Wanted Lord Buffalo drummer ‘forcibly removed' from Dallas flight, detained by US Border Patrol before European tour
Lord Buffalo drummer Yamal Said, a Mexican national, had boarded his flight at Dallas Fort Worth International Airport when Customs and Border Patrol officials detained him on May 12, the band said in a Facebook post.
Said, a green card holder, is permitted to live in the US, but was wanted by the Llano County Sheriff's Office for violating a protective order against him multiple times, a felony in Texas, Homeland Security said on X.
5 Lord Buffalo drummer Yamal Said was arrested by US Border Patrol onboard a flight to Europe at Dallas Fort Worth International Airport on May 12, 2025.
@yamalsaid/Instagram
'Said had a warrant for his arrest after violating a restraining order at least TWICE. If you come to our country and break our laws, you will be arrested,' the agency said.
'When he was attempting to leave the US, he was apprehended by CBP and has been turned over to local law enforcement.'
The band announced they were forced to cancel their upcoming tour over Said's arrest without mentioning the alleged arrest warrant.
The Psych-Americana band was scheduled to tour with rock band Orsak:Oslo in the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Finland and Sweden throughout May.
'We are devastated to cancel this tour, but we are focusing all of our energy and resources on Yamal's safety and freedom. We are hopeful that this is a temporary setback and that it could be safe for us to reschedule this tour in the future,' the band said.
5 Lord Buffalo was heading to Europe to tour several countries in the month of May before Said's arrest.
@lordbuffalo/Instagram
5 Said is currently employed as a paraprofessional for the middle school and high school teams at the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Austin.
@yamalsaid/Instagram
Orsak:Oslo spoke out on Said's arrest, saying that nobody should be 'jailed for simply trying to travel and make art with their band.'
'We're devastated by the situation Lord Buffalo and their drummer Yamal have been forced into. No one should be pulled off a plane and jailed for simply trying to travel and make art with their band. We won't pretend to understand the full complexity of the situation, but this should not happen anywhere,' Orsak:Oslo wrote.
Said joined the Lord Buffalo in 2017 after previously drumming for the band The Black.
5 Lord Buffalo said they had been left out of contact with Said, but has been given an immigration attorney
@lordbuffalo/Instagram
He moved to the US when he was a child in the 1980s after his parents moved their family out of Mexico City following an earthquake, the Austin Chronicle reported.
Said is currently employed as a paraprofessional for the middle school and high school teams at the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Austin.
A vice principal at the school described Said as a 'highly respected and long-serving member of our school community,' according to the outlet.
5 Said joined the Lord Buffalo in 2017 after previously drumming for the band The Black.
@lordbuffalo/Instagram
Lord Buffalo said they had been left out of contact with Said, but has been given an immigration attorney
'We still know very little about the situation, but we have been asked by our drummer's family and his legal team to respect their privacy while this situation evolves,' the band said in an update on Wednesday.
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Yahoo
4 hours ago
- Yahoo
Where Is Elmer Wayne Henley Now? Inside His Life Today, 5 Decades After Helping the 'Candy Man' Serial Killer
Elmer Wayne Henley assisted Dean Corll in killing six of his 28 victims NEED TO KNOW From 1970 to 1973, Dean Corll murdered at least 28 boys and young men in the Houston area He enlisted two teenage accomplices to help find his victims: David Owen Brooks and Elmer Wayne Henley Henley shot and killed Corll in August 1973, and was later given six life sentences for his role in the murders Elmer Wayne Henley Jr. could have been one of Dean Corll's many victims. Instead, he became the serial killer's teenage accomplice. Dubbed the 'Candy Man' by the media, Corll — a seemingly friendly man known for handing out candy to kids in Houston — was responsible for the deaths of at least 28 boys and young men in the early 1970s. Henley — a teenager himself — and neighbor David Owen Brooks helped lure victims to Corll's Pasadena, Texas, home 'under false promises of fun,' per the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). Once inside, Corll would torture, rape and kill them. Henley took part in at least six murders. All of Corll's victims were between the ages of 13 and 20. The crimes came to light in 1973, when Henley fatally shot Corll during a confrontation. He and Brooks were later sentenced to life in prison for their roles in the murders. Henley's story is explored in the Investigation Discovery (ID) documentary The Killer's Apprentice with forensic psychologist Dr. Katherine Ramsland, which debuts on Aug. 17. Reflecting on their first meeting, Henley said, 'I believe that I was originally taken over to Dean's as a victim. What scares me is, did Dean recognize a fellow psychopath?' So, where is Elmer Wayne Henley now? Here's everything to know about the convicted killer and his role in the infamous Houston mass murders. Who is Elmer Wayne Henley? Henley is a convicted murderer and former accomplice of Corll. While growing up, Henley said his father was abusive, once firing a gun at him, he told Texas Monthly in April 1976. 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In addition to luring many of Corll's victims to his home between 1970 and 1973, Henley murdered at least six boys throughout Corll's killing spree. He later told Texas Monthly that he was curious about killing before he began getting involved in Corll's crimes. 'I mean, you see people getting strangled on television and it looks easy,' he said. 'It's not. Sometimes it takes two people half an hour.' To keep his teenage accomplices from talking, Ramsland told PEOPLE in August 2025 that Corll used an 'idea of a larger sex trafficking network' that would go after them and their families if 'they did anything out of line.' How many victims were killed in the Houston mass murders? The three men were responsible for the deaths of 28 people between 1970 and 1973, some of whom were Henley's friends. Only one of Corll's victims hasn't been identified, and the true death toll will likely never be known, according to the NCMEC. What happened to Dean Corll? 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After pleading not guilty, Henley was convicted in 1974 of murdering six boys, per The New York Times, and was given six consecutive life sentences in prison. His multiple parole requests have been denied, with his most recent being in 2015. He'll be eligible for parole again in October 2025, per ABC13. Ramsland told PEOPLE that Henley has resigned himself to the possibility that he will die in prison, saying, 'He goes back and forth with recognizing the things that he did and that he has a just punishment." During his incarceration, Henley took up painting and even had his work featured in local galleries in 1997 and 1998, according to the Houston Chronicle. FOX 26 reported in January 2016 that the convicted murderer had a Facebook page that he used, through a third-party, to sell his artwork and handmade jewelry. Read the original article on People
Los Angeles Times
6 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
How an LAPD internal affairs detective became known as ‘The Grim Reaper'
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When a since-retired LAPD officer was suspected of running guns across the Mexican border, the department turned to Lloyd to bust him. In 2020, when it came out that members of the elite Metropolitan Division were falsely labeling civilians as gang members in a police database, Lloyd was tapped to help unravel the mess. And when a San Fernando Valley anti-gang squad was accused in 2023 of covering up shakedowns of motorists, in swooped the Reaper again. Recently he was assigned to a department task force looking into allegations of excessive force by police against activists who oppose the government's immigration crackdown. At the LAPD, as in most big-city police departments across the country, Internal Affairs investigators tend to be viewed with suspicion and contempt by their colleagues. They usually try to operate in relative anonymity. Not Lloyd. The 24-year LAPD veteran has inadvertently become the face of a pitched debate over the LAPD's long-maligned disciplinary system. 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Dunster said she remembers being interviewed by Lloyd, whose questions seemed designed to trip her up and catch her in a lie, rather than aimed at hearing her account of what happened, she said. Some of her responses never made it into Lloyd's report, she said. 'He wanted to fire me,' she said. Dunster was terminated over the incident, but she appealed and last week a Los Angeles County Superior Court judge granted a reprieve that allows her to potentially get her job back. Others who have worked with Lloyd say he is regarded as a savvy investigator who is unfairly being vilified for discipline decisions that are ultimately made by the chief of police. A supervisor who oversaw Lloyd at Internal Affairs — and requested anonymity because they are not authorized to speak to the media — described him as smart, meticulous and 'a bulldog.' 'Joe just goes where the facts lead him and he doesn't have an issue asking the hard questions,' the supervisor said. On more than one occasion, the supervisor added, Internal Affairs received complaints from senior department officials who thought that Lloyd didn't show them enough deference during interrogations. Other supporters point to his willingness to take on controversial cases to hold officers accountable, even while facing character attacks from his colleagues, their attorneys and the powerful Los Angeles Police Protective League. Officers have sniped about his burly build, tendency to smile during interviews and other eccentricities. He wears two watches — one on each wrist, a habit he has been heard saying he picked up moonlighting as a high school lacrosse referee. But he has also been criticized as rigid and uncompromising, seeming to fixate only on details that point to an officer's guilt. People he has grilled say that when he doesn't get the answer he's looking for, he has a Columbo-esque tendency to ask the same question in different ways in an attempt to elicit something incriminating. And instead of asking officers to clarify any discrepancies in their statements, Lloyd automatically assumes they are lying, some critics said. Mario Munoz, a former LAPD Internal Affairs lieutenant who opened a boutique firm that assists officers fighting employment and disciplinary cases, recently released a scathing 60-page report questioning what he called a series of troubling lapses in the LAPD's 2023 investigation of the Mission gang unit. The report name-drops Lloyd several times. The department accused several Mission officers of stealing brass knuckles and other items from motorists in the San Fernando Valley, and attempting to hide their actions from their supervisors by switching off their body-worn cameras. Munoz said he received calls from officers who said Lloyd had violated their due process rights, which potentially opens the city up to liability. Several have since lodged complaints against Lloyd with the department. He alleged Lloyd ultimately singled out several 'scapegoats to shield higher-level leadership from scrutiny.' Until he retired from the LAPD in 2014, Munoz worked as both an investigator and an auditor who reviewed landmark internal investigations into the beating of Black motorist Rodney King and the Rampart gang scandal in which officers were accused of robbing people and planting evidence, among other crimes. Munoz now echoes a complaint from current officers that Internal Affairs in general, and Lloyd in particular, operate to protect the department's image at all costs. 'He's the guy that they choose because he doesn't question management,' Munoz said of Lloyd. In the Mission case, Munoz pointed to inconsistent outcomes for two captains who oversaw the police division accused of wrongdoing: One was transferred and later promoted, while another is fighting for his job amid accusations that he failed to rein in his officers. Two other supervisors — Lt. Mark Garza and Sgt. Jorge 'George' Gonzalez — were accused by the department of creating a 'working environment that resulted in the creation of a police gang,' according to an internal LAPD report. Both Garza and Gonzalez have sued the city, alleging that even though they reported the wrongdoing as soon as they became aware of it, they were instead punished by the LAPD after the scandal became public. According to Munoz's report and interviews with department sources, Lloyd was almost single-handedly responsible for breaking the Mission case open. It began with a complaint in late December 2022 made by a motorist who said he was pulled over and searched without reason in a neighboring patrol area. Lloyd learned that the officers involved had a pattern of not documenting traffic stops — exploiting loopholes in the department's auditing system for dashboard and body cameras. The more Lloyd dug, the more instances he uncovered of these so-called 'ghost stops.' A few months later, undercover Internal Affairs detectives began tailing the two involved officers — something that Garza and Gonzalez both claimed they were kept in the dark about. As of last month, four officers involved had been fired and another four had pending disciplinary hearings where their jobs hung in the balance. Three others resigned before the department could take action. The alleged ringleader, Officer Alan Carrillo, faces charges of theft and 'altering, planting or concealing evidence.' Court records show he was recently offered pretrial diversion by L.A. County prosecutors, which could spare him jail but require him to stop working in law enforcement. Carrillo has pleaded not guilty to the charges. In an interview with The Times, Gonzalez — the sergeant who is facing termination — recalled a moment during a recorded interrogation that he found so troubling he contacted the police union director Jamie McBride, to express concern. McBride, he said, went to Lloyd's boss, then-deputy chief Michael Rimkunas, seeking Lloyd's removal from Internal Affairs. The move failed. Lloyd kept his job. Rimkunas confirmed the exchange with the police union leader in an interview with The Times. He said that while he couldn't discuss Lloyd specifically due to state personnel privacy laws, in general the department assigns higher-profile Internal Affairs cases to detectives with a proven track record. Gonzalez, though, can't shake the feeling that Lloyd crossed the line in trying to crack him during an interrogation. He said that at one point while Lloyd was asking questions, the detective casually flipped over his phone, which had been sitting on the table. On the back of the protective case, Gonzalez said, was a grim reaper sticker. 'And then as he turned it he looked at me as if to get a reaction from me,' Gonzalez said. 'It was definitely a way of trying to intimidate me for sure.'
USA Today
6 hours ago
- USA Today
Deported from US, these social media influencers are now monetizing their misfortune
More than 70,000 Mexicans were deported from the US in the first six months of the year. Now, they're (re)building lives south of the border. Deported and alone, Annie Garcia landed in Mexico with $40 in her pocket, a criminal record in the United States behind her and an unknown future ahead in a country she barely remembered. Fast forward to the present, to a video shared with her more than half-a-million social media followers in August. Her hair blows in the wind as she speeds on a boat through an emerald sea. She tagged the clip: #LifeAfterDeportation. Expelled from the United States, young Mexican immigrants like Garcia, 35, are documenting the aftermath of their deportation online. Their videos – raw grief over what they lost in America, surprise and gratitude for what they've found in Mexico – are rapidly gaining them tens of thousands of followers. At least a dozen of these deportees-turned-influencers, Garcia included, have started over in Mexico's west coast beach gem, Puerto Vallarta. 'If there's one thing I wish my content could embody it's how much life there is on this side of the border," Garcia wrote June 15 on Instagram. "Our countries aren't what they were 20 or 30 years ago when our parents left." Returning to an unfamiliar 'home' More than 70,000 Mexican nationals were deported from the United States to Mexico in the first six months of 2025, according to Mexico's Interior Ministry. That's down from the more than 102,000 deported during the same six-month period in 2024, when people were being deported after crossing the border. Now, the people being deported are more likely to have built lives and families in the United States. With President Donald Trump's aggressive mass deportation campaign underway, Francisco Hernández-Corona feared being detained. So he self-deported to Mexico, accompanied by his husband. He started vlogging. The 30-something Harvard graduate and former Dreamer had been taken to the United States illegally as a boy, he explained on TikTok. Multiple attempts to legalize his status in the United States failed. In June, he posted his migration – and self-deportation – stories online. Between photos of golden sunsets and mouthwatering tacos, he posted in July: "Self-deporting isn't always freedom and joy and new adventures. Sometimes it's pain and nostalgia and anger and sadness. Sometimes you just miss the home that was." 'Life in the pueblo is not easy' Mexico remains a country of extremes, where stunning vistas and limitless wealth can be found in big cities and beach resorts, while hardship and poverty often overwhelm smaller communities. Olga Mijangos was deported from Las Vegas in on Christmas Eve 2024, two years after being charged with a DUI. She returned to the Oaxaca state pueblo she had left when she was 5. Mijangos, 33, has tattoos on her neck, stylized brows and long lashes – all part of her Vegas style. Back in her hometown, she began posting videos of goats being herded through the streets; the community rodeo; the traditional foods she began cooking. She posted videos from her first job: harvesting and cleaning cucumbers, earning 300 pesos a day, or $15. "I clearly understand why my mother decided to take us when we were little. Life in the pueblo is not easy," she said in a video of the cucumber harvest. "There is hard-living. There is poverty." Struggling to make ends meet for her family, including two children with her in Mexico and one in the United States, she moved to Puerto Vallarta where she met Garcia and Hernández-Corona. They began forming an in-real-life community of deportees-turned-influencers and others who left the U.S. They meet up for dinner at least once a month, and they create content. In their videos, they're having fun, drinks, laughs. But they're also celebrating what binds them to each other and to their parents' migration stories before them: their capacity for reinvention, and their resilience. "I'm very proud to be Mexican, and I'm learning to love a country I didn't get to grow up in, but I shouldn't have had to leave the home I knew to find peace and freedom," said Hernández-Corona, a clinical psychologist, in a July post on TikTok. "This isn't a blessing. It's resilience." Spanish skills, savings and support all matter A lot of their content has the draw of a classic American up-by-their-bootstraps success story, with a modern social media twist: from hardship to sponsorship. But the reality is that deportees' experience of building a life in Mexico can vary dramatically, depending on their earning capacity, language and cultural skills, and other factors, said Israel Ibarra González, a professor of migration studies at Mexico's Colegio de la Frontera Norte university. Deportees with savings in U.S. dollars and a college degree, those who speak Spanish and have supportive relatives in Mexico, may have an easier time than those who don't, he said. Others may face life-threatening risks upon their return, from the violence of organized crime to political persecution or death threats. "However much violence they've lived with in the United States, it's not the same as going back to a war zone," Ibarra González said, referring to certain Mexican states where drug cartels are actively battling for territorial control. Wherever they land – with the exception of some cosmopolitan cities – deported Mexicans have faced local prejudices, too. They've often been viewed as criminals, or their deportations as a failure. "Did I feel a lot of judgment? Absolutely," Mijangos said of her return to Oaxaca. "Even though it's my roots, I basically came from a different world. I have tattoos. I lived my life a certain way that they don't. I could feel people talking." But friends back home in Vegas, and new friends in Mexico, started encouraging her to share her deportation journey. It took her a few weeks to work up the courage. She posted a video of sending her U.S. citizen son to a Mexican school. It racked up nearly 14 million views and 2 million "likes" on TikTok, she said. Suddenly, TikTok was asking if she wanted to join the app's content creators rewards program. 'Your criminal record doesn't follow you' By taking their stories online, deported content creators say they are dismantling longstanding taboos around deportation in Mexico, shining a light on their experiences as Mexicans who didn't grow up in Mexico, and on their past mistakes. Garcia speaks openly on her social media about the financial crimes she committed in her 20s, for which she was charged and convicted, and that ultimately led to her deportation. She migrated to the United States when she was 4 years old, "out of necessity," she said. Her mother married an American citizen in Salt Lake City, Utah, and she and her mother both became legal permanent residents. But when Garcia began acting out as a child, the state intervened. "I was taken from my mother at the age of 12 because I had behavioral issues," she told USA TODAY. "I was separated from my family, and I grew up with other juveniles with behavior (problems)." As a young single mother, she would steal from her employers when she couldn't pay the bills, she said. In Mexico she found a clean slate. "Your criminal record doesn't follow you," once you've paid your debt to society in the United States, Garcia tells her followers. "You can pursue higher education. Any debts you had in the U.S. do not follow you here." As Trump's immigration crackdown widens, Mexico's President Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo has been publicly offering moral support to Mexicans facing deportation. She has called them "heroes and heroines" who "have contributed to the United States their entire lives." "We're going to keep defending our brothers and sisters there," she said in a June 25 news conference. 'Maybe … things will change' Garcia's social media accounts have grown so popular that she's earning a living, in part, from content creation. She is doing research on reintegration after deportation for an American university. And she has "tunnel vision," she said, on completing a law degree in Mexico. The pain of her deportation, and the losses it brought with it, are mostly in the past. Except when she catches news of the immigration raids in the United States. The memories of her detention, and her separation from her five children, including an infant, remain fresh. It took Garcia more than a year after her 2017 deportation to win custody of her children, to bring them to Mexico. "It's very, very triggering to me to see what's going on up there," she said. "It's a bittersweet feeling. I feel safe. I feel relief. We're here. It doesn't affect us any more. But it feels heartbreaking to see other families living through it. "When I first started sharing my story my idea was, 'Maybe if I talk about this, things will change'" in the United States, she said. She kept at it, despite facing hate and trolls online. She kept posting, even after losing two jobs in Mexico for openly discussing her deportation and criminal past on social media. She kept sharing, thinking, she said: "This is what is going to change things one day: us putting our stories out there."
