Fallen Chicago police officer Enrique Martinez honored on memorial wall near Soldier Field
officer Enrique Martinez
to the wall at Gold Star Families Memorial & Park on Tuesday.
Martinez, 26, was
shot and killed during a traffic stop
near 80th and Ingleside on Nov. 4, 2024.
"We've seen it over the years; officers losing their lives, gone too soon," Police Supt. Larry Snelling said.
Martinez's family gathered with friends and fellow officers at Gold Star Families Memorial & Park to add his name to the memorial wall outside Soldier Field.
His family also received a folded American flag from Snelling.
Martinez had been on the job for nearly three years when he and his partner stopped a vehicle with three people inside near 80th and Ingleside on Nov. 4, after the car had been blocking traffic.
Police have said, when Martinez and his partner approached the car and began speaking with the driver, a man in the back seat reached for a bag on the floor. The officers told the man to stop reaching, but he pulled out a handgun with machine gun conversion device and an extended magazine, and started shooting, killing Martinez, as well as the man driving the car.
Martinez was engaged to be married and would have marked three years on the force in December.
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The Hill
25 minutes ago
- The Hill
Russiagate scandal demands prosecutions, overhaul of the FBI and CIA
Once again, newly released documents and damning evidence conclusively substantiate what many Americans have long suspected. Russiagate was a conspiracy — hatched, implemented and relentlessly promoted by top officials in the CIA, FBI and across the Obama-Biden-Clinton political machine to rig a presidential election and undermine a duly elected president. It also corrupted the very institutions essential to protecting American liberty. Despite the mountain of evidence and exhaustive investigations, those responsible for this travesty remain unpunished. Former CIA Director John Brennan and former Director of National Intelligence James Clapper, among other intelligence officials, have lied to Congress and the American public about their reliance on the discredited Steele dossier — a report paid for by the Clinton campaign and the DNC — while simultaneously engineering different versions of critical intelligence assessments to cover their tracks. Although the intelligence community and its leaders publicly maintained that the notorious dossier played no role in the official assessment concerning ' Russian Activities and Intentions in Recent U.S. Elections,' newly declassified oversight reviews flatly contradict these claims. The record shows that Brennan and Clapper prepared a classified, compartmented version of the assessment specifically for President Obama and senior officials, which cited the dossier to bolster key judgments about Russian election interference. Later, when sanitized versions were released to Congress and the public, all references to the dossier had been scrubbed away. Special Counsel John Durham's investigation verified that Brennan, Clapper, then-Vice President Joe Biden, Attorney General Loretta Lynch, and FBI Director James Comey were all briefed, even before the 2016 election, on the Clinton campaign's plan to concoct a false Trump-Russia narrative. 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From rubber-stamp FISA courts to politicized counterintelligence and persecution of whistleblowers, these agencies are built on unaccountable power. Significantly cutting back the Justice Department and dismantling the FBI should be on the table. America is a republic, not a banana republic. It's time for accountability, reform and a sharp reminder to the deep state: in America, the people are sovereign, not unelected bureaucrats.
New York Post
3 hours ago
- New York Post
A day with the FBI: My perp walk, handcuffs, strip search and leg irons for a politically motivated misdemeanor
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San Francisco Chronicle
4 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Can a new chief fix one of the Bay Area's most corrupt police departments?
As Joe Vigil inspected a gutted former retail space in one of Antioch's highest-crime corridors, the newly appointed police chief let out an exasperated sigh. That empty storefront at the center of Sycamore Square, a graffiti-tagged shopping center known for frequent shootings, was supposed to be reopening soon as the Antioch Police Department's new satellite office. But, as Vigil surveyed the building's interior in early July, he saw wires dangling where lights once hung, cracked floor tiles and dirty walls with white space outlining where a cash register once stood. 'This is worse than I expected,' said Vigil, a tall, bearded man with a stout build. 'It's going to require some serious work to get this place up to par.' The same goes for Antioch's entire police department. During the four months since Vigil was elevated from acting chief to the permanent job, he has overseen one of the bigger resurrections in Bay Area law enforcement. In spring 2023, a high-profile texting scandal left this commuter city 45 miles east of San Francisco down nearly half of its police force, cratered public trust and exposed use-of-force incidents that included making dogs attack people for the officers' own entertainment. Almost 2½ years later, Vigil, 48, is restocking patrol troops, overhauling the department's attitudes and behavior, and restoring residents' confidence in its officers — all while the U.S. Department of Justice scrutinizes his every decision. Many city leaders in Antioch's situation would have brought in an established police chief well-versed in post-scandal revamps. After all, the texting debacle had included thousands of racist, misogynistic and homophobic messages exchanged among dozens of cops spanning entry-level to supervisory positions. In its aftermath, six of those officers were federally indicted. One is serving a seven-year prison sentence for his role in the dog attacks and a pay-raise scam involving fraudulent college degrees. Another, who's set to stand trial next month, faces up to 30 years for illegal steroid distribution and excessive force. But rather than tabbing an experienced chief, new Antioch City Manager Bessie Scott hired Vigil, who just two years earlier was the department's most junior lieutenant. At a time when police-corruption scandals were roiling communities throughout the country, Scott viewed Vigil as the rare internal candidate capable of fixing a rotten police force. 'Make no mistake: Chief Vigil has his work cut out for him,' said Porsche Taylor, chairperson of the Antioch Police Oversight Commission, a civilian advisory group established last year to help keep the department accountable. 'The problems here run deep.' Vigil is the son of a first-generation Black Panamanian immigrant and a half-Mexican, half-Native American U.S. Navy veteran. During his two stints as acting chief, he convinced Scott that he had something the outside options couldn't tout: a deep understanding of the city's systematic needs. The big unknown now is whether that will be enough. Back in 2021, before Antioch became one of the final Bay Area police departments to start using body cameras, Vigil was part of the leadership team that reviewed use-of-force incidents. After the texting scandal, a federal grand jury determined that some of the same incidents Vigil had justified during internal audits constituted civil rights violations. Many residents wonder: Did his promotion signal more of the same old cronyism? And, if so, what would that mean for this East Bay city's nearly 120,000 residents? In a Bay Area loaded with multimillion-dollar mansions and ritzy downtowns, Antioch is an outlier — a place that never fully recovered from the housing-market crash of 2008. It has no youth sports leagues, no top-rated schools and nowhere to see a first-run movie. Its poverty and eviction rates hover far above region-wide averages. And, with few sizable employers in town beyond the local hospitals and schools, Antioch workers have one of the nation's longest average commutes: 43 minutes. Like many other suburbs grappling with big-city problems such as gun violence, homelessness and racial strife, this oft-overlooked community surrounded by cherry orchards and vineyards also faces a significant budget deficit. Yet, unless Vigil eases public-safety concerns, Antioch likely won't attract the businesses and foot traffic it needs to avoid further cuts to essential city services. Asked whether he felt any pressure, he clenched his jaw as he tried to find the right words. Finally, after a couple of moments, Vigil admitted that he is keenly aware of everything at stake. 'If Joe can't make people trust our police department again,' Council Member Don Freitas later told the Chronicle, 'Antioch can't really move forward.' While guiding his black Ford Expedition down a trash-strewn street on the west side of town, Vigil peered out his window at a weatherworn apartment complex with boarded-up windows. A Black, elementary-school-age girl wearing a backpack half her size grabbed her father's hand as she skipped toward a bus stop. In many of Antioch's children, Vigil sees his younger self. While growing up about 40 miles away in Fairfield, he assumed he'd join the military like his dad, in part because he knew his family couldn't afford to send him to college. What drew Vigil to law enforcement instead was the chance to serve other people who might be struggling to get by. Once considered the 'unofficial foreclosure capital of the Bay Area,' Antioch could surely use the help. Founded in 1849 as a shipping port, and named after the ancient Syrian city where Christ's followers were first called Christians, Contra Costa County's oldest community has spent decades enduring what experts dub the 'flip side of gentrification.' According to the 1980 census, only about 10% of the city's roughly 43,000 residents were people of color. Real estate booms pushed many Blacks and Latinos to flee rising costs in San Francisco and Oakland for cheaper rent or first-time home ownership in Antioch. By the time 76% of the city's roughly 117,000 residents were people of color in early 2023, news of racist texts among officers was confirming what many had long suspected about the Antioch Police Department's ethos. In the years leading up to that scandal, cops there were at the center of several highly publicized incidents with Black residents and other minorities, including two that drew parallels to George Floyd's death because they involved officers allegedly kneeling on victims' necks. 'What I love about this town is it's filled with good, working-class people,' Vigil said, looking out his driver-side window at that little girl clutching her dad's hand. 'They deserve a police department that works as hard as they do and does right by them.' Regaining the public's respect won't be straightforward. When Steven Ford abruptly retired as police chief in August 2023, the fallout from the texting scandal was ravaging the police force. In a matter of days, an already-undermanned department of 75 full-duty officers had plummeted to about 40, plunging large swaths of Antioch into a borderline-lawless state. Cars sped through red lights. Gang-related shootings spiked. Some longtime residents began carrying Tasers with them when they ventured out at night. But more than the lack of law enforcement, many locals fretted about the mindset of the remaining police officers. More than one-fifth of the city's residents identified as African American. For months, they had read about the publicly released texts in which cops referred to Black people as 'gorillas,' 'monkeys' and other racial slurs. Vigil said he was as stunned as anyone. Just as he was struggling to reconcile how he could have been so unaware of the department's bigoted undercurrent, then-acting City Manager Kwame Reed asked Vigil to become acting police chief. His absence from all the text threads suggested that he wasn't part of the problem. 'My wife's Black, and she had seen the text messages,' Vigil said, his voice cracking as he blinked back tears. 'As soon as I told her they wanted me for acting chief, she was just like, 'Absolutely not. You will not. '' But Vigil wasn't one to spurn a challenge. Before coming to Antioch in May 2020 for the opportunity to move up from sergeant to lieutenant, his two-plus decades in law enforcement included stops in two of the Bay Area's most dangerous cities: Vallejo and Richmond. During his 10-year stint in Sacramento, Vigil routinely volunteered for the graveyard shift patrolling high-crime neighborhoods like Del Paso Heights and Oak Park. Along the way, he earned a master's degree from Cal State Long Beach and a certificate from California law enforcement's top leadership development academy. None of that made Vigil's transition to acting chief simple. He needed to learn basic procedures, such as how to place officers on leave. 'The fact that Joe hadn't had much high-level management experience was kind of beside the point,' said Brian Addington, who served as Antioch's interim police chief between Vigil's two stints, and now mentors Vigil in a consulting capacity. 'With the department in crisis mode, he stepped up to the plate when few others in his situation probably would have.' To some outside officers, Antioch's police chief vacancy was a legacy position — a chance to shape a city's future and leave a lasting mark. Sources say several former chiefs applied. Among them: Carmen Best, Seattle's first Black female police chief, who resigned in 2020 amid major budget cuts. So, why would Antioch opt for Vigil? He wasn't only around for Antioch's scandals — to some residents, he enabled the most corrupt officers. In November 2023, the Bay Area News Group reported that Vigil and other high-ranking officers OK'd in internal reviews certain use-of-force incidents, which a federal grand jury later cited as evidence of the Antioch police department's 'scheme' to violate residents' civil rights. When the report prompted community organizers to call for Vigil to resign from his post as acting chief, he refused. What that piece omitted: Antioch officers didn't have body cameras when the incidents in question happened. Due to budgetary issues that caused the City Council to vote down that costly hardware, Vigil's reviews were based almost exclusively on the officers' written description of events. 'To be honest, if I had to do it all over again with the same resources I had at that time, I would've made the same decision,' he told the Chronicle. 'I did the best I could with what I had available.' Scott, Antioch's new city manager, recognized as much. When the City Council hired her in October 2024, it did so based on her experience navigating police misconduct fallout. During her six years helping hold a scandal-prone Seattle Police Department accountable, Scott learned the importance of finding the right cultural fit for chief, not just chasing the biggest possible name. While working with a third-party search firm to vet dozens of national candidates, she kept coming back to Vigil. He began to gain credibility locally by asking for community feedback, bolstering patrol units in the city's highest-crime neighborhoods and publicly admitting the obvious: We have to be better. By the time Scott announced the start of Vigil's second interim tenure this past January at the police station, dozens of people stood and applauded. 'For me, seeing that community trust in him was really pretty impressive,' Scott said. 'It showed me that we were already crossing the threshold of a culture change.' A chaotic schedule affords Vigil little time for decorating. His office remains empty, aside from a family photo on his desk, a motorcycle helmet next to his computer and a Beta Ray Bill action figure on a shelf. Like most police chiefs, Vigil reports to the city manager. What makes Vigil's situation unique is that for the foreseeable future, he must also report to the U.S. Department of Justice, the California Department of Justice and a city-run police oversight commission — all of which became involved with the department because of the sprawling texting scandal. His top priority is to ensure Antioch adheres to the Department of Justice's 25-page memorandum of understanding, which details policies covering everything from use-of-force documentation to community-engagement programs. If Vigil commits even a minor breach of protocol, he risks city officials cycling to their sixth police chief in four years. 'Joe is under a microscope,' Freitas said. 'Really, he has no room for error.' Such rigid guidelines haven't stopped Vigil from being resourceful. To restock Antioch's patrol units, he and other department leaders took out ads in magazines and on billboards. They mined police academies in the Central Valley and Sacramento for new cadets. On a handful of occasions, they set up recruiting booths at local gyms. Through it all, the crux of Vigil's pitch didn't change: Earn a starting salary of around $116,000 while helping resuscitate a city. Antioch now has 90 full-time officers. While steering his SUV past a 24 Hour Fitness on the east side of town, Vigil leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. At some point this fall, he expects the department to have 105 sworn officers. 'We actually just canceled our gym recruiting because our numbers are up so much,' he said. About 80% of Antioch's officers are under 26. As Vigil put it, 'We're starting with a clean slate, and so are they.' Though reports of rape and aggravated assault were up over the first half of this year compared to the same stretch last year, robberies and shootings nose-dived. The two homicides in Antioch so far in 2025 are less than a third of the city's count at this point in 2024. 'Given where the city was, things could only get better (under Vigil), which is what's happening,' said civil rights attorney Ben Nisenbaum, who was among the lawyers representing residents in a federal lawsuit filed in April 2023 — and tentatively settled earlier this year — against Antioch police officers tied to the texting scandal. 'But the trajectory has to be maintained, and there's a lot of work to still be done.' While cruising through a sleepy downtown, Vigil pointed out the beauty of the San Joaquin River peeking over the buildings in the distance. Though some of the barbershops, thrift stores and restaurants had chipped paint or faded signage, the area's early 20th century brick facades, ironwork balconies and Spanish-style bell tower offered quiet reminders of a more vibrant past. Soon enough, Vigil figures, downtown will thrive again. There are fewer 'For Lease' signs in storefront windows than there were a few months ago. In late June, downtown Antioch began hosting the city's first weekly farmers' market. 'To me,' Mayor Ron Bernal said, 'that's as big an indicator as any that the tides are shifting here.' What might matter more is how people perceive crime in their community. For well over a decade, real estate developer Sean McCauley has invested in downtown Antioch in hopes of spearheading a resurgence there reminiscent of the one he helped spur nearby in downtown Brentwood. The big problem was often the lack of police. Now, the same tenants that used to complain to McCauley about officers not responding to break-ins or robberies tell him that officers pull up within 20 minutes of being called. 'It's a night-and-day difference,' said McCauley, who owns more than a dozen buildings downtown. 'Not that long ago, you could go an entire day in Antioch without seeing a single officer.' Families that used to seldom leave their apartments are now running errands without fear, even at night. 'And, when something like a mugging or domestic issue does come up,' local pastor Ruben Herrera said, 'the cops are actually communicating with us directly about what's going on nearby, which never used to happen.' Vigil will need time, though, to repair Antioch's more complex issues. Shagoofa Khan was among the community members named by Antioch police officers in racist and misogynistic text messages. More than two years later, she still has a hard time trusting police. It's not just because some of the same officers who were supposed to protect her neighborhood were sexualizing her and making fun of her ethnicity in those texts. Three months after graduating from Cal State East Bay with a master's degree in public administration, Khan keeps hearing from government agencies that they can't hire her. Online reports related to her activism against Antioch's police department concern managers. Each time Khan opens another rejection email, it feels more and more like a silent penalty for speaking out. 'It's been really hard to deal with,' said Khan, who currently works as a community organizer for an Antioch-based nonprofit. 'I still have some trauma from everything that happened (with the scandal), and now it's like the hardships just won't end.' Vigil doesn't have to look far to see his city's continued struggles. On that July afternoon, after updating a room full of baby-faced officers about the department's improved staffing, Vigil climbed into his Expedition and made the nine-minute drive to Sycamore Square. As he pulled into the parking lot, a dozen men standing in front of La Bonita Market quickly scattered. Just within the past year, that run-down shopping center surrounded by low-income housing has had nearly 1,000 calls to 911, including more than 30 shootings. After stepping out of his SUV, Vigil faced an empty lot across the street from where Antioch police's new satellite office is set to open. For years, city leaders have talked about transforming the space into something worthwhile: maybe a community center, or a massive play structure. As Vigil stood there, all he saw were liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia poking through overgrown grass. 'This place motivates me because it kind of represents what was this town's problem for so long,' he said. 'People talk about change, but don't actually follow through. No more.'
