L.A. Latinos’ Political Feud Marks Generational Divide

Los Angeles City Councilman Nick Pacheco wears his resentment like a badge.

The 38-year-old Eastside councilman often laments the unwillingness of County Supervisor Gloria Molina and other political elders in the Latino community to support his first run for council in 1999, even after he set a course that he believed would please them.

He marched against the construction of a prison on the Eastside in the 1980s. He worked in Molina’s field office. He went to college, then law school, then returned home to Boyle Heights to tackle community problems.

Still, when Pacheco ran for City Council, almost every Latino leader backed his opponent. “All of them worked against me,” he said in a recent interview. “They should have been mentoring me.”

Now, armed with a deeply nurtured sense of personal betrayal, Pacheco is determined to prove -- as he did four years ago -- that he can beat the establishment. In this case, his challenger in the 14th Council District is former Assembly Speaker Antonio Villaraigosa, who is seeking Pacheco’s seat after losing the mayor’s race last year.

The aggressive and personal attacks made by a Pacheco ally in recent weeks to push Villaraigosa out of the race underscore the personal intensity of Eastside politics and the bitterness fueling a new set of ambitious leaders from that area.

Like angry sons, Pacheco and several friends have been bucking the pillars of the Latino political community for years, using techniques their critics say are intended to undermine, embarrass or defeat political heavyweights such as Molina, former city Councilman Richard Alatorre and ex-state Sen. Richard Polanco.

In their quest for power, Pacheco and his allies have simultaneously driven a wedge through Latino politics in Los Angeles and united some old foes in opposition to their brand of rancorous campaigning. Molina and Rep. Xavier Becerra -- whose relationship had been frosty since the 2001 Los Angeles mayoral campaign -- held a joint news conference Monday to denounce negative campaign ads recently used against Villaraigosa.

On Nov. 6, the day Villaraigosa declared his candidacy for Pacheco’s seat, newly registered voters on the Eastside received an anonymous flier that accused the former legislator of turning his back on Latinos at the urging of “white advisors” and “gringos.” A second mailer delivered two days later called Villaraigosa a “womanizer” and questioned the character of his father and one of his daughters.

While Pacheco disavowed the mailers, attorney Ricardo Torres, who went to UC Berkeley and Loyola Law School with Pacheco, said he was responsible for sending the ads.

Torres said he thinks it’s time for politicians like Villaraigosa to give new Latino leaders a chance to prove themselves. In making that point, he sounded the messages of generational politics and resentment.

“I’ve always been concerned about Antonio’s conscious decision to wipe out a young generation of elected officials who are now in power to advance his political career,” Torres said. “Antonio feels he needs to take Nick out because he needs a platform for mayor? He should work on bringing together the Latino community before he focuses on destroying young electeds.”

But some veteran politicians and strategists say Pacheco has made it difficult for some prominent Latinos to embrace him.

“They are trying hard to get their way and if they don’t, they go bananas,” said David Ayon, a political analyst at Loyola Marymount University. “They make these threats in a theatrical way. The problem is, they are starting to believe their own propaganda, which is filled with venom and poison. They have come to hate people like Antonio and it drives them crazy that they haven’t been able to knock them off.”

Pacheco, the son of Mexican immigrants, was raised in Boyle Heights. Although they had few resources, Pacheco’s parents pushed their five children to get a good education. After college, Pacheco moved back to Los Angeles and got involved in politics. He later graduated from law school and went to work as a deputy district attorney.

One of his original political role models also has a reputation for going against the establishment.

In 1982, Molina had put together an impressive resume by working for various state and federal political causes. She went to then-Assemblyman Alatorre, a powerful local political figure, and asked for his endorsement in her campaign for an open Assembly seat.

Alatorre informed the 34-year-old that he had to meet with “the guys” first, Molina later said in an interview. Later he told her that it wasn’t her turn, and picked his own candidate: Richard Polanco.

Vowing not to be intimidated, Molina ran anyway. She won the seat, and she made it clear that she would not forget the people who had stood in her way. “How many times do you let them sock you in the face?” she asked during an interview nine years ago.

Since then, Molina -- who represents East Los Angeles on the County Board of Supervisors -- has become an influential political figure in Los Angeles, one whose endorsement is sought and whose temper is feared.

Pacheco said he met Molina during the 1980s while he was on a break from college. Word had gotten out in his neighborhood that the state planned to build a prison in East Los Angeles.

At the urging of Molina, then an assemblywoman, Juana Gutierrez helped organize the community to fight the prison. Gutierrez was the mother of one of Pacheco’s best friends, Martin GutieRuiz.

The opposition to the prison evolved into a seven-year battle, as Gutierrez and her neighbors joined with members of a local church and community members in protest marches and trips to Sacramento to lobby against the project. GutieRuiz and Pacheco -- both in their early 20s -- participated in the protests. Gov. Pete Wilson eventually killed the proposal in 1992, after negotiations with then-Assemblyman Becerra, among others.

After the prison fight, Pacheco and GutieRuiz went to work helping Becerra and Molina further their political careers. Eventually, they decided to launch their own attempts at public office.

In the early 1990s, Pacheco helped GutieRuiz in an unsuccessful challenge to Alatorre, by then a Los Angeles city councilman representing the 14th District, which includes Boyle Heights and parts of Eagle Rock and Mount Washington.

Later, Pacheco and Torres ran for different seats on the city’s Charter Reform Commission. Torres lost, but Pacheco prevailed, giving him a chance to form an alliance with then-Mayor Richard Riordan, who pushed for charter reform to make government more efficient and to create a more powerful mayor’s office.

After another failed run for public office, Torres took on Alatorre in court. In 1998, he represented Henry Lozano, a longtime Eastside political strategist, in a custody battle with Alatorre for Lozano’s daughter. Alatorre and his wife had raised the girl, their niece, since shortly after her mother’s death. Lozano charged that they were unfit caretakers.

A judge ultimately ruled in favor of the Alatorres, but not before Torres had forced the councilman to admit on the stand that he was a recovering cocaine addict -- a revelation that contributed to the retirement of the veteran Eastside pol.

About that time, Pacheco was finishing up on the Charter Commission and set his sights on the seat Alatorre was vacating.

But after working for many Eastside leaders, Pacheco found himself with only a handful of prominent supporters: Becerra, Riordan and Rep. Lucille Roybal-Allard (D-Los Angeles).

Becerra said that Pacheco was surprised that his efforts on behalf of such politicians as Molina had not been rewarded.

“I know that really frustrated Nick,” the congressman said. “You work hard for people, you hear people saying, ‘Yeah, we’re going to be with you,’ and then they’re not.”

A source close to Molina said the supervisor, close to both candidates, had been torn about whom to support in the race. She eventually backed Victor Griego because of his experience and her dissatisfaction with some decisions Pacheco had made on the elected city Charter Commission.

“It was a hard decision for her,” the source said.

In the end, Pacheco won by fewer than 500 votes. He recalled telling friends, “There is a God.”

Once elected, the new councilman set out to establish his own political power base to counter the forces he saw arrayed against him. He created a nonprofit called CAL Inc. to raise money to train and support new political leadership.

Last year, Pacheco went up against Polanco, who had overcome his early defeat by Molina to become a powerful figure in state and local politics. He backed council aide Ed Reyes in the campaign against Polanco for the 1st Council District seat.

An anonymous mailer was sent out to voters in the district accusing Polanco of plotting to use the new Belmont High School site for a prison.

Eventually, Polanco abandoned his campaign after someone circulated a birth certificate showing that, unknown to his wife and family, the legislator had fathered a child out of wedlock.

Pacheco, who also has a daughter born out of wedlock, denied involvement in those smears, but acknowledged that he had traveled to Sacramento to try to galvanize opposition to Polanco in an effort to bolster Reyes’ campaign.

With Reyes headed to victory, Pacheco teamed up again with GutieRuiz to become strong supporters of Becerra’s mayoral campaign. They soon became embroiled in an anonymous phone campaign that attacked Villaraigosa, who was also running for mayor.

An investigation by the district attorney’s office determined that Becerra’s campaign manager had engineered the attack call, in which a woman impersonating Molina said that Villaraigosa was soft on criminals.

Pacheco’s CAL Inc. owned the phone bank that was used to make the phone calls, and GutieRuiz’s political organization, La Colectiva, was named as the source of the calls. Torres served as La Colectiva’s attorney.

For his part, Becerra denied any knowledge of the calls.

Last year, Pacheco closed down CAL Inc. and sold the phone bank, amid allegations that he had pressured city lobbyists into giving to the organization. In an interview at the time, Pacheco expressed fear that Molina would organize against him. He believed then -- and still does -- that she was a committed foe.

Molina said she does not know why Pacheco harbors such anger that she did not endorse him.

“The reality is that we have not had any kind of working relationship for the last six years,” she said, adding, “I don’t think I owe anything to anybody.”

Those close to Molina call the situation a “one-way feud” and say the supervisor tried to mend fences with Pacheco after he won. She has been surprised and hurt by the extent of his anger toward her, and especially the role of his staff in an attack phone call that mimicked her, a source said.

It remains unclear whether Pacheco’s anger will push him to success, or undermine his efforts.

Molina was still debating whom she was going to endorse in the 14th District race, if anyone, when Torres sent out the mailers slamming Villaraigosa. That persuaded her to back the former Assembly speaker.

And Sheriff Lee Baca, who persuaded Torres to halt his attack campaign, has pulled his endorsement of the city councilman.

Political strategist Ayon said he fears that the negative hits will ultimately undermine Latino politics in the city.

“They don’t realize they are doing greater damage here,” Ayon said. “Either way, this tactic will forever define them.”