Imagine the moon rising majestically over the Tonto National Forest, highlighting the stark desert scenery along the Superstition Freeway just west of Morristown, Arizona. The sheriff of Maricopa County sips coffee from his thermos and checks that his radar gun is on the ready. A lot of lawmen wouldn’t have bothered to send officers out at night on such a lonely stretch of road, much less taken the night shift themselves. But America’s Toughest Sheriff sets a good example for his deputies. As long as he’s the sheriff, at least, the rule of law—and the original intent of the Constitution—will be enforced by the working end of a nightstick.
Suddenly a car rockets by, going 100 miles an hour by the gun. Siren ululating, the sheriff heads west after the speeder. The blue Corolla smoothly pulls over to the shoulder. The sheriff sees the driver’s side window roll down. Cautiously he approaches.
“License and registration,” he says.
But the driver simply grins at him. “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” he replies. “I don’t have to do that.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the sheriff says between clenched teeth. “You better not make me ask you again.”
“I was born here—just a few miles from Organ Pipe, actually,” the driver says. “But, you see, my parents—well, they’re undocumented immigrants. In fact, they are right here in the back seat and they can show you their lack of papers if you want. And since they’re undocumented, and I’m their child, well, I’m not—“