Here's some more info being said about the film:
Posted on Fri, Dec. 02, 2005
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
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Brenda Moore may be reached at
[email protected].
