Introduction to Prison Gangs 101
When I was first arrested in California, the experience was unlike anything I could have imagined. My bail was set at a staggering $10 million, and I was awaiting extradition to New York for arraignment. Whether it was the high bail amount, the nature of the charges, or the pending extradition, I found myself classified and housed with high-level inmates despite being a first-time offender. As someone with over 15 years of experience as a legitimate real estate investor and businessman, this was far beyond my comfort zone.
The intake process in jail is designed to be grueling, and it is anything but pleasant. Depending on your luck, you could spend anywhere from a full day to seven days in a series of small, cramped holding cells as you navigate the intake procedure. If you’re unfamiliar with the process, it can only be described as a form of contemporary torture. But once you finally make it onto the housing floor, there’s a brief sense of relief. You’re handed a mattress, a small wash towel, a set of blankets, and a roll of toilet paper. However, that relief is short-lived.
As you enter the housing unit, you’re immediately met with the intense stares of 10 to 40 inmates, each sizing you up, deciding in seconds whether you’re someone to own or someone not to mess with. Having gone through this process multiple times, I quickly learned that maintaining strong eye contact and offering a warm smile can help soften the tension. When the first inmate approached me, I greeted him with a nod, a smile, and a casual “what’s up.” He responded in kind, but quickly asked, “Who do you run with?”
Unsure of what he meant and not wanting to say the wrong thing, I hesitated before asking, “Run? You mean like treadmill or road running?” His look told me I had just asked something incredibly naïve. With a hint of amusement, he asked, “Is this your first time in jail?” I admitted that it was, and that’s when he placed a hand on my upper back and said, “Let me give you a tour and show you how things work in California jail and prison.”
He explained that everyone in the jail is divided into a “car,” and you have no choice but to belong to one. These groups are primarily separated by race, forming racial gangs. He asked me what my background was, assuming I was white because of my British accent. As we walked past a group of white inmates in their underwear doing squats in their cells with another man only in their underpants, sitting on the other man shoulders, and they’re counting out loud with the other two guys in the cell next to them doing the same workout program." I noticed the hard-core work out, but I also noticed the Nazi tattoo on one of the guys left chests. The inmate giving the tour must’ve noticed and pointed them out as the “woodpile,” a group that includes the Aryan Brotherhood and other white supremacists. He noted that they had a mandatory workout program. He said, "you sound white, but you look Spanish” at the time I was quite tanned. When I told him I was South African and that the mother of my children was Mexican, his response was, “Tu hablas español?” I replied, “No, poquito,” which seemed to irritate him. He then asked if I was black, because I was from Africa. I tried to explain that there are many different races in Africa, but he seemed skeptical. Eventually, he decided to place me with the “others,” a group made up of Asians, Islanders, and white South Africans. He explained that if a fight or riot broke out, I would side with the “brothers,” or the black inmates.
Still confused, I tried to process what I had just been told. He reassured me with a sarcastic “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, mate.” And that was my introduction to prison gangs in California.
