A Private Raid : Security Force Sweeps Down on Migrant Gathering

Sunday is a day of rest for much of the migrant worker population of northern San Diego County. Many work six-day weeks, often at labor-intensive jobs in the fields, nurseries and construction; they regularly speak of how they look forward to their day off.

For some time, many of the immigrant laborers have gathered on Sundays in a grove of eucalyptus and bamboo not far from the Oceanside Swap Meet, which, with its inexpensive prices and wide array of goods, is a magnet for the area’s large migrant population.

Unseen and unheard from the outside, the scene inside the mini-woodland unfolds like an arboreal tableau from deep in the Mexican interior: Men strum guitars, speak of their adventures, drink cans of beer, eat fresh carne asada tacos and sing a few songs. There are also prostitutes, brought up from Tijuana for the day.

The men speak of their day of libertad-- liberty.

While there are rowdy moments, as when men and alcohol mix in any setting or culture, those interviewed say the scene is usually convivial, non-violent. Of course, the prostitution is illegal, and the beer and food are sold without the necessary permits. Litter, mostly beer cans and case wrappers, is everywhere.

And the men are trespassing on private property, just as many of them are trespassing by building their crude shacks on private land.

On Sunday, the the day off was disturbed by a raid by a private security firm, Oceanside-based Ranch-Industrial Patrol Company, known as Ripco, which is hired by a number of area concerns. The firm arrived shortly before noon, equipped with several armed officers, a trained German Shepherd K-9 attack dog, and a helicopter. The men scattered; the prostitutes were taken into custody.

The security raid and the ensuing ruckus is indicative of the inherent conflicts throughout the area, where thousands of migrant workers, many of them homeless, live and seek work in a fast-growing suburban region whose homeowners often resent their presence.

The men, including both documented and undocumented migrants, say they often feel unwelcome in area parks, bars and other recreation areas. Landowners say they don’t want the migrants squatting or throwing bashes on their property.

On Sunday, officers of the security firm quickly rounded up four women, whom they identified as prostitutes, and held them for what they called a legal citizen’s arrest. The women, who said they were from Tijuana, were to be turned over to the U.S. Border Patrol, said George H. Hruby, owner and operator of the security firm.

The women said they had just come to visit the camp. They declined to elaborate on their presence.

As the women were being held, the security guards proceeded to chase the scores of men gathered beneath the trees; most ran toward the swap meet.

“We want to flush them out,” Hruby, the security firm operator, had explained earlier.

At his company’s trailer in Oceanside, Hruby had held a press “briefing” on the operation. An affable, 32-year-old former military policeman at Camp Pendleton, Hruby had called the press to inform journalists of the impending operation.

“I think it’s important that the public know what’s going on out there,” said Hruby, who was dressed in a specially ordered black jumpsuit and who has a fondness for using military-security jargon, such as “protection factor.” Private landowners, Hruby said, should not have to put up with the trespassing and littering.

“There could be a liability factor,” said Hruby, as he stood in front of a diagram of the camp. (He also supplied aerial photos.) “What if one of these guys gets drunk, goes back and lights a candle and his place goes on fire? We’ve had lawsuits like that. . . . What if it happened in your back yard?”

The security firm has been in existence since 1984, Hruby said. It started, he said, when he answered a classified advertisement from an area rancher.

Hruby indentified the owners of land were the raid was staged Sunday as Ocean View Farms, an area grower that employes the security outfit. The security firm video-taped the operation.

Apart from rounding up the women, the guards also took some more aggressive action. One guard, who held the attack dog, attempted to knock down a carne asada stand constructed by Teresa Flores and her husband, Moises Gonzalez, both Mexican citizens who emigrated from the southern state of Oaxaca. A guard turned over one other barbecue, causing the meat to fall on the ground.

“Why do you have to be so rude?” an agitated Flores shouted at the guard who was attempting to dismantle here painstakingly constructed stand. “We’re just trying to feed our family. We have five children too.”

A guard responded, “This is private property.”

Overhead, the helicopter hovered as close as possible to the trees, throwing up dust and debris.

Among some of the men, there was outrage at los securitis, as they are known in Spanish-English slang.

“We’re not bothering anybody,” said Jesus Macias, 23, also a native of the Mexican state of Oaxaca. “Where else can we go on a Sunday? No one else wants us around either. We just want to rest for one day of the week.”

Clemente Pacheco, 28, a former resident of Mexico City, shook his head as a security guard cracked open a case of beer and flung the cans around the the woods. “What does he gain from doing that?” Pacheco asked. “What’s the point? We’re going to come back anyway. We don’t have any other place to go.”

It wasn’t the first time that the security firm had come, and, the men noted, it likely wouldn’t be the last. The raid lasted a half an hour or so; then the men began to drift back to the shaded setting, where they can’t be seen by passers-by. Soon, the carne asada stands were smoking again and beer was being sold.

The helicopter rented by the security firm made one last pass over the tiny wood, once again kicking up debris. The men laughed at the aircraft.