by Marvin Ramírez
When Christina Corpus, whose mother is from Nicaragua, was elected San Mateo County Sheriff in 2022 with 57 percent of the vote, it was a historic win on a platform of reform, transparency, and ending cronyism within a department long mired in scandal. But just over two years later, Corpus stands on the edge of removal—not for proven crimes, corruption, or abuse of power, but for a swirl of allegations that, on close inspection, are more petty than damning.
From the start, Corpus’ victory challenged the deeply embedded power structure in the county. Her predecessor, Carlos Bolanos, was no stranger to controversy—having been caught up in the 2007 “Operation Dollhouse” brothel raid in Las Vegas and, in a bizarre final act, dispatching deputies across state lines to resolve a complaint over a luxury Batmobile replica. Corpus, in contrast, promised a break from business as usual. Her campaign attracted community activists eager for reform, and her primary-night message was clear: “We stood up to an establishment.”
But almost as soon as she took office, the system seemed to turn on her.
A series of headlines and investigations has painted Corpus as a chaotic leader, focusing obsessively on eyebrow-raising but ultimately trivial matters: a $1,200 pair of boots, a peeing puppy in the office, and a Hawaii trip with a longtime friend and campaign supporter, Victor Aenlle. The grand scandal appears to revolve around the perception of an inappropriate personal relationship—based on anonymous allegations and circumstantial details. The so-called evidence? Shared massages, earrings, and a hidden shoebox.
We must ask: Is this really the standard for removing a democratically elected sheriff?
Former Judge LaDoris Cordell’s 400-page report on the sheriff’s office casts Corpus as someone who violated county policies on nepotism and allowed a personal relationship to influence professional decisions. But even the report’s foundation is shaky. The central accuser, labeled “Employee No. 3,” remains anonymous, and none of the alleged misconduct rises to the level of criminal activity. Meanwhile, Cordell gave none of the accused the opportunity to challenge their accusers directly—a red flag in any process claiming impartiality.
Aenlle, the supposed power behind the throne, served as a reserve deputy for 17 years. He wasn’t plucked from nowhere, despite Cordell’s emphasis on his real estate background. He and Corpus both argue that the backlash they’re facing comes from entrenched interests that resent reform—specifically, reform that threatens padded overtime pay and long-standing internal hierarchies. Corpus herself pointedly said that as a woman of color who rose through the ranks in a male-dominated field, these attacks feel all too familiar.
In fact, the very issues that Corpus aimed to tackle—misuse of overtime, lack of transparency, and poor leadership culture—may be fueling the blowback against her. It’s worth noting that some deputies have earned more in overtime than in base salary, with one raking in nearly $500,000 in OT in a single year. When Corpus sought to rein in such excesses and reform pay practices, resistance mounted.
One of the most disturbing episodes was the arrest of the deputies’ union president, Carlos Tapia, just hours before Cordell’s report went public. He was accused of falsifying time cards—a charge the District Attorney declined to pursue, citing clerical errors and no intent to deceive. Tapia alleges retaliation by Corpus for his criticisms of her leadership, but the circumstances suggest the opposite: that Tapia’s arrest may have been a political maneuver orchestrated from within a department at war with its own elected head.
The Board of Supervisors, meanwhile, fast-tracked a ballot measure—Measure A—to give themselves the power to remove the sheriff. It passed with 84% of the vote, but voters were primed by a media narrative heavy on innuendo and light on substance. Corpus has refused to resign, and the county is now proceeding with a closed-door removal process—a troubling lack of transparency for a matter of such public interest.
At its core, the campaign against Corpus appears less about ethical violations and more about reasserting control by those who’ve long dominated the department. Reforms threaten entrenched power. A woman of color who beat the system may have become too much of a disruption.
Removing an elected official should require serious, proven misconduct. Not office gossip. Not vague allegations of impropriety. Not misplaced designer boots.
Sheriff Christina Corpus won a democratic mandate to clean up the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office. What she got instead was a backlash from a system desperate to protect itself. Whether you support her policies or not, every voter in the county should be alarmed that flimsy accusations—wrapped in the appearance of accountability—are being used to override the public’s choice.
Democracy means letting voters decide who leads. If Corpus has failed to deliver, there are elections for that. Until then, this looks less like justice and more like a coup cloaked in bureaucracy.
