Prison has changed so much since the 1990’s, it’s a joke. Everything is gang oriented now. Prison gangs run the show. There’s a Blood shower and a Crip shower where only they can shower. There’s a Blood phone, a Crip phone or a Spanish phone — phones only those gang members can use. You stay in your lane.
I think 70-80% of the prison population in Virginia is gang-infested or gang-related. It’s so overwhelming within a certain age group, it’s unreal. Every young black dude, from a certain area, between the ages of 18 to 24, is in a gang. It’s become a cultural thing, where you’re almost a nobody if you’re not a Blood or Crip or G.D. or Vice-lord or Hoover or MS 13.
Most people join gangs just to be accepted or needed. Or they want the feeling that they’re someone important. Or they want to be a part of something because they really had no real friends growing up. So they are clinging to something that gives them attention, gives them a voice or a purpose, but in such a small-minded way. That’s my experience. That’s what I’ve seen and that’s what I’ve been around.
There are very few men with the strength of character it takes to not submit to gangs or not to fall in line amongst the gang members. But I am indeed one of the strong ones to the extent I don’t honor, or even like, half of them. I don’t belong to any criminal organization nor do I claim any kind/or type of gang affiliation so I draw conflict and envy and hate almost everywhere I’m placed inside the prison system.
Me, I’m 43 years old and have never been gang affiliated and never will be. I have childhood friends that are Bloods, two that are Crips and I love them like brothers. I’ll never sit back and watch anyone do any harm to them. I’m loyal and I’ve jeopardized my well-being and my freedom for them in situations that I won’t discuss but I’ll never understand why they chose that way of life, never.
I’ve learned to stay in my circle and mind my own business and if for any reason my world clashes with the gang world, if I have any kind of disagreement, then it is what it is. Violence is a given to resolve the issue. Any other way is unjust.
But right or wrong, no one fights one-on-one anymore. If one gang member fights, they’re all supposed to fight.
I feel like the majority of the gang members hide behind each other. There’s strength in numbers so they load up in bunches. If a gang member is isolated and forced to stand on his own two feet without the support of the others, they turn out to be cowards. Most don’t have the courage or the character to stand alone and stand up for what they feel — even if it means going against the norm.
So for example, if I have an argument with a gang member and we start the fighting, I will get jumped AUTOMATICALLY, being that I am not gang-affiliated. I’m classified as a civilian. No one will fight me one-on-one. So as soon as I start fighting, two, three of them will engage instantly — even if I was in the right.
I’m 5 foot 10 inches and a half, 243 pounds. I’m a pretty big fella and if I got into an argument with a gang member who is 25 yrs old, 5 foot 9 inches and 175 pounds, that shouldn’t be a fair fight because of the size differential. But that doesn’t stop these very same young, stupid skinny small dumb fuckas from picking a fight with a much larger dude, knowing in their heart they can’t win — JUST BECAUSE THEY KNOW THEY WILL HAVE ASSISTANCE. And that absolutely drives me crazy.
It used to be back in the old days, if you have an issue with someone, you fist fight one-on-one and the best guy wins. All that shit is out the window nowadays, because of the oath and obligations these gang members take on to be loyal and to protect their own.
And no one understands that everyone isn’t gonna just accept this. Personally, if my well-being is put in harm’s way, I will take the violence to the extreme, to the point I’m trying to take someone’s life just to protect mine.
So if any one of these little mafuckas try to jump me, I’m going to stick a blade so far in one of their necks, it’s gonna take a surgeon to remove it. And that’s the mentality a lot of older fellas have toward these younger guys living in this gang shit.
I feel confident in myself. I’m comfortable in my own skin and no one pushes my buttons but me. I’m my own boss, and peer pressure doesn’t apply to a person like me. I’m that strong because I got a strong personality and character from my daddy — and from my upbringing, even though it was negative or street oriented. I still learned how to be a strong young independent fella.
THE LOUDEST ONE IN THE ROOM IS THE WEAKEST ONE IN THE ROOM.
SHOW ME THE FRIENDS YOU KEEP AND I’LL SHOW YOU YOUR FUTURE.
Antwaun Johnson is serving 30 years for 1st degree murder in Virginia — and he is very eager to hear from his readers.
Antwaun Johnson #1171427
Nottoway Correctional Center
2892 Schutt Road
PO Box 488
Burkeville, VA 23922
One Comment
Thank you for this story. There’s a lot to unpack!
What could be scarier than gangs in prison, and what must it take to go it on your own, to be someone like Johnson? I can only compare it to the world outside. Take Boston, not far from one of the universities. The scent of lilacs is in the air. The streets are cobbled, the houses in stately Federal-style: no razor wire, no guard towers in sight.
Now I can imagine running into a guy whose kid goes to the same kindergarten yours does; in fact, they’re becoming friends, staying over the night occasionally. You and the guy may be expected to have some things in common, right? But here’s where gangland comes in. He quickly ascertains you don’t have an Ivy League degree, not even an MIT degree. As you exchange a few polite words, you can see his eyes just glazing over.
He’s in the Ivy League gang, and you’re not. You can sort of feel for the guy. Competition for high-status jobs is vicious in Boston; there are just so many to go around. Harvard Ph.D.’s are making fourteen dollars an hour as assistant teachers, carrying $80,000 in student debt. Still, it’s their one leg up. They belong. Someone higher up in their gang will rescue them from the abyss.
What’s marvelous about Johnson’s story is that he’s found a way to remain above all this while remaining true to his friends who are still gang-affiliated. Indeed, they’re like brothers, even though he can’t understand why they persist in being Crips, Bloods, or Vice Lords. Along those lines, there are probably more than a few people thinking, “I have no idea how my buddy so-and-so can be a Republican (or a Democrat), but I love him like a brother anyway.”
The last thing I want to unpack is the part about having a caring, protective dad, like Johnson’s. If you were lucky enough to have one of those, why bother with joining a gang in the first place? You’re safe. When you grow up, you can protect others, make them feel secure. Meanwhile, there’s this trope about black males having a problem because they lack father figures. Their family structures have broken down, say the experts, without providing any acknowledgment about what context this phenomenon is in, namely, how a four-hundred-year-old racist system has done more than its share to break those structures down.
But that’s not the point I want to make about the lack of dad figures in this world. Here in Boston, even on its cobbled, lilac-scented streets, right in the heart of the middle-class comfort zone, you have a dearth of daddies that’s astounding. Talk about the breakdown of family structures! Ask any psychotherapist in the neighborhood. Ninety percent of the guys have some the same kind of screwed up relationship with their dads. Either he was ripped away by divorce, or addiction to work, drugs, sex, you name it. For whatever reason, dad wasn’t there when he needed to be. And so, is it any wonder that gangs have their appeal, Crips, Bloods, Vice Lords, or Ivy League?