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Press Clip Archive: 2004 Fall (Sept. - Dec.) Ft. Worth Star Telegram By Jay Root Five arrested at Bush ranch seek damages AUSTIN _ Five anti-war activists are suing state and local authorities over their unlawful arrest outside President Bush's ranch in Crawford last year, the Texas Civil Rights Project said Wednesday.
Waco Tribune By BRANDI GRISSOM Protestors arrested in Crawford file civil lawsuit AUSTIN - Anti-war activists arrested near President Bush's Crawford ranch last year are filing a civil lawsuit claiming police conspired to violate their free speech rights.
The Daily Texan, November 30, 2004 Civil trial against UTPD officer begins Opening statements were presented Monday in the civil suit by former UT student Jonathan Bougie against a UT police officer. Bougie, now a professor of physics at Huston-Tillotson College, is claiming that Officer Wayne Coffey smashed Bougie's head into a concrete planter while Bougie was chalking sidewalk messages promoting an anti-war rally last year. Ingrid Hansen of the Texas Attorney General's office represented Coffey but could not comment on the trial as it was still proceeding, said spokesman Tom Kelley. Susan Bradshaw, UT associate vice president for legal affairs, said the University could not comment. After jury selection and opening statements, Wayne Krause, an attorney for the Texas Civil Rights Project representing Bougie, called biology senior Matthew Perry to the stand. Perry alleges that he was studying at the Undergraduate Library when he saw Coffey quietly approach Bougie from behind and open-handedly smack his head. In what Bougie's attorney is calling an excessive use of force, the blow broke his glasses and caused facial injuries that were later treated at Brackenridge Hospital with four stitches March 19, 2003. UT police charged Bougie with criminal mischief, a Class "C" Misdemeanor, citing a regulation that prohibits individuals from applying chalk to sidewalks. Krause, staff counsel for the Texas Civil Rights Project, said these charges were later dismissed. The plaintiffs then brought up Coffey for questioning, but the case will continue today when the rest of their witnesses, along with Bougie, will be presented. The defense will then present their case. Krause said a ruling could come as early as today, though there was a possibility the case could extend to Wednesday. The lawsuit seeks monetary damages, but Bougie said he hoped the case would also reveal the deficiencies of the University and UTPD concerning lack of policy or training in regards to students' civil rights. "I think students and whoever should be able to express their free speech rights on campus without being afraid of getting beaten up by the police," Bougie said. However, neither the University nor UTPD are included in the suit, "because, legally, the facts may have not lent themselves to retaining them in the complaint," Krause said. UTPD Assistant Chief Terry McMahan could not comment on the case but said he believed the department is sensitive to everyone's rights, especially those of students. "Colleges are known for free speech and the expression of ideas, and [UTPD officers] deal with this issue on a daily basis, so we're probably more sensitive to it than others," McMahan said. Coffey still works at UTPD and can be seen on billboards on Interstate 35 and Highway 71 with other officers advertising support for Austin law enforcement. The billboard reads, "How many total strangers have you protected today?" Former UT student gets day in court AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF Tuesday, November 30, 2004 The police officer looked "strange" as he ran across the University of Texas West Mall that night last year, "like he was tiptoeing" or "sneaking up on someone," UT student Matthew Perry testified at the start of a civil rights trial in federal court on Monday. Perry said he halted his cell phone conversation to watch the officer, who was heading toward a student writing in chalk on a short cement wall outside the Texas Union. After initially slowing down, the officer gathered a full head of steam and ran at the student, extended his right hand and smashed the student's face against the cement wall, Perry testified. The student, who was facing the wall the entire time, never saw it coming, Perry told a jury convened before U.S. District Judge Sam Sparks. Perry was the first witness in a civil trial pitting Jonathan Bougie -- the student who was chalking the wall that night -- against UT police officer Wayne Coffey. Bougie, who is seeking unspecified damages, says Coffey used excessive force against him that night; Coffey denies that. He contends that he forced Bougie to the ground to keep him from escaping an impending arrest for criminal mischief. Bougie was a graduate student in physics and a member of the Campus Coalition for Peace and Justice on March 19, 2003, the night the United States invaded Iraq. About 10:30 p.m., Bougie was writing "protest the war" on the wall to persuade fellow students to attend an anti-war rally the next day. The West Mall is a usual center of protest activity on campus; chalk is regularly used by student groups to promote various activities, including protests. Bougie, 30, has since earned a doctorate in physics from UT and teaches physics and physical science at Huston-Tillotson College. He was arrested by Coffey that night on charges of criminal mischief, a Class C misdemeanor. The charges were later dropped. Bougie's attorney, Wayne Krause of the Texas Civil Rights Project, said in his opening statement that Coffey failed to identify himself as a police officer before pushing Bougie into the wall, "breaking his glasses, leaving Dr. Bougie bloody and having to go to the emergency room." Coffey's attorney, Assistant Attorney General Richard Salisbury, said the officer's actions were "reasonable under the circumstances." Coffey didn't know if Bougie had a weapon, and his first priority was to ensure his own safety, Salisbury said. The decision to not immediately identify himself as a police officer was "a judgment call," Salisbury said. When called to testify by Bougie's lawyers, Coffey said he ran up behind Bougie and put his hands on the student's shoulders, not on his head. "He lunged left, looked right a little bit, looked up at me a little bit and then he raised up," Coffey testified. Coffey said he had been dispatched to the West Mall on a report that someone was chalking a wall without permission of the university. "It was necessary for me to use force because I thought Dr. Bougie was going to flee," he said. Coffey is a former professional football player who Krause said has been a UT officer for "six or seven years." Salisbury declined to comment on his client's employment history after the close of testimony. According to Total Football, a book that includes a record of every National Football League player in history, Coffey played three games for the New England Patriots in 1987, catching three passes for 66 yards. The Web site ArenaFan.com says that Coffey played from 1989 to 1995 in the Arena Football League. Coffey's lawyers will cross-examine him when the trial continues this morning. The trial is expected to last three days. PRESS RELEASE Texas Civil Rights Project Awarded $60,000 Fellowship Austin - The Texas Civil Rights Project (TCRP) will host a colonia rights education fellow at its South Texas office for the next two years, thanks to a $60,000 grant by the National Legal Aid and Defender Association (NLADA) and the National Consumer Law Center (NCLC).
KVUE.Com Lawsuit claims city disclosed man's HIV status The City of Austin and two of its employees are being sued for allegedly disclosing a person's HIV status.
News 8 Austin Man sues over HIV disclosure Mr. Doe, an HIV-positive man, had been going to the city-run David Powell Clinic for seven years.
Austin American-Statesman, statesman.com Suicide victim's sister, Travis County settle lawsuit Thursday, September 16, 2004 Nearly three years after her brother jumped to his death at the Travis County Jail, Debbie Mergele got a $64,000 settlement from the county. She also got some things she considered more important: an apology and a list of changes made to prevent suicides. So far, the changes seem to be working: After averaging a suicide a year since 1997, the jail has not had one since John Frump jumped from a second-story cellblock in November 2001. The lawsuit was settled Aug. 16. Mergele had sued Travis County Sheriff Margo Frasier, whose office runs the jails, and two other county officials last year. In the lawsuit, her lawyers argued that Frump should have been on suicide watch when he died. That day, after the 44-year-old geologist was released from his cell for dinner, he ran upstairs to the second tier of cells at the downtown Austin jail. He yelled at guards to leave him alone, climbed the mezzanine railing and jumped. He died four hours later at Brackenridge Hospital. "As I told Mr. Frump's family, we didn't handle this the way I would have liked to see this done," Frasier said. A week before Frump was arrested on sexual assault charges in an attack on his former wife, he had been involuntarily placed at the Austin State Hospital for psychiatric care after a failed suicide attempt. In addition, as he was being booked into the jail, he threatened to kill himself, the sheriff's department has said. During his second day at the jail, Frump was taken off a 24-hour suicide watch, in which guards check on inmates at least every 15 minutes and restrict their access to items such as some types of bedding and clothing that they could use to kill themselves. That day, Frasier said, Frump told his cellmate that he wanted to kill himself, and those statements were passed on to a jail counselor, but Frump remained in the general inmate population. That's the point at which Frasier thinks things could have been handled differently, she said. "I don't know that we could have prevented his death, but I am sorry that he died in our facility," Frasier said. She said that since Frump's death, her office has hired a contract psychiatrist full time to replace part-time psychiatrists. She also said that corrections officers and counselors have been retrained on dealing with potentially suicidal inmates. Corrections officers are now urged to aggressively share information about an inmate's actions and threats with counselors and psychiatrists. Jail officials had considered installing a mesh screen to prevent jumping from the second tier but decided against it because that would cut down on jailers' visibility and hinder safety, Frasier said. Mergele, 46, said that more important than the financial settlement is knowing that jail officials have made some changes and that they regret what happened. "I wasn't out for money," said Mergele, who filed the lawsuit on her brother's behalf because she is his closest relative. "I didn't want this to happen to anyone else." Law aids immigrants who are victims of abuse Hernán Rozemberg SAN JUAN — Elvira Arredondo is trying to make up for 14 years without smiling. The owner of a taquería in this small town in the Rio Grande Valley, Arredondo today is the picture of an independent woman: Getting the restaurant off the ground, expanding her fledgling catering service, helping lead local voter registration drives and ensuring a good education for her children. She even beamed about filing her own taxes. The radical change came about in the past couple of years after she broke away from more than a decade of virtual home imprisonment at the hands of an abusive husband. Thousands of undocumented immigrant women across the country, like Arredondo once was, are victims of domestic violence. Escape becomes all but impossible, as the abusers use their status as U.S. residents or citizens to hold their wives hostage, threatening to call immigration officers to have them deported if they act up. Yet some have found a way out. A little-known section of the Violence Against Women Act allows abused undocumented immigrant women — and children and men — to file secretly for legal residency on their own. They also could apply to not get deported, if they already had been ordered out of the country. Applicants must be formally married when they submit the paperwork, which typically includes a statement detailing the type and length of abuse. Most applications are approved, unless government reviewers don't see enough proof of abuse or if applicants have a criminal record. Immigration investigators do look into the claims before approval is given. The victims are asked to file birth and marriage certificates and get affidavits from others who are aware of the abuse. The women also are asked to submit photos of the injuries and doctors' reports, if they are available. Though it may easily take several years before approved applicants receive their "green cards," they usually get a voucher for public benefits in a couple of months — so at least they can leave the abusive home — followed by a work permit. Officials with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, the agency managing the program, said a national publicity campaign was launched after the law was passed. And though the quantity of applicants is minimal in terms of the general population, one administrator said word gradually has spread and more undocumented battered women are recognizing it as a viable option. "This program is very unique because the government works closely with community groups," the administrator said. "We recognize the unique circumstances of these battered women and children." Some immigrant advocates, however, said that even after a decade in the books, most people have never heard of the law. Juan Rios, who travels rural South Texas looking to assist victims, said many police and immigration officers — even some shelter workers — are ignorant of the provision. Even those who have heard of it don't know that abuse does not have to mean large, visible bruises, said Rios, who works for the Texas Civil Rights Project. Though harder to prove, "extreme cruelty" cases involve verbal or mental maltreatment. In the end, lack of knowledge about the program hurts victims the worst, said Rios, noting dozens of undocumented battered women would sign up, only if they knew it existed. Arredondo, the taquería owner in San Juan, a few miles north of the U.S.-Mexico border, wishes she could have found out about it sooner. She left her home in Tampico, Mexico, as a teenager in search of a better-paying job. She obtained a border-crossing card, typically used for short shopping trips, but then stayed, cleaning homes in the Rio Grande Valley. She fell in love with a man who turned aggressive after they were married, she said. She followed her husband, a U.S.-born migrant farm worker, traveling between Texas, Colorado and Idaho. He constantly abused her verbally and physically, she said, slapping her to the floor even when she was pregnant with their first child. As their two children grew, he also hit them. He threatened to kill her many times — one night he came close, jamming a kitchen knife against her throat. At first, she couldn't leave him because she still loved him. Then she couldn't leave him because she feared she'd be deported to Mexico. "He said all the time all he needed was a quarter — to call la migra," Arredondo, 40, recalled. One night in late 2001 she finally took off, children in tow. A local shelter worker referred her to the Texas Civil Rights Project, which took her case and, through the federal law's provision, successfully gained legality. She's waiting for her green card, but her work permit allowed her to start a registered restaurant and catering business. After more than two years out of a life of abuse, she has even been tapped by advocates to speak to other women considering applying for the program but still fearful of the consequences. "This opportunity has been like an angel came down from the sky just for me," she said. "I know it's a scary step, but more women have to see this as a good way out." For some, it could be their only means of survival. As an educated woman, with a degree in architecture in Monterrey, Mexico, who had already experienced one failed marriage, Fabiola Nuñez thought she would know better than end up in an abusive relationship. Yet the Brownsville resident spent three straight years terrified about the man she had happily married a year earlier. He would say he was only joking when he began to push her around or pull her hair, she said. Then one day the pushing and shoving turned into punches to the face. One night he beat her incessantly and locked her inside a room. Had he not passed out from being drunk, he would have killed her, she said. Screaming for help, she dashed to a neighbor's house and called police. She was taken to a local shelter and then referred to Proyecto Libertad in Harlingen, a nonprofit advocacy group that handles cases for undocumented women. Today, three years into her new life as a permanent resident and after a two-year stint as a domestic violence counselor, she's back in school, taking architecture classes. She has three children in Brownsville schools. "If this law didn't exist, I might not exist myself," she said. Despite its name, the program is not limited to just women. Abused children, like David in Eagle Pass, also can apply. David, who did not want to give his last name, became a victim of his stepfather, who tormented the youngster and his mother for seven years. David's mother married the man when the boy was 9. He often stayed as late as he could at a friend's house to avoid watching the stepfather — a U.S. resident — overpower his mother, he said. Many times over the years, she would grab David in the middle of the night to run away for days, sometimes weeks, only eventually to return to the abuser's house. Though he never found out details of how it occurred, when he returned home one night, David learned his mother was gone — she had been deported to Piedras Negras, Mexico, their hometown. He found refuge in his aunt's house, but he lived in daily fear that he, too, would be rounded up and sent back. His aunt signed him up for counseling sessions. Advocate Juan Rios heard about David's story and helped him process the paperwork and paid the $110 application fee. The government approved the petition this month. When his work permit arrives in the mail, David said, he'll truly feel free. It has been nearly five years since he escaped abuse, but he still fears being in public or leaving town, thinking authorities could pick him up at any time. Once armed with legal documents, David, now 21, plans to apply for college and might also sign up for military service. No matter the choice, he just wants to be able to finally say he's got a future. "I thought I was going to stay down for the rest of my life," he said. "I'm so excited now — I'm going to do so many things. This has been so unexpected." |
