IS OREGON A HAVEN FOR DRUG DEALERS?

Punishment - Prosecutors Say Penalties for Big-Time Traffickers Are
Too Soft; Lawmakers and Activists Are Working to Change That

In the spring of 2004, the U.S. government freed a sophisticated
young drug dealer named Isidro Linares from prison and deported him to Mexico.

Linares shrugged off this inconvenience by sneaking back to Oregon
and legally registering a Corvallis business called La Poderosa
Mexican Store. Soon he'd turned the grocery into the hub of a drug
gang that moved up to 40 pounds of methamphetamine a month through
the heart of the Willamette Valley.

Prosecutors complain that gangs such as Linares' are drawn to Oregon
because its laws are too weak to punish people who deal large
quantities of drugs.

Consider: Someone convicted three times in Oregon for selling 3.3
pounds of meth faces a maximum of four years in prison. The same
crime carries a potential penalty of 13 years in California, 21 years
in the federal system, and up to life in Texas.

That gap is about to get serious scrutiny as lawmakers, district
attorneys and initiative activist Kevin Mannix prepare to turn 2008
into a referendum on how best to punish drug dealers -- and how much
tax money to spend doing it. The crux of the coming debate: Should
Oregon send every drug dealer to prison or focus on locking up
big-fish traffickers?

Mannix, a Republican former lawmaker who made two unsuccessful bids
to become governor, is pushing a proposed ballot measure that would
send first-time dealers to prison for a minimum of 30 months. Drug
dealers, he says, share information about which states offer the
least exposure to punishment, and Oregon has proved to be an inviting venue.

"We might as well have a flashing neon sign on our border saying,
'Oregon: We are soft on hard drugs,' " Mannix says. "We invite
criminal drug activity in this state by being passive."

Many crime policymakers say Mannix's proposal would steal discretion
from judges and send many of the wrong people, including small-time
dealers feeding their own drug addictions, into expensive prisons
instead of treatment centers.

The initiative, which also would set mandatory minimum sentences for
crimes such as forgery, auto theft and burglary that often are
drug-related, would boost Oregon's prison population by more than
one-third and cost an estimated $128 million a year, the state
Criminal Justice Commission says.

A group of lawmakers, prosecutors, police and crime victims are
working on a more moderate approach that would increase treatment
options for small-time dealers. But they acknowledge Oregon's laws
must toughen penalties for dealers such as Linares and what some
describe as a growing underclass of drug-trafficking organizations.

"Right now," says Steve Briggs, the state Department of Justice's
criminal division chief, "I don't think drug dealers really fear the
state court system."

A New Drug Landscape

Drug trafficking has changed dramatically in Oregon in the past two
years, and prosecutors say the law hasn't kept up.

The state in 2005 outlawed over-the-counter sales of cold medicines
that contain the precursor chemical for meth. This ran many dealers
- -- who used cold tablets to cook small batches on kitchen stoves --
out of business.

Those small-time dealers largely have been replaced, law enforcement
officials say, by gangs who buy the drugs in large quantities and
sell them in bulk to lower-level dealers.

The Linares gang, which sold meth, cocaine and other drugs to addicts
and dealers, offers a stark example of the expansive -- and expensive
- -- investigations Oregon police must undertake to secure longer
sentences for major traffickers.

The case began Dec. 15, 2005, when an Albany police officer pulled
over Jose Antonio Ortiz and found a quarter-pound of meth in his vehicle.

Ortiz told detectives he was a drug mule. When pressed, he said that
Isidro and Ricardo Linares recruited him to run their drugs for $200
to $300 a trip, according to a police affidavit, and that the
brothers sold lots of dope out of La Poderosa -- but only to people they knew.

Mike Wells, a Corvallis police detective, opened what became a
16-month investigation. The case eventually involved more than 250
people, including Albany detectives, the state Justice Department,
federal agents, state police and detectives from five counties.

The case centered on three businesses -- La Poderosa, Del Valle
Mexican Store in Independence, and Gregario's Auto Body in Corvallis
- -- that prosecutors say were used to warehouse drugs and launder the proceeds.

Detectives at first used standard methods to turn up evidence --
tailing vehicles, poring over trash and trying undercover drug buys.
But key gang members proved too wary, driving erratically to avoid
being followed, never putting out trash and not selling drugs to
people they didn't know, records show.

Investigators struck gold by sending an informant into La Poderosa to
buy 6 ounces of meth for about $6,000. But prosecutors say they faced
an unsettling prospect: If they convicted the Linares brothers and
others on dope charges, the dealers were likely to get short prison
terms, be deported and return.

Finding Another Way

Oregon's drug laws treat small-time dealers and cartel kingpins as
equals because they make no distinction between the sale of 10 grams
or 10 tons of dangerous drugs such as meth, cocaine and heroin, says
Chris Stringer, Benton County's chief deputy district attorney.

Stringer and the state attorney general's office decided the only way
to ensure Linares gang members got long sentences was to convict them
under the state's organized crime law, which carries a maximum
penalty of 20 years in prison.

"We went to racketeering," he says, "because the drug laws are so
weak in Oregon."

Stringer sent the case into a more complex and costly phase when he
got a judge's permission to listen to the Linares brothers'
cell-phone conversations.

Police and Spanish interpreters tracked the brothers' phone calls and
text messages as they presided over shipments of meth and cocaine, Wells says.

On Jan. 19, detectives encouraged an officer to stop a suspected drug
runner as he carried a kilo of cocaine through Springfield. The
brothers spent the next few days talking and texting about their
legal exposure, going over the chance they had left fingerprints or
witnesses, Wells says.

And they got practical advice from the drug mule's sister, Nadia
Legorreta, then a 27-year-old criminal justice major.

"She was talking about (Oregon's) weak drug laws," Wells says, "lack
of drug enforcement teams and lack of law enforcement on the interstates."

On March 14, 2007, police swept into La Poderosa and 21 other
businesses and residences in five counties. They arrested 22 people
and seized 6 pounds of meth, 3.24 pounds of cocaine, firearms,
$52,623 in cash, 32 vehicles and a $227,000 home.

As Isidro Linares awaited trial, he was accused of trying to hire a
fellow inmate to kill a cooperating witness, a police informant and
Wells when he got out.

With attempted murder-for-hire hanging over his head, Linares pleaded
guilty to racketeering and was sentenced to 18 years in prison.
Manuel Salgado, one of the gang's suppliers, drew a 12-year sentence
for racketeering. Nadia Legorreta got three years.

Ricardo Linares, charged with racketeering and drug sales, awaits trial.

Dueling Approaches

Dismantling the Linares gang cost the Corvallis Police Department
alone at least $380,000 in salary, overtime and operating costs.
Officials say the result was worth it, but that having tougher
trafficking penalties might have shortened the investigation.

Mannix, who wrote 1994's Measure 11 mandatory minimum sentencing law
for violent crimes, says his initiative would help. But critics say
the new measure would have a similar impact as Measure 11, which the
Criminal Justice Commission estimates costs taxpayers $123 million annually.

Mannix has submitted more than enough signatures to qualify the
initiative for the November 2008 ballot. It would make felony
manufacturing or delivery of meth, heroin, cocaine and ecstasy -- and
two crimes often committed by drug addicts -- identity theft and
first-degree burglary -- punishable by at least 30 months in prison.
It also would set new minimums for auto theft and forgery.

A group of crime policymakers met last week in Salem to draft a bill
that would be tougher on big-time traffickers but not overload
prisons with low-level dealers, says state Sen. Floyd Prozanski,
chairman of the Judiciary Committee. "Taxpayers want to be safe," he
says, "but they want to be efficient in the use of their money."

The bill, which the group wants to give the Legislature in February,
would "hold medium- and large-scale traffickers more accountable,
with tougher sanctions," Prozanski says.

Kevin Neely, lobbyist for the Oregon District Attorneys Association,
says his group hopes legislators will find a more affordable way to
deliver meaningful sentences. If they don't, he says, many district
attorneys will back Mannix's measure.

Critics say it makes little sense to give hard time to addicts who
sell just enough to feed their habits when treating their addictions
could stop their crimes.

Mannix disagrees. "The best way to clean up anyone so drug affected
that they are doing crimes to feed their habits," he says, "is to put
them in prison and provide treatment there."