November 12, 1996 8:26 pm November 15, 1996 11:19 am RE: Alfredo Oviedo and repression in Joliet From: VX On November 8, 1996, 30-year-old Manuel Salazar walked out of jail and into the embrace of his family and friends. A long twelve years ago, a teenage Manuel was being beaten down in an alley by a white Joliet cop named Martin Murrin. Manuel fought back, Murrin pulled out his gun, and in the struggle that followed, Murrin was shot and killed. Manuel was railroaded for murder and sentenced to death. After spending over a decade on death row, the jury in Manuel's new trial found him guilty of only the lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter. Having already served more than the maximum five-year sentence, Manuel was in effect, a free man. While the authorities were outraged that a "cop killer" escaped execution, the verdict brought joy to Manuel's family and supporters. Among them were Alfredo and Margarita Oviedo. For six years they and their kids have been involved in the struggle to free Manuel. Manning a picket, sitting in a courtroom or even providing tacos to feed out-of-town protesters - if there was an action against police brutality or in support of Manuel Salazar, it was a good chance that an Oviedo would be involved. It was an involvement that has come at a price. Harrassment, threats, brutality - a whole menu of repression was served up by the police and city government. Recently, a correspondent from the Revolutionary Worker was able to speak with Alfredo about the campaign of intimidation the authorities carried out against his family and others who defended Manuel. "I'm not out for a job, I'm not out for a position, I'm not out for money. It's satisfaction and a joy for my heart." Alfredo was at a point in his life where many others would simply take it easier. Having taken an early retirement from his shipping/receiving job, he just worked a few hours a day driving. Yet it wasn't too surprising that he would involve himself in Manuel's case. When he was an eleven-year-old living in Texas, he saw the cops beat his Uncle down to the ground. That image left a permanent hatred for the kind of brutality that too often is casually delivered by the police. It meant that when he was asked to help organize to free Manuel, the answer had to be 'yes.' Repression wasn't long in coming, and it took many forms. One technique was "selective" enforcement. In 1992, a program was held in Joliet at a church on both Manuel Salazar's case and police brutality in the community. The next day at Mass, parishoners discovered that police were ticketing cars that were parked in the alley and on the sidewalk. Alfredo pointed out that while technically the police had a right to ticket the cars, this was the first time this had ever happened. In different incident, another church gave a room for regular meetings to a local group working on Manuel's case and on issues of police brutality. It wasn't long before city building inspectors descended on the church, citing it for various code violations and forcing the church to close. When it reopened six months later, the new pastor would not allow meetings to be held. Alfredo's family also got first hand experience with this kind of treatment. It seemed that each time he spoke out on the radio, he could expect a city inspector to pay a visit to look for petty yard violations. More common have been the constant visits by police. At night shinging their spotlight at the house, during the day the giving the finger as they drive by. This harassment hasn't ended with the verdict. Last week, a cop scoped out Alfredo's house and then wrote a ticket for a car in the driveway that was blocking the sidewalk. As burdensome as this harassment is, Alfredo is more concerned about the way the police have gone after his four kids. From verbal harassment and threats, to beatings and sexual assaults, they have all been targetted by the Joliet police. Police have subject Alfredo's youngest daughter, 13, to intimidation tactics and verbal abuse. A few weeks ago while at school, a cop wearing a blue memorial ribbon for Murrin ordered her to remove her red "Free Manuel Salazar" button. She refused. Around that time, she was also harassed by a cop while she was over at a friends house. He had spotted her while he drove by, and falsely accused her of putting up some graffitti. During his rant, he told her that her father's efforts won't do any good, that "Manuel Salazar is going to die," and "Your father's a cop killer." Another of Alfredo's daughter, 17, was physically assaulted by a cop this past summer. They police had followed her and her boyfriend to a building owned her mother. While she was inside the building collecting rents, the cops were jacking her boyfriend up against a car. Their excuse was the lie that Alfredo's daughter was getting drugs. Returning outside, Alfredo's daughter saw what was happening and immediately went next door to her aunt and uncle's apartment. As she's on the phone with her father, a cop barges into the apartment, grabs her hair, pulls her away, and slams the phone down. She's handcuffed and put in the back of the squad car until Alfredo arrives. After an argument, the cops let her go, and give her boyfriend a ticket. Similar treatment - and worse - has been given to Alfredo's eldest daughter, 23. After being stopped by police in the fall of 1995, she and her boyfriend were taken from their car, handcuffed and put on the ground for forty-five minutes. On another occasion, she was handcuffed after being stopped for a minor traffic violation. The cop made a smart remark about her murdered brother - "How do you think your fucking brother is doing in hell?" After she replied with a crack about Murrin, the cop spit in her face. It was during the summer of 1995 when police committed their most vicious act. She and her boyfriend were hanging out in a car lot that belonged to his father. At around two in the morning the a few cops show up - with the excuse that they're investigating a shooting. The cops don't pat down her boyfriend, yet demand Alfredo's daughter submit to a search. At the time, all she had on was a bathing suit. She tells the cop to radio a woman officer. The cop refuses and insists he's "authorized to search females." Alfredo's daughter tells him that she won't let him do this to her and pulls away. The cop takes out his gun, says the search isn't over, and orders her to stand with her arms against a wall. The cop then feels up her body and private parts. As this goes on, her boyfriend yells at the cops, "Don't touch her, get your hands off of her." They beat him down with flashlights and kick him on the ground. Alfredo's daughter later filed a lawsuit in federal court against this assault. The final victim of this campaign of police terror has been Alfredo's 28-year-old son. As recent as a few weeks ago, police harassed him outside a store. In response to his protests, one of the cops said, "I told you skunk, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna take your fucking ass to jail." The police have threatened him like this often, promising to lock him up, run him out of town or simply kill him. Alfredo's son has good reason to take these threats seriously. Twice he's been beaten up by the police, the second time as recently as last spring. He fought back and was charged with an assault and battery on the cop. A few months after that, he was almost killed when a police car rammed his bicicyle, sending him flying into the air. Now, as a result of the charges against him, he may be sentenced to prison. In the face of this, Alfredo and his family have refused to back off of their support for Manuel. "I'm not the type of guy who runs, I never run for anyone," Alfredo remarked. He says what makes these sacrifices worth it are the victories - what he calls "collecting" - whether it's getting a person to make a complaint on police brutality, or finally seeing Manuel free. Since the verdict, Alfredo is concerned that Manuel Salazar's newfound might be cut short by a policeman's club or bullet. He pointed out that during the trial, the cop who functioned as the bodyguard for Murrin's widow would point his hand at Manuel as if it was a gun, and mouth the words, "I'm gonna get you." This same cop also made threatening motions to one of Manuel's older brothers during the trial, and has also been involved in the harassment of Alfredo's family. Soon after the verdict, Manuel's sister heard that the police had it out for her brother, and a few days later, an unknown car was parked near Manuel's home, the car's occupants watching the house. The threats from the police should be no surprise. Manuel's release was a setback for the system. At a time when the authorities want to put executions on the fast track, it again publicly exposed how the court system railroads people onto death row. What sent the authorities even more into a rage was that a jury did not automatically rubber stamp the prosecution just because it involved killing a cop. Manuel had defended himself against police brutality and lived to tell the tale. If the authorities couldn't wipe out Manuel legally, there's no reason they won't try to do it some other way. But Manuel's release also sends another message, that nothing is impossible, and certainly not just because the authorities say it is. For years the steady chant from police and prosecution was "Manuel Salazar is going to die." As the cops kept telling Alfredo's kids, it was a "waste of time" to stand with Manuel. The jury's verdict on November 8 proved that the authorities couldn't have been more wrong, and that Manuel's family, Alfredo's family and all those who fought for Manuel - were right.