WATCH: Official Statement From Sister of Daniel ‘Des’ Sanchez-Estrada, the Man Sentenced to 30 Years in Federal Prison for Moving a Box of Zines
Ana Bell shares her family’s account of the arrest, prosecution and 30-year sentence of her brother, Daniel “Des” Sanchez-Estrada, arguing that his case reflects a wider crackdown on political dissent.
Official Statement From Ana Bell About the Conviction of Her Brother Daniel Sanchez-Estrada
Full Statement
Ana “A.J.” Bell
Over the last week and a half, I have typed this statement, deleted it, and retyped it countless times with the purpose of conveying my message without derailing from the important facts that I want to share, so please bear with me as I read it to you.
My name is Ana. I am now the oldest of three siblings, and I reside in Dallas-Fort Worth, Texas, with my children. Daniel, known as “Des,” is my brother.
A year ago, in 2025, around noon on the 6th of July, our lives were altered forever. I was away on a business trip in Cancun, Mexico, when I received the news that my brother Daniel had been arrested and could not be located in the police database systems.
There are no words that can accurately describe what hearing this stirred within me. We were born of good, law-abiding parents, whose moral compass shaped us into who we are. This news of him being detained, especially within the current political climate in which deporting people who have no criminal history has become normal, had us fearing for the worst.
Being aware that sometimes it takes up to 24 hours before charges appear, I waited before heading home, with the intention that once we could see the charges appear in the court systems, we could proceed to get an attorney if needed and do what we could to bring Dani home.
But that was not the only reason. If he was deported after his arrest despite the fact that he was permanent resident of the United States, I was preparing myself to travel back to Monclova, the city of our birth, and help my brother settle back into our old home, a place in which he hadn’t live since he was 14 years of age.
That fear is always present even for me as a US citizen. I carry proof of citizenship with me everywhere I go.
The next morning, I received another call, this time from my parents, and I listened to their voices crack as they sobbed, recalling the events from the night before, when a no-knock warrant was executed at their house during dinnertime.
I will never forget the voice of my father as he described the officers aiming their guns at them. The horror that my parents and youngest brother endured weren’t few, and the nightmares they still have are a result of this.
The officers spent over six hours rummaging through my parents’ home, where my brother spent some nights due to his work being minutes away from there, and him being the main caregiver of my mom and dad.
Before the raid was through, an ambulance had to be called to take care of my mother, whose health is already frail without the need for additional stress. This is unacceptable, and it was absolutely unnecessary.
At that point, we knew this was not a simple arrest. The fact that after 24 hours, we still didn’t know where Daniel was being held, nor the exact reason why, only added to our worry.
While still in Mexico, I watched a video circulating on Facebook of my brother’s arrest; it showed the orchestrated efforts from law enforcement to make sure his arrest was noticed by anyone in the vicinity of a public place.
There was a SWAT unit. The FBI showed up along with a bomb squad. A drone hovered in the sky, and officers armed with AR15s approached the vehicle while my brother waited in the truck.
All of them showed up to arrest a man who had, according to the charges he was given later, “taken a wide right turn.”
The use of all of those resources covered by our taxes could have been spared if the officers had simply and peacefully arrested him while he was still at my parents’ home that morning.
There was a surveillance vehicle outside my parents house that could have easily arrested him. But they had no warrant.
Let me repeat that: They had no warrant for his arrest. So instead of getting a warrant, they created a false narrative that he had explosives in the truck, or that he was “the money man” for the random collection of people who were arrested after a noise demo on July 4th outside the Prairieland detention center in solidarity with the incarcerated immigrants inside, or that he had hurt somebody and was a dangerous man.
These were some of the reasons that law enforcement was either given or deduced on their own, since none of these reasons was founded on a single ounce of evidence; they were all speculations—bogus reasons to arrest an innocent person.
Their whole case revolved around a box. But nothing inside of the box that he carried—the box that is supposedly the reason why he is now behind bars—absolutely nothing in that box fit any of those descriptions given above.
Inside the box, there were zines, homemade pamphlets, essays, critiques, poetry, stickers, photos, letters, and drawings. All of the items in the box were personal belongings that my brother was dropping off at his friend’s apartment in Denton, Texas.
Nothing sinister, nothing macabre, nothing illegal. Each item inside that box is protected under our First Amendment.
But “Innocent until proven guilty” means nothing when you have been chosen to make an example of those who express dissent. When you are being treated like a criminal from the beginning, and your entire life is torn to shreds to fulfill this purpose, hope is all you have left.
I made it back into the States the night before his hearing, and sat in the courthouse the next morning as my brother was brought in wearing a striped jail uniform, handcuffed on both his hands and feet, barely able to walk without tripping over the chains.
There, sitting amid my brother’s friends, I was appalled when the exhibits shown were not of a crime that my brother had committed but instead of the noise demo at Prairieland, which Daniel was not part of. They showed a picture of him loading boxes into his truck, and another picture of some of the contents of the box.
To my horror, despite the defense presenting an excellent case of my brother’s innocence, the judge stated that Daniel was a flight risk and a danger to society.
My brother, an artist and 18-year-long vegan who’s never met a stranger he didn’t like, who always thinks and cares for others, both humans and animals, was considered a danger to society—the same society whose rights he defended every chance he could. But that wasn’t all; an immigration hold was put on him the night before his hearing.
As a DACA recipient, he has had legal status for many years. But as a new permanent resident of the United States of America, the country he has called home since he was 14 years of age, being charged with a felony is a death sentence to his legal status and a new challenge that we will have to face down the road.
My brother was moved to Johnson County Jail along with the other Prairieland defendants, and was kept 24-7 in a tiny cell, strip-searched several times a day, and psychologically terrorized and tortured by the officers of the facility.
These things without a doubt were meant to break the detainees. And the psychological and emotional strain of being subjected to these conditions is noticeable when you speak to Dani.
From there, my brother was eventually moved to FMC, where the prison conditions improved a little. He only shared the cell with one cellmate instead of seven; he was allowed to roam the common room and engage with other cellmates in conversation, playing games, watching TV, joining a bible study, and growing a community.
Dani was allowed to receive books and buy paper, pens, and pencils to draw; as an artist, this was a gift that he didn’t take for granted.
In September, NSPM-7 was signed, and suddenly the defendants were referred to by the federal government as the “North Texas Antifa Cell.” The focus from the prosecution changed, and the “terrorist” language was added to their charges.
Plea deals were offered to Dani—several of them. The most generous one that my brother was offered was to spend five years behind bars without the language of terrorism being included in the charges and then face immediate deportation after his release. He, of course, refused for two equally important reasons:
He had no knowledge of the noise demo before, during, or afterward, other than what he had heard in the news or from third parties.
But second, he had committed no crime, and hoped, as we all did, that the truth would set him free. There was no way that the government would put him in jail when he committed no crime. The prosecution had no evidence whatsoever because there was no crime to gather evidence from. Everything up to this point was speculation and even fabrication, and it remains so.
Daniel had been behind bars for four months awaiting trial for himself because he refused to cooperate and incriminate those who were at the lawful noise demo, in which he neither participated nor was he aware of.
What happened next was shocking.
My brother’s case was added to a superseding indictment along with the other defendants; he was the only person in that indictment who had nothing to do with the events on July 4th.
On November 25th, due to a clerical error, FMC released my brother, and he was back with with us for nine days.
During this time, he was free, but none of us were at peace. We spent every minute watching our backs, expecting another display of force to arrest him again. It didn’t make sense why would they let him out when the superseding indictment was just filed.
Regardless, we tried to make the best of his time out. Every minute was precious. I drove him to the animal shelter where he used to volunteer, and he held opossums and raccoons, and even got to see a wee owl.
The entire time we were there, he was crying, repeating over and over how he thought he would NEVER get to hold one of them again. He expressed similar concerns when he ate all the vegan food that he had been missing, or as he admired the sunrises and sunsets, or as he experienced the joy of creating and holding the tattoo gun again, tattooing us and getting tattooed by his brothers in ink as well.
We went to the mall together, he attended my youngest son’s piano recital, and we played K-pop demon hunters for him and Frankenstein as well. I drove him to visit all the friends who were available, and he was able to hug and spend time with his and Mari’s 12-year-old girl, whom he loves as his own daughter.
He enjoyed a comfy bed, clean linens, and warm, private showers. We surrounded him with love. Daniel seized every moment of freedom until the prosecution realized that they had made a mistake, and he had to return to his imprisonment.
The night before we took him back to court, he celebrated his missed birthday (because he was at FMC then), spent Thanksgiving with our family, and enjoyed a surprise Christmas party with all of his friends.
The next morning, with tears in our eyes and broken hearts, we had to drive my brother back to the courthouse, where later that day he had a hearing, and the judge stated once more that my brother—the man who had just SELF-SURRENDERED—was a flight risk and a danger to society.
I could take a lot more time to describe every horror and heartache that he has experienced in a year of imprisonment for a crime that didn’t happen, but nothing measures up to the feeling of loss and hopelessness we all experienced when, after a long trial, the jury spent an extremely short time deliberating over verdicts for all nine defendants.
With no evidence whatsoever, my brother was found guilty along with the other eight defendants on March 13, 2026.
The deep despair plaguing my brother’s eyes and voice ever since, now haunts me. When the verdict was given, I was his first call. And his cries have shattered me in so many pieces that I don’t think I can ever be whole again until he is home.
He asked, How was this possible? He didn’t do anything. He asked, Why was this happening? “I know” and “It makes no sense” became my default answers.
On June 23rd, I walked into the courthouse for the sentencing hearing with my mom and my dad, hopeful that justice would finally be served and that my family’s nightmare would come to an end. I was reassured by countless people who cited the US Constitution that as long as my brother was innocent, we had nothing to worry about.
He is innocent and has been behind bars for a year now. We have everything to worry about.
Daniel has lost more than his freedom. His wife is in prison too. Together they have lost precious time and will continue to lose all the memories they could have created with their child.
My brother’s truck was taken as evidence, yet somehow it was released to the lienholder, who wasted no time selling it at an auction before my brother was even formally charged.
Daniel also lost his trucking business. My father, who worked for my brother’s trucking company, lost his job when the tablet used to log all the trips was taken by the officers who raided their home. My mom’s health has declined further, and she is more dependent on us now than before.
Without my brother’s support, our parents are now having to sell their home. Their entire life has been turned upside down.
When Judge Reed O’Connor sentenced my brother—an innocent man—to 30 years behind bars, I realized that my parents and I will spend the rest of our lives fighting for my brother’s freedom. My parents and I will probably go to our graves using every breath and every last penny fighting this injustice.
Thirty years for carrying a box of his own belongings has been deemed a crime in itself. But such a judgment is unconstitutional. It is unlawful and cruel.
The judge listened to the defense lawyers; he listened to witnesses for the defendants; he listened to the defendants make their own statements, and discarded it all.
A 30-year sentence for no violation of any law makes a mockery of our judicial system. Judge O’Connor confirmed at the stand what we suspected when he said, “The state wants to send a message to anyone who shares similar ideology.”
My brother was not being tried for a crime. He was tried because he cares about human rights, and because of his association with a person who went to the noise demo—his wife, Mari.
The evidence has been unsealed. You can read the court notes; you can watch and analyze the so-called evidence; you can look at it all and think for yourself. But the truth is simple: The Prairieland defendants’ sentences are part of an ongoing war on dissent.
The extreme sentences are a punishment intended to scare and discourage those speaking out against systems of oppression.
And no, for those who might be thinking it, even after all of this, I do not hate this country, nor does my brother, but two things can be true at the same time:
We can love our country, and we can oppose fascism and oppression. After all, this country was founded on those very principles of liberty, and it is our duty to defend and uphold the Constitution and call out injustice.
There is so much that I could add.
The 365 days that my brother has spent behind bars have affected all the members of our family in so many ways, but I will leave you with part of my brother’s statement during his sentencing. For this is his truth.
“I worked really hard every day in this country, and I believe in human rights and helping others in need. I donate money and art to help animals and other people. I am a father, I am a husband, I am a teacher, a poet, I am many things, Your Honor, but I am not a terrorist.”
More Information on Daniel ‘Des’ Sanchez-Estrada
On July 7, 2026, Hyvemind received an official statement and video from Ana Bell following the conviction of her brother, Daniel ‘Des’ Sanchez-Estrada.
Sanchez-Estrada is serving a 30-year federal prison sentence after being convicted of conspiracy and concealment charges tied to moving a box of zines and other political materials following the July 4, 2025 noise demonstration outside Prairieland Detention Center. Sanchez-Estrada was not present at the protest, where a police officer was wounded, but prosecutors argued that moving the materials after his wife’s arrest amounted to concealing evidence.
In her statement, Bell describes what she sees as a familiar use of inflated “terrorism” language, speculative allegations and harsh detention conditions to punish dissent and make an example of people associated with movements challenging immigration detention. She also details the particular stakes for Sanchez-Estrada as a DACA recipient and permanent resident, whose conviction now places his legal status and future in the United States at risk.
Bell maintains that her brother committed no crime and that the materials at the center of the case—zines, critiques, poetry, photographs, letters and drawings—are forms of personal expression protected by the First Amendment.
Hyvemind is publishing Bell’s statement in full below. You can read more about Daniel Sanchez-Estrada story and how you can best support him and his family at https://freedes.net/.
Frequently Asked Questions About Daniel “Des” Sanchez-Estrada
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Daniel “Des” Sanchez-Estrada is a Texas artist, tattooer, teacher, poet, husband and father. Supporters describe him as an immigrant and longtime permanent U.S. resident whose art and community life have been central to his identity.
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No. Reporting and case coverage agree that Sanchez-Estrada was not present at the July 4, 2025 demonstration outside Prairieland Detention Center. He was arrested days later after moving a box from his home to an apartment in Denton.
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The box contained zines, homemade pamphlets, essays, critiques, poetry, stickers, photos, letters and drawings, which are all protected under the First Amendment.
Prosecutors characterized them as “antifa materials.” -
He was convicted of corruptly concealing a document or record and conspiracy to conceal documents. The charges centered on the government’s claim that moving the box amounted to concealing evidence.
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Sanchez-Estrada was sentenced to 30 years in federal prison. His case has drawn widespread criticism from press-freedom and civil-liberties advocates, who argue that the prosecution treated political literature as evidence of criminal ideology and creates serious First Amendment concerns.
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Sanchez-Estrada is a green card holder the conviction carries potentially severe immigration consequences in addition to his prison sentence. His case shows how criminal prosecution, detention and immigration enforcement can be used together to place immigrant activists and their families under extraordinary pressure.
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Sign on to the public letter calling for Des’s release, the dismissal of charges and an end to threats against his immigration status. Organizations can join by contacting the campaign at https://freedes.net/sign-on-letter/
Donate to his legal and family support fund through the campaign’s official fundraiser here.
Share the case and its First Amendment stakes. The campaign has downloadable zines, graphics, button sheets and other materials for people who want to organize locally, distribute information or bring the case to their communities available here.