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Behind the Walls By Terrell Wright for Street Gangs Magazine October 1, 2005 Su – Su – Su – woooop! I greet you bloods and bloodletts once again from behind the barbed wires, encasing the less fortunates and the cast away souls of society. I’m here in Corcoran State Prison, presently enduring one of the many infamous lockdowns, due to the recent stabbing of a Correctional Officer. I greet you this morning from the one place where the sun always shine different on us, one of California’s gladiator schools; where the racial wars between the blacks and Mexicans, is always brimming near the surface. I greet you from the one place in California, where the Bloods and Crip wars, have all but vanished into the memories of the streets. In here we face a different set of problems, and rules of engagement. Here, as most prisons throughout California, the Bloods and the Crips are forced to solidify under one banner – which equals survival in this asphalt jungle: The banner of blackness. Terrell Wright is the author of Home of the Body Bags Order Book In here we face three opposing groups, all of which are a constant and deadly reminder of the potentially explosive environment in which we live. The first of the opposing opposition we face are the C/O’s themselves. This is their world, where they lay the law and break it as they wish. They’re the only gang here, who carry weapons of destruction – as it’s their turf…and they do as they wish. The next in line of the potentially hazardous group to the blacks, are the cholo’s, better known as S.U.R. (Southern United Raza). They’re united under one banner, adhering to strict rules multi-laced from simple things of when they should wake up in the morning, to things as severe of what would constitute a war between them and an opposing group. They are highly trained, as the C/O’s are, and always on points in their politics. The last of the opposing hazards, is the white boys, constituting of such groups as the Nazi low riders, and the skin heads; both of which have placed the whites on the map inside the walls, as groups to be recognized and feared. The atmosphere here is monotone, it’s the same old bleak and dryness everyday: Literally. It’s like an old "black & white" re-run, replaying and repeating itself over and over again – there’s nothing new. The same goes for the food here. There are no such things as a menu of selecting from. The food meals fall on their expected days, guaranteed to be the same every week, consistently. The only trace of change which breaks the monotony inside these grey walls, is when mail call is on the horizon. Fortunate for me, I have enough people who love me and respect me, and are there to help me break the bleak wall of depression by writing me loving and thoughtful letters full of concern. But others aren’t so fortunate. They have nobody to write them a simple letter, occupying a few lines; or somebody to accept their collect calls, or even better, someone to visit them. They have nothing, but the politics, and the on-going drama of prison life. They have politics which are like a big ugly cancer: It’s something which grows everyday. Here in prison, you can find men of many different trades: There are those like me, who are plenty here, and the only thing we relate to are things that are based around gangsterism – then there are those who fear us; they are the cowards who often take to the shade, and the outer perimeters of the prison. For the most part staying out the ways. Then there are the jail house preachers. Those who come to jail and turn holy rolly all of a sudden. And if you let them, they’ll preach your ear off about shit they don’t even understand themselves. Next we have the prison lawyers. They could tell you one in a million ways on how you could get out of jail: but they don’t have the slightest idea on how to get themselves out. You got to watch out for those, because they are worse than the many crooked business people on the streets – they’ll rob you for a pretty penny. Next you have the kiss-ass inmates. They suck up to anybody: convicts and police alike. They just want to be liked by all. But for the most part, kiss-ass inmates could be found in the company of a Correctional Officer, talking about any and everything. They’re easy to spot, as they will be talking to the C/O for hours on end. As a word of warning, kiss-asses are to be avoided, and not privy to any of your private thoughts – you could never tell, who’ll find out knowing about your bizzness – feel me? Then you have those inside the walls, who were once considered hard core gangsters, until they landed in one of California’s many gladiator schools. Once they witnessed the prison life in its most explicit and rawest exposure, they automatically quit their hard core roll all together. The violence on display here, broke them…completely. This is where I live, where the weak are weeded out, victimized, manhandled; and where the strong boldly assert themselves, flexing their survival of the fittest nature. It’s all here, all bottled up in one big cesspool of bullshit. I leave you once more with the Universal Blood call, Su – woooooop! Next week, I’ll pick up on another chapter about my life and the things I’ve experienced, things I want to share with you. With that, I’m west side rolling – Su – wooooop! LOKO1 NHB Terrell Wright is the author of Home of the Body Bags and he is currently incarcerated in Corcoran State Prison in California. You can correspond with him at the address below: Terrell C Wright, T51529 C6 - 116 - Low PO Box 5246 Corcoran, CA 93212-5246 Order His Book News Topics | Home | Research | History | Blood Gangs | Crip Gangs | People| Life in a Gang | Gallery | Iraqi Cards | Memorial | Migration | Graffiti | Resume| Injunctions Homicides | Maps | California Prisons | Contact

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