Memory Corner 3

Troops, Feds, State & Local Law Enforcement 

Retake MacArthur Park...Again

May 7, 2026

In 1986, President Ronald Reagan's Immigration Amnesty Program (IRCA) commenced. If you were illegally in the United States, but could prove you had resided in the country with a job, paying bills, and staying out of trouble, you qualified for Temporary Resident Status, which after five years, could be converted to Permanent Resident, which in turn could lead to U.S. citizenship. That's the easy version. The hard version requires too much legalese. I was certified that year by the then Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) to serve the "illegal" community with fixing their papers. So I got to witness first-hand a lot of the upheaval to the City of Los Angeles communities because of this Amnesty. 

First off, phony law offices began to open offering worthless legal services to the immigrants. In Spanish, there's a difference in terminology for lawyers: Licensiados are more akin to legal aids, while abogados are licensed to represent clients in court. Many notary publics represented themselves as Licensiados, collected their fees, and disappeared into the night to open a new office in some other part of the city. Immigrants began to mistrust both real lawyers and those who claimed to be lawyers. So they turned to people like me, certified by INS, to fix their papers. I had a government grant, so I didn't charge a dime. But the influx of business to my small office was enormous. Eventually I had a staff of 17 reps assisting me. 

Second off, new immigrants were crossing the border from as far away as South America to try their luck at a temporary green card. We turned away many, many people, because they didn't have proof that they'd been in the country at least ten years. They needed gas bills, electric, rent, phone, grocery, anything to prove residence. But since many of them had only just arrived, they had no such proof of residence. And thus the first clue of organized crime appeared on the streets of LA. Receipts for sale. A small band of Salvadoreans had set up shop at MacArthur Park in Westlake. They were not yet known as MS 13 or 18th Street, but on my side of town, that's where it began. 

Because the Metro Subway was being built and the lake had to be emptied, the receipt sellers moved their business over to 6th and Alvarado Street, where they muscled their way into the Photo Shop; in addition to receipts, they also sold passport-size pictures, and eventually expanded into counterfeit Social Security Cards, which they made on the shop's computer system. Every time I got off the bus to head to my office, I was approached by these young men, who badgered me to buy receipts, photos, or an SS card. It wasn't long before they added drugs and marijuana to their inventory. And there was such a huge demand for all these things that no one went to the police to complain. And once the subway work was complete, the MacArthur Park lake was refilled, and our little gang took over the park, as their expanded business now expanded their membership. 

Now, 40 years later, this million dollar gang enterprise was raided by the joint federal, state, and local law enforcement in an operation called FREE MACARTHUR PARK. As I've stated, this is the nutshell version of events leading to today's raid. I've skipped the end of INS, which was divided into the Immigration & Customs Enforcement (ICE) and United States Naturalization & Immigration Service (USCIS) departments in 2001/2. I quit when this change was made. It stopped being about helping people and about rounding up all the "illegals" who didn't muster the amnesty requirements. The thing is, if you applied for amnesty, you gave up all yoor information: where you lived and worked, where your kids went to school, everything ICE needed to find you if you didn't get your papers fixed. It didn't matter how close you came. Maybe you were one receipt short of getting your green card. Close but no cigar, as they say. Amnesty was designed that way: you legalize a handful in exchange for a database full of illegals. 

But I digress....

Here's a story that actually happened to me on my bus ride home from my office:

I had just closed up my office on 6th Street and Alvarado Street around 9:00 P.M. Most shops were closed. Very little pedestrian traffic. Only the MS13 vatos were out on the street corners waiting for cars to pull over, roll down their windows, and tell the vatos what they needed; they then passed them folded bills, which the gang members pocketed while waving to another member on the other corner. The driver then drove to the other vato and collected his goods. I walked over to Wilshire Boulevard and caught the Number 20 heading for Downtown LA, where I was staying at the Frontier Hotel. Inside the bus was the usual crowd of workers heading home and assorted fringe sorts, two drunk MS13 vatos, a Trans probably headed for the LA night-clubs, and an elderly Black man seated by himself in the back of the bus, where I joined him. He had a LA Times newspaper folded on his lap. He smiled and nodded at me. "Hey, little brother," he said. I nodded back to him. 

I thought it would be another quiet ride back home, but not this night. The vatos were getting rowdy with the passengers, who were doing their best to ignore them. They began badgering an older woman, who tried in vain to stare out the window until they left her alone. It didn't work. "What do you have in the bag?" one of them asked the woman in Spanish. 

I stood up and said, "That's enough." Like the fool that I am. They walked right up to me.  "Mexicano cedote," one of them said. That translates to Mexican turd in English. To MS13 vatos, all Mexicans were turds. Then he suddenly switched to English. "You want to die brave?" He lifted his shirt to show me his gun. All I could think was "Just like in the movies," which wasn't helping. So I remained silent and kept my cold stare on him. If it was my time, so be it. The other vato who didn't show a gun said, "You don't scare us." Odd thing to say since they held all the aces. I was a deuce high card. 

Then out of nowhere, the Trans in her lovely dress and perfect make-up put her arms around the two vatos and said, "Come with me, muchachos." The bus stopped and they got off. The doors closed, and the bus resumed its journey. I sat back down and took a long deep breath. The Black man leaned over to me and said, "Don't worry, little brother, I had your back." He unfolded his LA Times newspaper to reveal a handgun. He folded the paper back over it, smiled, and nodded again. I nodded my acknowledgement, and we resumed our silent journey home. 

And that's what today's raid on MacArthur Park made me remember.