The Bermudez Triangle

"I'm saying maybe you are right," he says, sounding like an evangelical preacher on Judgment Day. "Maybe the United States is right. Maybe it's time for us [Mexicans] to leave."

That is not a sentiment shared by other immigrant rights activists. But Bermudez, leader of the Phoenix-based Inmigrantes Sin Fronteras (Immigrants Without Borders) has planted himself firmly to the right of other Hispanic activists. Like similar groups, Inmigrantes holds demonstrations to protest anti-immigration laws, and Bermudez has staged, with mixed results, several labor and hunger strikes to grab attention. The group also holds information fairs where Bermudez teaches immigrants what to do if stopped by police, and he reminds them he runs a business that will prepare immigration documents — for a price. Currently, the group is pushing Arizona employers to resist a sanctions law that goes into effect January 1.

When Bermudez talks about giving a voice to the undocumented, he becomes misty-eyed. But not everyone is convinced of his sincerity. So he works alone, or with strange company.

Bermudez is not afraid to announce his support for Republican Senator Jon Kyl, and he boasts that he campaigned for President George W. Bush. Twice. He's been quoted calling Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio a "friend" (the two used to share a cordial public relationship, though they've never interacted socially) and, on one occasion, his group marched in support of the Minuteman Civil Defense Corps.

In the Spanish-speaking community, it's no secret that Bermudez has left a bad taste in the mouths of other activists. Former Democratic state Senator Alfredo Gutierrez has publicly criticized him on his own talk show on Radio Campesina 88.3 FM. Gutierrez complains that Bermudez isn't organized and doesn't help the community. When Bermudez does something other activists think is wrong ­— kneeling before the sheriff, for example — Gutierrez is sure to bring it up on the air.

Gutierrez declined an interview for this story, saying he prefers to talk about things that are positive, and that therefore, "I have nothing to say about him."

Privately, Bermudez's critics say he's hard to work with, he's egotistical, he's financially corrupt, and his past is a problem.

His past is checkered. If his story weren't a matter of public record, it would be impossible to believe. At 56, Bermudez is the former mayor of the Arizona border town San Luis. He's a convicted felon. And he claims to have the ear of the president of Mexico.

As much as his enemies — and members of the Spanish-speaking media — hate him, the English-speaking news media love Bermudez. His antics are outrageous, and he's incredibly quotable.

Recently, he grabbed headlines as the brains behind an alleged plot to murder his "friend" Arpaio. Nothing came of an investigation into the supposed plot, but it says a lot that no one is accusing Alfredo Gutierrez, Hector Yeterallde, Isabel Garcia, or Roberto Reveles — other prominent immigrant organizers — of trying to off the sheriff.

(The Maricopa County Sheriff's Office declined to talk to New Times for this story.)

Bermudez's visibility irks his critics, but the immigrant rights movement needs Bermudez — or someone like him. Today's undocumented immigrant has few people to look up to, and the English-speaking community, or at least the portion of it that continually votes in favor of anti-immigration laws, has few people to change its mind about immigration.

There is no César Chávez rallying the undocumented, no Martin Luther King Jr. calling for a higher moral standard.

Bermudez is in a position to become that leader. He's incredibly charismatic; when he speaks, it's impossible not to give him your full attention. A clever politician, he has the potential to become the strongest leader of a movement in desperate need of a potent national figurehead.

There's just one problem, though, and it's a big one. His own people don't trust him, and among his critics there is a general feeling that Bermudez does the movement more harm than good.

It's not just his dodgy past that makes people uneasy. There are considerable questions about what he's up to these days, as well, especially when it comes to the financial management of Inmigrantes.

Bermudez says he is not surprised by the criticism. He sees himself as a martyr for the cause.

"We have a saying in Spanish: He who wants to be a redeemer ends up on a cross. [This] is exactly what happened to Jesus Christ," he says. "He tried to be the savior of the world and he ended up crucified."

But the martyr has some questions to answer.

At an event in August, aimed at letting workers know what could happen to them under Arizona's new employer sanctions law, Inmigrantes has a table set up where people can fill out and file what's known as a G-28 form, which gives legal representation to immigrants. Filers are asked for a $10 donation, which goes to Inmigrantes, and the paperwork is filed by Bermudez's for-profit document-preparation business, Centro de Ayuda (The Help Center).

Bermudez is a tall and imposing figure, dressed head to toe in black. As he works the room, shaking hands and cracking jokes, it's easy to see why people trust him enough to pay to file this form with him. He's friendly, he remembers your name, he seems to care.

But he also makes money off the immigrants that join his organization. He calls it smart business, pointing out that he'd turn a profit whether he actively campaigned for reform or not.

His critics say it reeks of exploitation.

Luis Avila, a Spanish-language radio personality whose show "Dos en la Noticía" (Two in the News) broadcasts from the same station as Bermudez's, says there isn't a clear enough distinction between Inmigrantes Sin Fronteras and Bermudez's private position on the air. (Though he won't label himself an activist, Avila is one of the youngest, yet most vocal players in Arizona's pro-immigration scene. He previously worked at La Buena Onda 1190 AM, and is the founder of the youth-oriented talk show "El Break.)

"He uses the radio to ask people for money, and a lot of us in radio don't think that's a good thing to do. Before, he had a history of fishy behavior with money; everyone knows he has a background that is not good with financial organization. We have a saying in Spanish: 'Don't do good things that seem to be wrong,'" Avila says. "When you are listening to the radio show, you can't draw the line between Centro de Ayuda and Inmigrantes Sin Fronteras. So, even though this is paid by Inmigrantes Sin Fronteras, it's a good tool to get people to go to his business — hence his making money off the same people who are donating money."

Part of the problem is that Bermudez is not shy about admitting that if immigration reform ever becomes federal law, he stands to make a huge profit. He files paperwork for immigrants seeking legal status and citizenship.

"If the reform comes through, I will generate all kinds of money," he says. "Obscene amounts of money, even though I am going to charge a reasonable rate."

No kidding. Hundreds of people show up at events like the one in August. Thousands more listen to his radio show. And each hears about the Centro, which is housed in the same building as Inmigrantes Sin Fronteras. Each immigrant that comes in contact with one organization is pushed to become part of the other. Each is encouraged to donate to the cause and to donate often, though where the money goes is murky.

For this story, New Times interviewed Bermudez, his associates, and his critics. Hundreds of pages of court documents pertaining to his felony arrest, a series of federal lawsuits filed against him by Community Legal Services and his role in the false plot to kill Arpaio were examined. The IRS had no documentation of Inmigrantes' financial records; Bermudez did make thousands of receipts, bank statements, and other financial documents available, but it's impossible to know what is legitimate.