After more than three decades on the Idaho Human Rights Commission, 72-year-old Estella Zamora is out. Gov. Brad Little withdrew her reappointment this week, sending a letter to the Senate on Monday stating that her service "has concluded effective immediately."

No explanation accompanied the letter. His office did not respond to multiple requests for comment. What preceded the move tells its own story.

Zamora had been reposting content on Facebook critical of ICE enforcement actions, including material about protests in Minneapolis. Conservative media noticed. And the Idaho Senate made clear it wasn't interested in confirming her. Senate President Pro Tempore Kelly Anthon, R-Rupert, responded to a tweet about Zamora on January 30 with a blunt verdict:

"Not. Going. To. Happen. This appointment will not move forward in the Idaho Senate."

Three days later, Little pulled the nomination entirely.

Thirty Years, One Week to Unravel

According to the Idaho Capital Sun, Zamora's tenure on the commission stretches back to the 1990s, when she was first appointed by then-Gov. Cecil Andrus, a Democrat. She served as both president and vice president of the body over the years. On January 28, she stood before the Senate State Affairs Committee and answered questions about her work — a routine step in the reappointment process she had navigated before.

That same day, conservative blogger Brian Almon and Matt Edwards, host of Idaho Signal, a live-streamed show from the Citizens Alliance of Idaho, discussed Zamora's social media posts on air. Edwards did not mince words:

"You cannot reappoint this pro-illegal immigration, anti-ICE activist to this human rights commission. It's atrocious."

The committee never brought Zamora's appointment back for a vote. Within days, the governor's letter arrived.

The Rule of Law Isn't Optional

Anthon laid out the standard plainly in comments to the Idaho Capital Sun:

"Anyone that we place on the Idaho Human Rights Commission has to be committed to the rule of law."

"They have to be committed to a position that enforcement of the law must be blind, in other words, you have to be committed that you will enforce the law no matter what."

"You can't let your own personal beliefs, no matter what they are, compromise that position."

This is a principle so basic it shouldn't need defending. A commissioner tasked with adjudicating civil rights matters — including, potentially, cases touching on immigration — cannot publicly campaign against the federal agencies enforcing immigration law and then claim to be a neutral arbiter. The two postures are incompatible. Zamora wasn't fired for holding private opinions. She was removed after broadcasting those opinions on social media while occupying a position that demands impartiality.

When asked at the January 28 hearing whether immigration issues had come before the commission, Zamora could recall only one case from the late 1990s involving a language issue. That's a three-decade track record of immigration enforcement barely crossing her desk. Yet she chose this moment — with federal enforcement intensifying nationwide — to turn her Facebook page into a protest bulletin board. The timing suggests the posts were less about her commission work and more about political activism.

A Pattern, Not an Isolated Case

Zamora isn't the first state-affiliated figure in Idaho to lose a position over incendiary social media activity. In September, David Berriochoa, a state employee for the Human Rights Commission, was dismissed following a social media post about Charlie Kirk's assassination. Berriochoa said he wrote "Charlie is burning" on Instagram. Whatever one thinks of the relative severity, the precedent is clear: public employees and appointees in Idaho operate under scrutiny, and social media conduct carries consequences.

In early January, Little's chief of staff, Zach Hague, sent an email to agency heads — obtained by the Idaho Capital Sun through a public records request — directing all executive branch leaders to coordinate with a governor's office liaison before engaging in political activity:

"You are an extension of Governor Brad Little, with that comes added responsibility. You are an extension of the Governor and the office, coordination is paramount."

Zamora says she never saw or heard about that memo. Whether it technically applied to unpaid commissioners is an open question. But the spirit of the directive is unmistakable: if you serve at the pleasure of the governor, your public conduct reflects on his office. That's not a novel concept. It's how executive appointments work in every state capitol and in Washington.

Zamora's Defense

In a phone interview Thursday, Zamora framed her activism as inseparable from her commission role:

"I've always thought that my position on the commission is to protect and educate regarding people's rights."

"I'm out here protecting and making sure people are able to voice their opinions and to express themselves and do what is right. But then I'm basically muzzled, I guess, for doing the job that I was appointed to do."

The problem with this framing is that it conflates two very different things. Protecting civil rights under Idaho law — housing discrimination, employment discrimination, the bread and butter of the commission's caseload — is not the same as opposing federal immigration enforcement. One is a defined statutory mandate. The other is a political position. Zamora merged them, and when pressed on the consequences, described herself as "muzzled." But no one muzzled her. She spoke freely. And the people responsible for her appointment responded freely in return.

She also offered her view of the current enforcement climate:

"It's awful that people's rights are being violated, right and left. And they're grabbing people off the street. It's not right. I can't support that, and I can't stay quiet."

Federal agents enforcing duly enacted immigration law are not "grabbing people off the street" in the way that phrase implies. Illegal immigrants present in the country in violation of federal law are subject to detention and removal. This has been the law for decades. That a human rights commissioner cannot distinguish between law enforcement and lawlessness is precisely the problem Anthon identified.

What Comes Next

The governor now has two seats to fill on the commission. Joe B. McNeal, described as another person of color on the body, died recently, leaving an additional vacancy. Zamora expressed concern about the direction of future appointments:

"I'm just worried as to who our replacements will be, and who (Little) will appoint, and where he's going to look."

That worry cuts both ways. Idahoans should expect commissioners who understand that their role is to apply the law — not to rewrite it from a Facebook page. The Human Rights Commission exists to investigate and resolve complaints of discrimination under Idaho statute. It does not exist to serve as a platform for opposing federal enforcement priorities. For thirty years, that distinction apparently didn't matter. Now it does.

Zamora grew up in a Caldwell labor camp, dealt with racism as a child, founded the Canyon County Human Rights Task Force, and built a career as an interpreter in the court system. That biography commands respect. But biography is not a shield against accountability, and a lifetime of service does not entitle anyone to a government appointment when their public conduct undermines the mission of the body they serve.

Idaho's leaders drew a line. Commissioners enforce the law or they find something else to do.