Hundreds of protesters opposing Texas’ tough new anti-“sanctuary cities” law launched a raucous protest from the public gallery in the Texas House on Monday, briefly halting work during the final, largely ceremonial day of the legislative session.
Demonstrators wearing red T-shirts reading “Lucha,” or “Fight,” quietly filled hundreds of gallery seats as proceedings began. After about 40 minutes, they began to cheer, drowning out the lawmakers below. Protesters also blew whistles and chanted: “Here to stay!” and, “Hey, hey, ho, ho, SB4 has got to go,” referring to the bill that Gov. Greg Abbott signed into law this month.
Some waved banners reading: “See you in court!” Texas’ new law is reminiscent of a 2010 Arizona “show your papers” measure that allowed police to inquire about a person’s immigration status during routine interactions such as traffic stops. It was eventually struck down in court.
Under SB4, Texas police chiefs and sheriffs are required — under the threat of jail and removal from office — to comply with federal requests to hold criminal suspects for possible deportation.
Police officers also have the option to ask the immigration status of anyone they stop. The bill was viewed as a crackdown on Austin and other “sanctuary cities,” a term that has no legal meaning but describes parts of the country where police are not tasked with helping enforce federal immigration law.
The Texas House leadership stopped the session and asked state troopers to clear the gallery. The demonstration continued for about 20 minutes as officers led people out of the chamber peacefully in small groups. There were no reports of arrests.
A legislative session that began in January concludes Monday, and the day is usually reserved for group photos and goodbyes. Lawmakers are constitutionally barred from approving most legislation on the last day.
But even after the protest ended, tensions remained high. Rep. Ramon Romero, a Democrat from Fort Worth, said he was standing with fellow Democratic Rep. Cesar Blanco of El Paso when Republican colleague Matt Rinaldi came over and said, “This is [nonsense] That’s why I called ICE.”
Rinaldi, of Irving in suburban Dallas, and Blanco then began shouting at each other. A scuffle nearly ensued before other lawmakers separated the two.
Monday’s protest was organized by activists who canvassed over Memorial Day weekend in Austin. They informed anxious immigrants about the rights they retain despite the law and urged grassroots resistance against it.
Abril Gallardo rode 15 hours in a van to Austin to urge fellow Hispanics to fight back.
“Fear motivated me to get involved,” said Gallardo, a 26-year-old Mexican native who entered the U.S. illegally at age 12.
Texas cities and immigrant rights’ groups have challenged the legality of the law, hopeful for a legal victory like the one in Arizona, but that could take months to have any effect.
But even as some vowed to fight, others have begun fleeing the state. Their ranks are still too small to quantify, but a larger exodus — similar to what occurred in Arizona — could have a profound effect on the Texas economy. The state has more than 1 million immigrants illegally in the country, according to the Migration Policy Institute.
Some are abandoning Texas for more liberal states, where they feel safer — even if it means relinquishing lives they’ve spent years building.
Jose, a 43-year-old Mexican living in the U.S. illegally since 2001, and his wife Holly, left Austin for Seattle in January in anticipation of Texas’ immigration crackdown. That meant parting with Jose’s grown son, their community of friends and their beloved home of eight years.
“I felt like we ripped our roots up and threw ourselves across the country,” said Holly, a 40-year-old Kentucky native who wanted to protect her husband.
Holly said as soon as Donald Trump was elected president, she and her husband began preparing to move. They expected Texas would “follow Trump’s agenda trying to force local law enforcement to do immigration’s job.” And when they heard Texas had approved a crackdown on “sanctuary cities” she said they “finalized the decision.”
“I was living in constant fear in Texas,” said Holly, who works as an immigration paralegal and has been married to Jose for 11 years. “Now I know my husband is safe, and I don’t have to worry every day about whether he’s going to come home.”
Others are doing the same. Miriam, a 34-year-old Mexican house cleaner who has spent the past 10 years in Austin, plans to move with her husband and two U.S.-citizen children to Oklahoma in September, when Texas’ law goes into effect. Like Jose, Holly and others who were interviewed, she asked that her full name not be used to prevent possible deportation.
“We can’t even go out to get food or to go to work,” she said of the law. “A police officer can find you in any place.”