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Los Angeles Times
15-05-2025
- Los Angeles Times
The Menendez brothers' resentencing would have shocked 1990s L.A.
I never caught the slew of documentaries and dramatizations about The Menendez Brothers, whose notoriety in Southern California is such that they should just trademark their names already. So imagine my surprise last year when then-L.A. County Dist. Atty. George Gascón announced he backed a resentencing of the brothers, arguing 35 years was enough time for the crime of murdering their parents — and besides, they had expressed enough remorse. And imagine my surprise yesterday, when L.A. County Superior Court Judge Michael Jesic agreed. The Menendez brothers now face 50 years to life in prison, which makes them eligible for parole because they committed their murders before they were 26 years old, according to my colleagues James Queally and Richard Winton — the Freddie Freeman and Shohei Ohtani of local crime reporting. Not only that, they have a clemency hearing before the office of Gov. Gavin Newsom next month. Growing up in a Latino Catholic household in Southern California in the 1990s, there were no monsters worse than Erik and Lyle Menendez. I was 10 years old when their parents, Jose and Kitty, were brutally killed in their Beverly Hills home. Their sons were arrested on suspicion of murdering their parents the following year and went through two trials before a jury found them guilty of first-degree murder in 1996. A judge sentenced them to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Everyone figured that was that. Erik and Lyle garnered next to no public sympathy that I could remember. Lyle did them no favors by going on spending sprees in the months after their parents' deaths, according to witnesses. Nobody bought the story that the two did it because Jose sexually abused them while Kitty did nothing. It also didn't help that courtroom footage and photos of the Menendez brothers — Erik's intense stare, Lyle's dead eyes, both wearing pastel sweaters in an effort to soften their image — cast them as poor little rich boys who thought they could get away with anything. The teenage part of me today still can't believe Erik and Lyle have any supporters at all. Who would ever support someone who shot their mother dead while she was trying to crawl away, as Lyle testified in the first trial? The adult part of me knows that public perception of them has dramatically changed in the time they've been imprisoned. A series of updates supported their story that their father had abused them. A Netflix show produced by Ryan Murphy softened their image; a Netflix documentary retold their story to a new generation. More important, their extended family united to argue they and the brothers have suffered enough and want to close the sad Menendez saga once and for all. 'I don't think they are the same people they were 30 years ago,' Anamaria Baralt, a cousin of the brothers, said on the stand during the resentencing hearing. At this point, the only person who seems to be angry about the idea of the Menendez brothers having a chance at parole is L.A. County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman. He unsuccessfully fought to overturn Gascon's request for a resentencing hearing, and his prosecutors unsuccessfully argued against it at the Van Nuys courthouse on Tuesday. Hochman's office was so unsuccessful, in fact, that Judge Jesic issued his ruling after just a day of hearings, when everyone expected at least two. The Menendez brothers' parole hearing still hasn't been scheduled, and Newsom and future governors can keep them incarcerated forever. But teenage me never would have believed they could get to this point. What's next, he would have asked: OJ Simpson, a criminal? Sky says: 'Midnight Rider by the Allman Brothers.'Paul says: 'Lyin' Eyes by The Eagles.' Email us at essentialcalifornia@ and your response might appear in the newsletter this week. On May 15, 1940, the first McDonald's restaurant was opened by brothers Maurice and Richard McDonald in San Bernardino. Three years ago, Times columnist Patt Morrison wrote about how Southern California has given the world so much, including fast food giants that began as mom-an-pop undertakings, or pop-and-son enterprises, and wound up as corporate owned chains. Have a great day, from the Essential California team Gustavo Arellano, California columnistKevinisha Walker, multiplatform editorKarim Doumar, head of newsletters How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@ Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on
Yahoo
13-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
She has twins, a job and no criminal record. After 11 years in Milwaukee, she's pleading not to be deported.
Yessenia Ruano can't imagine returning to her home country of El Salvador. She has twin U.S. citizen daughters and a job as a teacher's aide in Milwaukee. She's lived in the U.S. for 14 years. Violence and repression are rampant in El Salvador. But it's becoming increasingly likely she won't have any choice. Ruano's future, and the future of her 9-year-old girls, hinges on a check-in appointment Friday with U.S. immigration officials. She is asking for more time so her application for a T visa, or a visa given to victims of severe human trafficking, can be submitted and considered. "I have good moral character, I pay my taxes, and I've always contributed to society in this country," Ruano, 37, said in Spanish at a news conference Tuesday. She chose to publicize her story at the Voces de la Frontera offices on Milwaukee's south side in hopes it will sway U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials not to carry out her deportation order. "I want my two daughters to grow up in a country safer than mine, in a country that offers opportunities to those who want to push themselves, and study, and leave a legacy," Ruano said. She is one of countless immigrants without legal status who are facing the terrifying reality of deportation even though they haven't committed any crimes, have U.S. citizen family members and say they'd face persecution if they returned home. People like Ruano were not priorities for removal during the Biden administration. But that has changed with President Donald Trump's administration. More: Trump's immigrant crackdown is part rumor, part reality. But for Latinos, it's all fear. The Trump administration has said it is prioritizing for deportation those accused or convicted of crimes, but NBC News reported that nearly half of those arrested on one day, Jan. 26, had no criminal records. The government has not responded to other outlets' requests for data on who has been arrested. Federal immigration agents are facing pressure from the Trump administration to arrest more people. Mass deportation was a central promise of Trump's campaign, and reports indicate he has been frustrated with the slow pace of arrests. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement offices now have daily quotas, according to the Washington Post. Ruano's pastor, the Rev. Javier Bustos, lauded her strength in speaking out. He leads Our Lady Queen of Peace and Blessed Sacrament, two Latino Catholic parishes on the south side. "Only someone who loved her family, that had strong values, could do that," he said. "This is absurd to consider that someone of her character could be a threat to any country, to any society." And he echoed her request for more time. "It's not her fault that the immigration system is broken," he said. Ruano is an aide in a kindergarten classroom at a bilingual school, where her daughters are enrolled. On Tuesday, they joined her in front of the TV cameras. As she spoke, her daughter Elizabeth leaned her head on Ruano's shoulder and cried quietly. It's not clear what would happen to the girls if Ruano were deported. All the options are painful for Ruano to consider. "They don't know anything else," she said, but life in Milwaukee. "We've never been separated." More: Wisconsin Council of Churches joins lawsuit challenging immigration arrests at houses of worship Ruano is one of many who have struggled to navigate the highly convoluted world of immigration law. She believes she received poor legal advice from her Ohio-based immigration law firm, which has offices in several large cities. After Ruano crossed the southern border into the U.S. in 2011 at age 24, she petitioned for a status that recognizes those escaping persecution, called "withholding of removal." It is similar to asylum. It provides a work permit and the opportunity to stay indefinitely in the country. In 2023, a judge ruled her case for withholding of removal wasn't strong enough, and he offered her a deal. He'd dismiss her case but not order her to leave the U.S. Her attorney advised her to take the deal, so she did. But, she said, the attorney didn't tell her the deal exposed her to deportation. An order to leave from border agents was still standing. She petitioned that year to pause her removal orders, but it was denied. Searching online, she found out about the T visa for trafficking victims. She believed she would fit the criteria. Back in 2011, Ruano crossed the border by paying $3,500 to smugglers, who brought her to a small house where 30 people stayed. They were locked in the home for two weeks, fed once a day, and Ruano was in charge of cleaning. She was sexually abused, she said. Only a fraction of the 5,000 T visas available annually are awarded because the eligibility criteria is strict. An applicant must prove they were a victim of sex trafficking or labor trafficking; they must have provided information to law enforcement investigating the traffickers; and they must prove they would suffer 'extreme hardship involving unusual and severe harm' were they returned to their home country. Ruano fled gang violence in El Salvador in 2011. She received a death threat before she left, she said. Her brother was murdered, and so were several friends. "I don't know what will happen if I return there," she said. "I'm scared." Ruano completed the paperwork for the T visa in May 2024, but said her Ohio attorney never filed the application. She now has hired a Milwaukee attorney. A pending T visa application would give her protection from deportation. At the news conference Tuesday, Ruano pushed up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal a black tracking bracelet. She has attended every one of her check-in appointments with ICE, she said. Two months ago, in December, ICE told her she had run out of time to find another way to stay. "It's really bad," she said. "That's why sometimes I say, 'I don't want to keep going.'" Her hope is the officers on Friday will allow her more time to stay so she can submit her T visa. Ruano has paid thousands of dollars to prepare the application, she said. Her Milwaukee attorney was not available for comment. Ruano keeps all the papers from her yearslong legal saga in a plastic yellow folder that once kept her daughter's school work. And she shows off her work visa, which is current for several more months, and her Wisconsin driver's license. It's all to say: Wisconsin has been her home for a long time. Speaking to reporters was part of a last-ditch effort. When she finished, she walked over to her girls. Taking one daughter under each arm, she pulled them close, stroking their hair and kissing their cheeks. Sophie Carson is a general assignment reporter who reports on religion and faith, immigrants and refugees and more. Contact her at scarson@ or 920-323-5758. This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: Milwaukee teacher's aide facing deportation makes urgent plea to ICE
USA Today
13-02-2025
- Politics
- USA Today
She has twins, a job and no criminal record. After 11 years in Milwaukee, she's pleading not to be deported.
She has twins, a job and no criminal record. After 11 years in Milwaukee, she's pleading not to be deported. Yessenia Ruano can't imagine returning to her home country of El Salvador. She has twin U.S. citizen daughters and a job as a teacher's aide in Milwaukee. She's lived in the U.S. for 14 years. Violence and repression are rampant in El Salvador. But it's becoming increasingly likely she won't have any choice. Ruano's future, and the future of her 9-year-old girls, hinges on a check-in appointment Friday with U.S. immigration officials. She is asking for more time so her application for a T visa, or a visa given to victims of severe human trafficking, can be submitted and considered. "I have good moral character, I pay my taxes, and I've always contributed to society in this country," Ruano, 37, said in Spanish at a news conference Tuesday. She chose to publicize her story at the Voces de la Frontera offices on Milwaukee's south side in hopes it will sway U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials not to carry out her deportation order. "I want my two daughters to grow up in a country safer than mine, in a country that offers opportunities to those who want to push themselves, and study, and leave a legacy," Ruano said. She is one of countless immigrants without legal status who are facing the terrifying reality of deportation even though they haven't committed any crimes, have U.S. citizen family members and say they'd face persecution if they returned home. People like Ruano were not priorities for removal during the Biden administration. But that has changed with President Donald Trump's administration. More: Trump's immigrant crackdown is part rumor, part reality. But for Latinos, it's all fear. Federal agents are facing pressure to arrest more people The Trump administration has said it is prioritizing for deportation those accused or convicted of crimes, but NBC News reported that nearly half of those arrested on one day, Jan. 26, had no criminal records. The government has not responded to other outlets' requests for data on who has been arrested. Federal immigration agents are facing pressure from the Trump administration to arrest more people. Mass deportation was a central promise of Trump's campaign, and reports indicate he has been frustrated with the slow pace of arrests. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement offices now have daily quotas, according to the Washington Post. Ruano's pastor, the Rev. Javier Bustos, lauded her strength in speaking out. He leads Our Lady Queen of Peace and Blessed Sacrament, two Latino Catholic parishes on the south side. "Only someone who loved her family, that had strong values, could do that," he said. "This is absurd to consider that someone of her character could be a threat to any country, to any society." And he echoed her request for more time. "It's not her fault that the immigration system is broken," he said. Ruano is an aide in a kindergarten classroom at a bilingual school, where her daughters are enrolled. On Tuesday, they joined her in front of the TV cameras. As she spoke, her daughter Elizabeth leaned her head on Ruano's shoulder and cried quietly. It's not clear what would happen to the girls if Ruano were deported. All the options are painful for Ruano to consider. "They don't know anything else," she said, but life in Milwaukee. "We've never been separated." More: Wisconsin Council of Churches joins lawsuit challenging immigration arrests at houses of worship Mother has been navigating the complex web of immigration law Ruano is one of many who have struggled to navigate the highly convoluted world of immigration law. She believes she received poor legal advice from her Ohio-based immigration law firm, which has offices in several large cities. After Ruano crossed the southern border into the U.S. in 2011 at age 24, she petitioned for a status that recognizes those escaping persecution, called "withholding of removal." It is similar to asylum. It provides a work permit and the opportunity to stay indefinitely in the country. In 2023, a judge ruled her case for withholding of removal wasn't strong enough, and he offered her a deal. He'd dismiss her case but not order her to leave the U.S. Her attorney advised her to take the deal, so she did. But, she said, the attorney didn't tell her the deal exposed her to deportation. An order to leave from border agents was still standing. She petitioned that year to pause her removal orders, but it was denied. Searching online, she found out about the T visa for trafficking victims. She believed she would fit the criteria. Back in 2011, Ruano crossed the border by paying $3,500 to smugglers, who brought her to a small house where 30 people stayed. They were locked in the home for two weeks, fed once a day, and Ruano was in charge of cleaning. She was sexually abused, she said. Only a fraction of the 5,000 T visas available annually are awarded because the eligibility criteria is strict. An applicant must prove they were a victim of sex trafficking or labor trafficking; they must have provided information to law enforcement investigating the traffickers; and they must prove they would suffer 'extreme hardship involving unusual and severe harm' were they returned to their home country. Ruano fled gang violence in El Salvador in 2011. She received a death threat before she left, she said. Her brother was murdered, and so were several friends. "I don't know what will happen if I return there," she said. "I'm scared." Ruano completed the paperwork for the T visa in May 2024, but said her Ohio attorney never filed the application. She now has hired a Milwaukee attorney. A pending T visa application would give her protection from deportation. Friday may be her last check-in with ICE agents At the news conference Tuesday, Ruano pushed up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal a black tracking bracelet. She has attended every one of her check-in appointments with ICE, she said. Two months ago, in December, ICE told her she had run out of time to find another way to stay. "It's really bad," she said. "That's why sometimes I say, 'I don't want to keep going.'" Her hope is the officers on Friday will allow her more time to stay so she can submit her T visa. Ruano has paid thousands of dollars to prepare the application, she said. Her Milwaukee attorney was not available for comment. Ruano keeps all the papers from her yearslong legal saga in a plastic yellow folder that once kept her daughter's school work. And she shows off her work visa, which is current for several more months, and her Wisconsin driver's license. It's all to say: Wisconsin has been her home for a long time. Speaking to reporters was part of a last-ditch effort. When she finished, she walked over to her girls. Taking one daughter under each arm, she pulled them close, stroking their hair and kissing their cheeks. Sophie Carson is a general assignment reporter who reports on religion and faith, immigrants and refugees and more. Contact her at scarson@ or 920-323-5758.
