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The Invasion After the Earthquake


Janet Conroy

Guest Columnist

13 May, 2005

Janet Conroy is an immigration reform activist in the Los Angeles area.

She can be reached at

After the Northridge earthquake, it looked like Los Angeles might finally recover from the continuing recession of the early 1990's. There would finally be work for all of our unemployed construction workers as federal dollars poured in to help rebuild. That hope faded with a tsunami of illegal aliens who were shepherded around to job-sites by their slave-drivers.

As I watched the damage to my apartment being "repaired" by a crew of illegal aliens, I complained to one that the drywall repair was being done incorrectly. I thought the poor kid was going to have a stroke when I said, "No! That is not how you do it." He immediately ran out of my place, retrieved his handler, and then cowered behind the fat slob.

I explained what was being done wrong to the slaver and was told that this is what the management company had contracted for. The slaver then stomped out and the poor, scared kid went back to work. He got the job done as quickly as possible so he could flee. I think he was afraid that I would turn him in or that his slaver would beat the tar out of him later. Needless to say, I moved shortly after that experience.

Before I left the area, I used to walk home from work. The local bus I used to take became unavailable to me because of the mob of illegals using it. It picked up all the illegals working in the expensive areas of Woodland Hills. Their behavior on the bus and the stench of bean farts, stale beer, and dirty diapers were just too much to bear.

So, though my tax-dollars subsidize the bus, I was forced to abandon it. I ended up taking a taxi to work and walking the mile and a half home in the evening. During my walk home I had several opportunities to watch the gangs of illegals working to rebuild the fallen walls in the area. They were your usual bunch, making lewd remarks and grabbing their crotches whenever a Gringa walked by alone. Over the weeks, I watched the walls go up and then I watched the walls develop cracks. Soon the walls were falling down because the illegals didn't use the right concrete mix. I guess those cheap workers weren't that cheap. After a while, I saw new American workers rebuilding the walls. Those walls are still standing.

After the rebuilding in the area had been completed, the illegals did not move on to greener pastures. They remained in the area, staking out parking lots at local convenience stores and street corners trying to solicit work. The local 7-11 was forced to hire a security guard to keep the illegals off the property because they would mob any vehicle that entered the parking lot.

Eventually, the illegals staked out a spot on Ventura Blvd. across the street from where I worked. They would stand there all day and drink beer. After awhile they needed to relieve themselves. In the parking lot right across from a children's hair salon was a dumpster -- their privy. I got mad when I watched as a drunk pervert whipped it out and drained the one-eyed lizard for all the kids in the salon to see.

The creep then proceeded to go into the liquor store that owned the dumpster. I called my fellow merchant and told him not to sell anymore beer to the scum who was using his property as a privy. The merchant immediately came out of his store and looked at what was beside his dumpster. The illegal didn't get his beer and next day the merchant shooed all them away from his property. By the way, the merchant was Asian.

After moving from the San Fernando Valley to the Westside, I got a jury summons. Since I wasn't working I decided to fulfill my civic duty and sit on a jury. It was an enlightening case involving alleged gang activity and an attempted murder. We got an ear full on the various Mexican gangs in the area -- the Mexican Mafia, V-13 (Venice Mexicans) and the Culver City Boys. Three other jurors and I refused to convict the "anchor baby" for attempted murder because the prosecution failed to prove the case -- we hung the jury.

On one of my trips home from court by bus, I was watching a couple of high school girls who has cut school to go to the mall. They were returning to school and would arrive just as school let out so they could be picked up by their totally unaware parents. I got a kick out of it, having done the same thing in my younger days. At one stop an illegal alien from the Mayan area of Mexico got on the bus and swaggered to the center of the bus before taking a seat. The girls noticed him and started talking together in hushed voices.

This got my attention. The guy was a drug dealer and he was advertising his wares. When we got to the stop in front of the middle school, the kids were getting out of class for the day. Every one of the kids was "Latino" -- no black kids, no white kids and definitely no Asian kids. At this point the Mexican drug dealer started sauntering off the bus and I saw the high school girls buzzing and pointing -- the guy had a bag of weed and half the bag was hanging out of his pocket for all to see. The dealer got off the bus and went over to the middle school kids to conduct business while we traveled on. And then there was the car break-in...

One morning my husband went to get into his car and found that it had been broken into. Someone smashed a window and stolenthe new stereo we had purchased about two weeks earlier. While inspecting the damage, we noticed a pack of Camel cigarettes laying on the floor where the criminal had worked to remove our stereo. Knowing that the cops wouldn't come out to take a report on the vandalism and robbery of our vehicle, we collected the evidence for fingerprinting and went to the local police station to file the report.

A clerk took our report and we handed her the baggie containing our "evidence" for fingerprinting. The dolt took the Camels out of the bag and proceeded to count the cigarettes. We said. "Stop! We brought that in for fingerprinting!" She sheepishly said that she needed to count the cigs to be sure none got stolen while in evidence. We stipulated that there was nearly a full pack and that she didn't need to count them as we didn't care about having them returned. They were brought in just to get the fingerprints off the wrapper.

We were then told that it would probably be a year before our "evidence" was printed. They are inundated with so much serious crime, that is unlikely that anyone will look into our case. Our tax dollars working for us, not! We went home and cleaned up the glass in the car and while doing so, found the culprit's cigarette lighter -- a Zippo with Mexican gang "spider writing" on the reverse with the perps name -- Carlos, naturally.

One evening, I was standing inside my doorway watching for my husband to arrive home from work. It was a nice evening so I stood there watching the traffic go by. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brown hand reaching out toward my flag which I had started flying after 9/11. I watched it move past my flag and reach for my flower box herb garden. At that point, I changed my position in the doorway so the illegal alien would not miss seeing me. The hand kept coming and I loudly cleared my throat. A shocked Mexican woman noticed that I was watching her.

She pulled back her hand, chuckled nervously, took a couple of steps back, and stopped. She must have been waiting for me to go away but I didn't. She walked about ten steps away and waited for me to stop watching her but I didn't. Finally she went to the edge of our parking lot and waited for me to go away. Finally, she left. The next day I went out to water my herb garden and found that someone had taken a knife and divided the herb garden in half. Guess who had done that and stolen the side containing the cilantro. All that summer, every time a tomato got near ripe, it too disappeared. Gee, I wonder where they went?

I hope this helps you understand why we in Los Angeles are no longer very welcoming toward illegal aliens. The old California attitude of, "Mi casa es su casa" no longer applies to those who invade our home, trash it, steal from us and then demand even more. The above events all happened exactly as I have described them. Multiply this by the millions of other Californians who have had similar experiences and you might have some idea why our patience has worn so thin.


Janet Conroy

Tijuana del Norte de Aztlan

(The illegal alien occupied and destroyed territory, formerly known as Los Angeles, California, USA)

Janet's other essays


13 May, 2005