Leaving the gang and staying in the barrio
by Erica Grimaldo, Outpost staff
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Gang crimes in
Reno
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"It was two members of the gang who jumped me in," Many tells me over the phone. "They said it was going to be a one-minute fight with me against them."
In Many's gang it didn't matter who won the initiation fight. Although in this case Many claims to have been on the delivering end of most of the punches.
"Once it's done you all hug and then you all pay respects to each other and you're in," he continues.
That's how Many became a part of his all-Latino neighborhood gang in northern Reno in 1994. At 14, Many was following in the footsteps of his cousins and older friends.
"I grew up in the same barrio, with the same friends, all the way from elementary," he tells me in fast Spanglish. "We all wanted to be like our cousins and their friends and they were already in gangs so we grew up in this environment.
"Everyone is saying how it's so cool and when you grow up a little you're all excited to join. I had family problems, I felt I needed more attention and that's the people that were there for me. It was like I was part of their family."
Eventually Many and his friends got the formal invitation to join, and the beating that goes along with it.
"[Fighting] will give you a feeling of getting jumped by another gang and it's also a way of getting into the gang," Many explains.
For the following three and a half years, while he was still part of the gang, Many got 'jumped' at least twice a month by rival gang members. On the weekends, he and his 'hommies' would crash wedding and Quinceañeras and scout for rival gang members.
The wrong answer to their question, "what barrio are you from" was enough to trigger their fists.
It wasn't unusual for Many to come home with bruises but he says his parents never questioned him or try to intervene.
"[My mom] would just say, 'pos que puedo hacer?' you know, 'what can I do?'," Many quotes. "She just told me, OK as long as nothing happens to you.'"
Many said his dad didn't really say anything, but he was probably relieved he was acting 'manly.'
"Since I was a little boy he considered me a little effeminate," Many explains thoughtfully. "He would tell me to 'talk like a man.'"
During those years with the gang Many did his best to talk like a man, act like a man and fight like a man. But there were things he wasn't willing to do.
While some of his friends were smoking weed and using knives, screw-drivers and guns, Many said he never carried weapons, he didn't do drugs and he didn't 'tagg.'
"I was scared," he confesses. "I knew it was wrong and that we would get in trouble for it."
That kept Many away from drugs and juvenile hall, but his sister wasn't as lucky.
'La Menuda' started hanging out with the 'hommies' at 13. She was never formally jumped but she was 'down for the barrio' anyway.
"She was just kicking it with them but was in the drugs," Many tells me. "I know she was doing all kinds of drugs, marijuana, coca, all that stuff except shooting up. My mom and I started noticing how she was all pale and skinny, loosing hair. And she dropped out of the eighth grade."
Dropping out of school was nothing new in the family; Many did it his senior year of high school. But when La Menuda also dropped out of sight for a while, her family reported her as a runaway. Eventually she was found and sent to live with an older married sister in California in an attempt to keep her away from the gang.
La Menuda stayed in Calif. for several months. She was finally allowed to come back a few weeks before Christmas.
At age 15, La Menuda is a retired gang member trying to stay off drugs.
At age 20, Many, who hasn't been part of the gang for almost three years, is worried that La Menuda may not resist the temptation now that she's back. But he's not surprised by what happened, or angry.
'Pos asi es el Barrio' -that's just the way in the barrio.
Posted Feb. 25, 1999
Copyright 1999 Nevada Outpost
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