, R rephrased it to terms of compliance: “I wanted him to comply. He wouldn’t comply.” Enrique asked whether he was trying to talk to the subject, or calm him down, or develop a rapport. R said to all these questions, “I was trying to get him to comply.”

“And your plan was not to get anyone hurt or killed?”

“My only thought was to get him to comply.”

Enrique asked about intermediate forms of force, such as OC spray (a kind of pepper spray). R said he didn’t have any OC spray during this incident, but he wouldn’t have used it even if he’d had it.

Why not?

“It was a deadly encounter. I couldn’t give him an inch.”

Enrique established that R knew nothing about VB’s arrival or actions the scene. And R agreed that one would need to know these things before he could form an opinion about whether the shooting was justifiable. Enrique then spent some time on details. R stated that he did indeed holster his gun at one point, and that he did order the other agents to take their fingers off their triggers. When Mr. Peraza cursed at him, he cursed right back. Enrique showed him a diagram that Sector Evidence Team had drawn of the incident. R compared it to a diagram that he himself had made, and came to the conclusion that SET got things wrong.

At the end of the day, I took Cesar and Irene back to their hotel. They had a lot of coraje. It had been a hard day all around—first their own testimony in the morning, then having to listen to the scene of their son’s death recounted over and over in the afternoon. There were inconsistencies between each agent’s version of events—perhaps what you’d expect from eyewitness accounts of such a tense and rapid sequence of events. Even so, it was enough to make Cesar and Irene furious with the untruths that seemed to have been told in court that day.

For my part, I’d found the agents’ testimony even more difficult to hear than the parents’. I was prepared for Cesar and Irene; I knew they would be emotional, that their testimony would brim with grief and that I would grieve along with them. But I wasn’t ready to hear Border Patrol’s take on the shooting. It wasn’t the details that troubled me, or the inconsistencies; it was rather the final question that the defense lawyer asked each witness. Each agent swore to the court that there was nothing he, or any other agent, could have done to prevent Juan Patricio’s death. Each of them swore that it was Juan Patricio, not the Border Patrol, who chose to end things with a shooting. Each of them swore that the shooting was justified, and that the shooter acted in complete accordance with his training.

And I thought: Why the hell don’t you get some new training?

It could be that the agents were simply closing ranks, protecting one of their own. But I could believe that they believed what they said: that Juan Patricio’s shooting was inevitable, and that as far as they were concerned they had no choice in the matter. These officers are trained to think in terms of compliance, of getting a subject to submit to their commands. They are drilled in the use of deadly force. They are given the task of rounding up the undocumented; they are given weapons; then they are turned loose. And suddenly the tragedy, the scope of the problem, becomes much larger than the death of one young man at the hands of one inexperienced, trigger-happy agent. As long as we as a society train and arm the Border Patrol as we do, perhaps we should not be surprised when the simple detention of an undocumented person ends in deadly violence. And maybe we as a society are partly to blame for the events that unfolded on February 22, 2003. And maybe this is why I found today’s testimony so very disturbing: I am a citizen of this country, and I cannot help but feel that it was I, at least in some measure, who shot Juan Patricio.

He walked up from his seat at the defense table, a few feet away from where the parents of Juan Patricio were sitting. I don’t think Cesar and Irene had realized before —I’m not sure I had realized—that this man, who had been sitting so close to them for a day and a half, was the very man who had shot their son. Enrique Moreno, lead counsel for the prosecution, enlightened us all with a directness that startled me.

You shot Juan Patricio Peraza?

That is correct, sir.

So began the second day of the trial. Enrique went on to ask VB about his training: graduation from the Academy in May 2002, trainee status until January 13, 2003— just a little more than a month before Juan Patricio was killed. Had VB been told about Annunciation House during his training? He had. And was he aware of Border Patrol’s policy not to work schools, shelters, or churches? He was.

VB testified that he had been trained in the appropriate use of force and in de-escalation techniques, which he explained were methods of getting a noncompliant person to be compliant. What were some examples of de-escalation techniques? “Officer presence” was one—simply showing up in a Border Patrol uniform. Others included talking, physical techniques, and cooperation with other agents.

And how about the use of deadly force? Was VB trained in that? Of course he was. The Border Patrol had many policies and training manuals regarding the use of force. And VB agreed with Enrique Moreno that there was no situation in which it was more important to follow guidelines than in the application of deadly force. It is to be used only in self-defense, or to defend another person. And there is no distinction between the two defenses: that is, an agent is equally justified—even obligated—to use force to protect another agent or to protect himself.

So if a subject threatened and charged at another Border Patrol agent, you’d shoot to protect him, wouldn’t you? asked Enrique.

Correct, sir.

And you wouldn’t wait to see if that agent shot him first, would you?

No, sir.

How many people shot Juan Patricio Peraza?

Just one.

Enrique asked VB to tell the court what had happened on the morning of February 22, 2003. VB had been parked in his patrol vehicle down by the river, near the intersection of Delta and Coles. Listening to radio traffic, he heard about some kind of commotion at San Antonio and Hills Streets—a few minutes’ drive away. “He took a swing at me,” he heard an officer say over the radio. VB called in on his own radio and said he was heading over to San Antonio Street. “Watch my spot,” he said. He heard nothing over the radio about the subject possessing a weapon, and he did not receive any additional information during his drive except that the location of the subject had changed slightly. When he arrived at the scene, he observed from a distance some agents involved in a commotion. He could see that they had their guns drawn on a young man holding a pipe.

But more important, Enrique pointed out, were the things that he did not observe. He did not note how many Border Patrol agents were present. He could not estimate how far they were from the subject. He did not see the young man swing the pipe. He didn’t know whether the other agents had a plan, or who was acting as a leader among them, or whether any progress had been made in talking to the subject. He showed up without a clear idea of what he was going to do.

But you didn’t just come out firing, did you? asked Enrique. You don’t just barge into a situation like this, do you?

No, sir.

Because that would be unreasonable.

Correct, sir.

So certainly you held back before shooting, didn’t you? You held back and assessed the situation?

“I did not hold back, sir.”

It seemed incredible to me that he just admitted that. But he believed his actions were completely justified—or at least he has justified them to himself in these five years since the shooting. The scene was chaotic; he didn’t know what was happening; he felt threatened; he shot. He gave the impression that he felt he had no choice.

Enrique asked VB carefully about distances: the initial distance between himself and Juan Patricio, and the distance at the time Juan was shot. VB stated that when he arrived on the scene he yelled at Juan, “Stop! Drop the pipe!” He said that Juan charged, ran at him, and he yelled a second time, “Drop the pipe!” Then he fired his gun.

In his deposition, VB had estimated that the initial distance between himself and Juan was about twelve feet. Juan fell about eight feet away. So this “run” must have lasted about four feet, during which VB had time to yell Stop, wait to see if Juan would listen, and then fire. All of this happened between 8:39:31am, when VB announced his arrival on the scene, and 8:40:15am, when the radio transcripts record that an ambulance was summoned. Less than forty-five seconds.

After you shot him, said Enrique Moreno, you did something strange, didn’t you?

The defense lawyer objected. The objection was sustained. Enrique rephrased his question.

After you shot Juan Patricio, what did you do?

I holstered my gun.

And then what did you do?

I attempted to gain control of the subject.

What does that mean?

I attempted to handcuff the subject.

But you had just shot him. He was lying face down on the ground. None of the other officers moved to “control” him.

I was closest.

They pulled you off of him, didn’t they?

No, sir.

They stopped you and told you, “That’s not necessary.”

I stopped taking notes for a moment, a little stunned, and whatever VB’s reply was, I missed it.

After the shooting, a Border Patrol supervisor soon arrived. He switched guns with VB (standard protocol, apparently) and told VB to remove himself from the scene. He left with another agent. They stopped first at the Diamond Shamrock, where VB bought cigarettes. Then they drove to Border Patrol Headquarters out at Camp Montana. VB spoke to his lawyer, other agents, and his union representative before his interview with the El Paso police department some four hours later. It was the only interview he would be subjected to in relation to the shooting.

Are you troubled by any of your actions in this case? asked Enrique Moreno.

I performed my duties correctly, sir.

Would you do anything differently, given the chance?

VB leaned forward in his seat. I never wanted to kill anyone in my life. But I had no choice. He made the choice, not me.

The prosecution dismissed VB at last and called Border Patrol Agent CD to the stand. CD had been the first to make contact with Juan Patricio in the parking lot outside of Annunciation House. Now in the courtroom the prosecution played a video that CD had made some days after the shooting, in which he walked through the scene with police investigators and explained what had happened. They stopped the video every few minutes and asked CD about the events recounted in it. At first CD was evasive, answering “I don’t know” to almost every question—even when asked for his own opinion. A man sitting behind me leaned over to his neighbor and whispered, “He’s got a bad memory…” Finally Lynne Coil, co-counsel for the prosecution, asked the judge to instruct the witness to answer her questions. I don’t know didn’t count as a response, she said. The judge replied that he wouldn’t instruct a witness how to answer a question, but he would be evaluating each witness for credibility. After that, CD’s answers got a bit more definite.

He explained how he had chased Juan down Olive Street, through a backyard and back out to San Antonio Street. At one point he stood within a few feet of Juan with his gun drawn. Juan had swung at CD earlier with his fists earlier (though never actually struck him), and he now held a piece of pipe. Yet CD chose not to shoot. Instead he retreated, went out to San Antonio Street and radioed for backup. He said he’d never pointed a gun at anyone before. He didn’t want to shoot. He had options, and he chose not to use his gun.

Out on the street, four other agents joined CD. They surrounded Juan Patricio. For several minutes they talked to him, with one agent, R, acting as a point person. They holstered their guns at one point. They took the guns out again a little later, but even then R yelled to CD, Take your finger off the trigger! They didn’t want to shoot.

In the video, the police investigators asked CD, What were you thinking?

He replied: I was thinking, “Why is this happening? Why is this happening? We’re not going to do anything to him. He has nothing to fear from us! We do this every day.”

While VB had been stoic and unemotional during his testimony, CD seemed troubled. Certainly in the video he became emotional at one point, and the tape was stopped for some moments to allow him to collect himself. Lynne asked if this incident had been difficult for him.

It was difficult, ma’am.

The final witness of the day was Francisca Muñoz, a neighbor who had witnessed the shooting. She testified to seeing Juan Patricio surrounded by Border Patrol agents out in the street. She said he was holding the pipe in front of him and bouncing it up and down on the ground. He seemed afraid and jumpy. The agents yelled at him to drop the pipe. He did not drop it, but at no time did Francisca see him swing the pipe or even raise it above his head. Nunca, she declared, nunca, nunca. Nor did she ever see him lunge toward an agent. He was turning where he stood, and as he turned, someone shot him. She didn’t see who. Her vision went blurry the moment the young man was shot. After Francisca finished her testimony, the court was adjourned.

At the end of the day I am thinking about choices: the choice to use violence, and the choice to refrain. Agent VB seemed to think that he didn’t even have a choice—that Juan Patricio had forced him to act as he did. He made the choice, not me. Agent CD, in a similar situation (but at even closer quarters with Juan Patricio, and without other agents around to back him up), had acted quite differently. He retreated. He exercised restraint. He protected himself—but did so in a way that avoided deadly harm to another.

What was the difference between these two men? Both were new agents, scarcely finished with their training. Both, I imagine, were scared and running on adrenaline, and surely neither of them ever wanted to shoot anyone. Perhaps the difference between them was as simple as this: one of them recognized his own power to make a choice, while the other did not. In failing to recognize this power, VB absolved himself of responsibility for his own actions. He freed himself to be rash, to be unreasonable. He was running, one might say, on autopilot. Certainly that would explain his attempt to handcuff a dying nineteen-year-old man.

It is VB’s disavowal of choice, this suggestion that Juan Patricio’s shooting was inevitable and his own fault, that seems incredible to me. No choice not to shoot someone—when that someone is a dozen feet away, armed with only a pipe and facing six trained men with guns? Couldn’t the agents have sought cover, if they had felt Juan Patricio was such a threat? Couldn’t they have used intermediate forms of force—or simply retreated?

And the reason they were after him at all—the thing that had set all this in motion, the reason they would not simply walk away and let him go free—seems almost ridiculous when compared to the seriousness of the consequences. A few routine questions (Where are you from? Do you have papers?) had escalated into a violent confrontation that left Juan Patricio dead. Yet he had committed no crime, and had given the agents no reason to detain him—except that he was brown-skinned, and spoke Spanish, and was undocumented.

April 7, 2008,

February 22, 2203, a little before nine o’clock in the morning. Juan Patricio, nineteen years old and undocumented, was shot by a Border Patrol agent a few hundred yards from Annunciation House. His parents, Cesar and Irene, are here in the courtroom today. As the plaintiffs of this civil suit, they are accusing the Border Patrol of negligent behavior that led to the death of their son. Cesar and Irene flew into Juarez yesterday. When I walked with them into the courthouse this morning I felt that they seemed uncertain, a little intimidated, but also ready—ready for truths to be told, for accountability. Of course they were ready; they have been waiting for five years.

Enrique Moreno is lead counsel for Cesar and Irene. In his opening statement he recounted the particulars of Juan Patricio’s death. Juan was stopped and questioned by Border Patrol agents in the parking lot outside Annunciation House. He ran; a Border Patrol agent gave chase, caught up, hit Juan on the head with his steel baton; Juan escaped again; the agent caught up again and drew his gun, and Juan Patricio picked up a pipe. But the agent did not shoot. Standing within a few feet of the young man he’d been chasing, gun in hand, the agent realized deadly force was unwarranted. He retreated and called for backup.

Four more agents quickly arrived and surrounded Juan in the Calle San Antonio. Five guns were pointed at him. He was scared, and he was still holding the pipe. People were yelling, tension was high. Yet even then, the agents did not shoot. They had a strategy, Enrique told the court; they had tactics. The agents were trained in de-escalation, and they were attempting to defuse the situation.

But a sixth agent arrived on the scene, an agent who had finished his training only recently; I will call him VB. This agent did something that no one else had done: he fired his gun. Enrique emphasized this: the five other agents—who had been there longer, who had watched the scene unfold—did not shoot at Juan Patricio. Then Agent VB arrived on the scene, and less than forty-five seconds after his arrival, Juan Patricio was dead.

How could this have happened?

Six officers armed with guns confronted one young man armed with a section of pipe. We know how it ended, but how did it happen? How could it? Enrique told the court that the answer was clear: it happened because of negligence. What does that mean? Only this: that we as a society allow Border Patrol agents to carry guns, but with that allowance comes a duty: the duty to use ordinary care. Failure to fulfill this duty—failure to exercise ordinary care in the use of deadly force—is negligence. And on February 22, 2003, the failure to use ordinary care resulted directly in the death of Juan Patricio Peraza. This is the case that Mr. Moreno would be arguing.

The defense’s opening statement was short. Agent VB felt threatened, the defense lawyer said. He was protecting himself. The lawyer spoke for less than five minutes, and as he sat down I wondered if a short opening statement was a matter of style, or if he had nothing else to say—or if he was so confident that he intended to let the rest of the trial speak for itself. It was hard for me to read events as they unfolded. I have no frame of reference; I have never been to a trial before.

The prosecution called its first witness, GM. He had been a supervisor in the El Paso Police Department’s Crimes Against Persons unit (CAP) at the time of Juan’s death. He told the court about CAP’s standard protocols for investigating a homicide. First, the crime scene is secured. Suspects and witnesses are separated from each other immediately so that each one’s testimony will not be influenced by the others’. They are brought to the police station for questioning as soon as possible. The location is important, because the police station is where the detectives have the computers, software, and forms they need for questioning. The timing is important too, since it’s best to conduct interviews while the incident is still fresh in the mind of each witness.

Through GM’s testimony, it became clear that in the aftermath of Juan Patricio’s death, the police department’s investigation did not go according to protocol. GM arrived at the scene about an hour after the shooting, only to find that all of the Border Patrol agents involved—witnesses as well as the shooter VB—had been whisked away to Border Patrol headquarters. It was several hours before CAP was allowed to conduct interviews with the agents. In the intervening time, CAP’s detectives did not know where the witnesses were being kept or whether they were sequestered from each other. Instead of allowing the witnesses to be taken to the police station, Border Patrol management insisted that the interviews be held at the BP headquarters nicknamed “Camp Montana.” Further terms were placed on CAP’s interview with the shooter: VB had to be treated as a witness, not as a suspect, and the interview had to be conducted in the presence of (ready?) two FBI agents, a Border Patrol union representative, and a member of the Border Patrol El Paso Sector Evidence Team (SET), as well as VB’s lawyer. The prosecution’s second witness, the detective who conducted VB’s interview, would later testify that in 22 years as a homicide investigator he had never questioned a suspect with anyone else but a lawyer present, and he had never done an interview at Camp Montana. “We were there to take statements,” he said, “but Border Patrol was running the show.”

The prosecution’s third witness, Z, was the SET representative who had been present at Agent VB’s interview. He explained the role of SET: to conduct investigations and gather evidence about “critical incidents” that involve Border Patrol agents—car accidents, potential liability issues, cases of bodily harm. After explaining these responsibilities, Z was asked whether SET had conducted its own interview of VB regarding the shooting. No, said Z, SET did not interview VB or obtain a written report from him about the incident.

I found that surprising, but the most astonishing statement of the day was yet to come. Z went on to say that in these situations, it was standard practice to take statements from witnesses, but not from suspects. Suspects in shootings were not even required to file reports.

Let me see if I understand, said Enrique Moreno. If Agent Billings crashed his patrol car into a telephone pole while pulling out of a 7/11, does he need to file a report?

Of course, said Z.

But if he shoots a man, he doesn’t need to file a report?

That’s right, said Z.

Imagine that the blank space on the page is silence in the courtroom—speaking for itself.

Z’s testimony went on for a long time. Enrique Moreno asked questions, rephrased questions, revisited old points and teased out new ones. From the cautious and antagonistic interplay between witness and prosecutor, several themes gradually emerged: a less-than-thorough investigation of the “incident” by SET; a series of Border Patrol policies outlining the use of deadly force, which appeared not to have been followed; the existence of “intermediate forms” of force, like pepper spray and batons, to be used when firearms are unwarranted. Z testified, for example, that Border Patrol policies forbid agents to strike a person over the head with a baton: a damning little detail that appeared suddenly out of an otherwise long and looping line of questioning. The proceedings were tedious and riveting at the same time. I got the feeling that Z was answering as little as possible, and this made things drag on. Still, there was something about this officer—and indeed, about all the witnesses—that I respected: there was a courtesy, an honesty to many of their responses that stemmed, I believe, from acting in full accordance with their consciences; from the belief that they had nothing to fear. I could see their commitment to the work they do, and though I might disapprove of the work they do, I would hope to pursue my own work in the world with as much conviction.

I did not find the same conviction in the defense lawyer. Throughout the day he hopped up every few minutes with an objection, often with no legal grounds; the judge even fed him grounds a few times. (“…Are you objecting because the witness wasn’t answering the direct question…?” the judge hinted once.) The lawyer’s legalese came across as excessive and a little petty. But again, I don’t know how these things normally play out. And I am admittedly not an objective witness.

Z’s testimony lasted all afternoon. One of his principal roles in the investigation had been to make a transcript of the Border Patrol’s radio communications during the “incident.” Going through the transcript shortly before lunch, he mentioned that he had made a cassette recording of these radio transmissions. Where was the tape now? Probably filed over at the police station.

With those few words he unleashed a storm of controversy. Apparently the prosecution had been trying for months, unsuccessfully, to get a copy of the radio transmissions from the defense. (The defense said they had the transmissions on the radio system, but they couldn’t make a recording—to which Enrique Moreno replied, has technology gone backwards?) Now the court learned that a recording had been languishing in a file over at the police station the whole time. Enrique subpoenaed the tape during lunch, and when the court resumed in the afternoon he moved to admit the tape. The defense objected strenuously to this sudden addition of evidence. Enrique argued that this “new” piece of evidence could hardly be considered an ambush, since the defense had had access to this recording from the beginning. It was therefore new only to the prosecution. The tape was brought up and a tape recorder found. The judge left the room and we listened to the tape, which to me was mostly unintelligible. Even Z had said it had taken him days to decipher everything. It was late in the day and the judge finally adjourned the court, leaving the matter of the “Z tape” to be settled at a later date. We stood, the judge left; the two news reporters closed their notebooks. Aside from me and Ruben and the legal aids, they were the only audience.

Cesar and Irene were tired. It had been a long day. “Es duro,” Irene told me, and she placed her hand over her heart. They had listened to the proceedings through headphones, translated into Spanish. Enrique paused to speak with them before we took them back to the hotel. He said, I know the trial moves very slowly and there are lots of tiny details to go through. But I think it’s going well. And it’s important to us that you’re here, that you can follow what’s happening. He said, the two of you are the most important people in this courtroom.

Yes. Yes. I had almost lost sight of this. It was easy to get lost in all the binders and objections, the technicalities, the yes-sirs and no-sirs and for-the-records. I was bored sometimes today, and sometimes I was fascinated, but this trial is at its heart neither dull nor interesting, neither routine nor exciting. I have to remember this: beneath all the fuss of the trial, at the heart of things, lies the grief of two parents who have lost their son. Today they have seen the man who shot and killed their child. And even if they win their case, it will not be a victory; they have already lost. No. There will not be victory in this trial. But there can be truth. There can be. I believe in that.