Documentary goes inside Nuestra Familia
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Documentary goes inside Nuestra Familia
By BRENDA MOORE
Herald Staff Writer
Armando Frias Jr.'s earliest memory is of visiting his father in
prison. Now his father will visit him in prison.
The Salinas father and son are symbols of the cancerous cycle of life
in a gang -- in this case the notorious Nuestra Familia. Their story
provides the framework for a documentary by two Monterey County Herald
reporters and their production partner. The film is being shown at
small screenings and is expected to air nationally in the fall on PBS.
"Nuestra Familia, Our Family" draws back the curtain on a gang that
started in California's prisons, developed a military-style hierarchy
and efficiency, and spread like a deadly snake to the streets of rural
Northern California towns like Salinas. The hourlong film was reported
by Julia Reynolds and George Sanchez of The Herald and produced by
Oriana Zill de Granados, an Emmy award-winning documentary filmmaker.
It is a project of the Center for Investigative Reporting, a San
Francisco nonprofit that supports in-depth news-gathering on issues of
injustice and abuse of power.
The filmmakers hope their work will intensify efforts to understand
gangs and to break their multigenerational reach.
"We need a lot more complex discussion" on the issue, Reynolds said.
"It has to become the No. 1 priority. It can't be something like No.
10. This is the kids we're talking about."
Reynolds, who co-produced the film, and Sanchez started their
investigation while working at the Center for Investigative Reporting.
For more than three years, they have spent time with Latino gangs of
Northern California, going behind prison walls and into the streets to
produce this rare inside look.
Their journey started with statistics that showed a surprising rate of
shooting deaths in rural areas. The not-so-surprising common
denominator was gangs; the victims, and the shooters, were largely
young and Latino. But gang violence was an old story, so commonplace
that people were numb to it. So Reynolds, Sanchez and de Granados set
out to tell the deeper story: why Latinos were shooting Latinos.
Much of the answer traced back to Nuestra Familia, the prison-based
"parent" of the Norteño street gang. "NF," as it's called for short,
is Northern California's answer to Southern California's Sureño gangs
and their parent, the Mexican Mafia. Through interviews with current
and former gang members and leaders, law enforcement officials,
grieving families and people who work with at-risk youth, the
documentary tells the story of Nuestra Familia and the violence it is
perpetuating from one generation to the next.
The reporters made connections through Salinas Barrios Unidos, a group
that turns to ex-gang members to discourage new recruits. The reporters
worked the streets. They showed up at crime scenes. They persuaded
former gang leaders, now doing time in prison, to talk on camera. They
tracked down mothers who have outlived their children to share their
experiences.
"We simply just talked to people," Sanchez said. "We spent a lot of
time gaining trust. We would meet one person or family members and they
would introduce us to someone else."
Salinas plays a prominent role in the film, with one former member of
law enforcement saying it is seen as "kind of the cradle of
civilization" for Nuestra Familia. The film also details Operation
Black Widow, an FBI investigation that snagged Nuestra Familia members
but has been criticized for the loose rein kept on its key informant, a
gang leader.
"Nuestra Familia, Our Family" is largely told through the Frias father
and son, who provide a graphic inside look and a glimmer of hope. Both
have denounced the gang life and want to tell the cautionary tale of
how they were drawn in. Part of their motivation is to keep a third
generation, Armando Jr.'s young son, from following in their footsteps.
In a jailhouse interview, Armando Jr., who is serving 29 years to life
for murder, told Reynolds his biggest regret is that he won't be there
for his son.
"I (want) him to just do something positive with his life,... something
good," he said. "Something that nobody in my family has done."
Armando Sr. was just 17 and already caught up in the gang life when his
son was born. Armando Jr. remembers visiting his father in prison when
he was only 4 or 5 years old. When his father was out, he helped
educate the youngster in crime.
At 6, Armando Jr. first fired a gun. At 9, he joined a Norteño gang.
At 12, he committed his first armed robbery. At 19, he carried out a
hit he says was ordered by Nuestra Familia, shooting Raymond Sanchez at
Cap's Saloon in Oldtown Salinas. That landed him the lengthy prison
sentence he's now serving -- and, he said, opened his eyes about gang
life and loyalties.
Father and son, and other current and former gang members, told the
filmmakers they found in the gang a sense of family, belonging and
protection they didn't find elsewhere. Once in, they were indoctrinated
with "the cause," the guiding philosophy professed by Norteños to
defend and support each other and their Nuestra Familia brothers. The
doctrine is essentially a co-opted, distorted version of the message
behind the United Farm Workers movement, echoing Cesar Chavez's call
for an end to injustice but ignoring his nonviolent approach.
"The cause" is promoted through a sophisticated system, with generals
sending down orders to underlings to commit crimes, carry out acts of
retribution and send money to support the leadership. The twist is that
the orders come from those behind bars, their messages smuggled out
through family members, coded mail and other means, even from the
top-security Pelican Bay State Prison in Crescent City.
The Friases said they eventually came to see that the movement wasn't
about injustice but about greed, retaliation and internal power
struggles. Yet there are still plenty of soldiers following orders, the
documentary says.
In an interview in a Salinas garage, an active gang member, his face
obscured, says the gang members "are my family."
"Taking a life, a person's life, doesn't mean nothing to me. Doesn't
mean nothing at all," he said. "I couldn't care less for the family. I
couldn't care less for the person that died. You want to hurt one of
us, we are going to hurt one of you guys. If you're momma's gonna cry,
oh, well, it's not my momma."
Later, he reveals an unexpected crack in his facade, saying he tries to
hide his gang activity from his children but isn't succeeding.
"They want to be just like me," he says. "I don't want them to be like
me. I want them to be better."
Dealing with people such as the faceless gang member was only one of
the risks involved in making the film. Just as challenging was getting
financing and finding someone to air it.
"It was the most rejected story in (the Center for Investigative
Reporting's) history," Reynolds said. "The project got killed at least
four times.... To be honest, Latinos killing Latinos didn't sell."
But then they found a national outlet. Latino Public Broadcasting has
signed on and plans to air it on PBS stations next fall on a new
program from actor/activist Edward James Olmos.
They also are working on arranging showings in Salinas and Monterey,
planning to show it in schools and developing a Spanish-language
version. It has been accepted for the Santa Barbara International Film
Festival in February. They just received a $9,000 grant from the
Community Foundation for Monterey County for screenings and for
outreach to youths.
Reynolds said she hopes that when people see it they will realize this
is a problem that isn't "over there."
"This isn't just those thugs across the tracks," she said. "This is
families."
For information about the documentary, go to
www.nuestrafamiliaourfamily.org