Transcription
All right, Ruben.
Where did you grow up? Where are you from originally?
I was born in Mexico. My parents came down to California, LA, when I was one year old. I was from high school.
What was your childhood like?
I grew up in South Central. We came from Mexico and landed there with my cousins and uncles. While we were living there, my childhood was tough. I had 10 brothers and sisters, and my stepfather was an alcoholic. He had his own issues and was abusive—physically and verbally. I was the second oldest and didn’t know he was my stepdad until I was 17 years old.
Violence was pretty much an addiction for me too because the more I got abused at home, the more that trigger spilled out to me. I took out my anger and violence on other people as a kid. I got into boxing and joined a boxing gym in East LA when I was 12 years old. I fell in love with boxing; it became a new outlet for me. I started training and sparring with people who were also coming up in boxing, like Oscar De La Hoya. I aimed for the 92 Olympics in boxing and trained hard to get there. I fought all over the world and won medals and championships.
However, I got injured before the trials in '92. During that process, I was also doing mixed martial arts, Aikido, and started doing Jiu-Jitsu. Martial arts was a good way for me to release my anger and frustration.
Once I knew I was going to go to the Olympics because of my injury, I decided to become a police officer.
You didn’t go into gangs?
I didn’t go into gangs. I grew up around them. I have uncles and cousins who were in gangs, and some of them are still active gang members. Some have died from gang violence or drugs. I never liked that lifestyle; I didn’t believe in it. I grew up around it, and I always believed that I didn’t want to be told what to do by anybody. I didn’t listen to my authorities at home because my stepfather was an alcoholic and abusive. I didn’t respect his authority, even though I took beatings from him. I thought that was just normal for me to be a tough kid in the environment I grew up in.
So, I didn’t like gangs or anything to do with them. My goal was to be a cop, but I didn’t like cops either. I saw them both as bullies. I thought I could be a good cop, carry a gun, learn tactics, and do something for the people I grew up around. That was my initial intention.
That’s an interesting perspective.
Yeah, so I eventually became a cop. In '92, I started the Academy and graduated in '93. About seven months into the academy, once I got out, I went to South Central. I worked South Central Patrol for about six months. One day, I got a phone call from the narcotics unit, which they called 21 Jump Street. That unit deals with basically going back to high school as a young 11th grader. I looked young back then; I was 22 or 23. They sent me back to high school as an 11th grader, and my job was to infiltrate, be a student, buy dope, guns, or whatever was sold in school that was illegal. I was supposed to buy it and eventually make arrests on the people I bought it from.
During that time, after a few months of undercover work buying drugs, some kid introduced me to a friend who was going to sell me some PCP. In the '90s, we didn’t have cell phones; we had pagers. This was 1994. The kid told me he had some PCP at home and would bring it to me. He let me know how much he had so I could bring the money the next day to school.
That night, he paged me. I went to the pay phone, called him, and he said he had $80 worth of PCP. I said, “Okay, tomorrow I’ll have the money; I’ll buy it from you.” While I was on the pay phone, I got confronted by two gang members who tried to rob me at gunpoint. I had my gun in my rear waistband because I carried my gun in my back. I had my police badge, ID, and wallet.
There were two guys: one in front of me and one to my side. The guy to my side was trying to go through my pocket. I ended up punching him and grabbing the other guy’s gun. We started fighting for the gun and fell to the ground. As I tried to take the guy’s gun away from him, his friend started kicking me.
As I was trying to pull the gun away, he was able to pull it away and stood over me, pointing the gun at my face. I could see the bullet, the barrel—everything was so close. But I was able to grab the other guy’s leg, kick him, and throw him over me. When I got up to go for my weapon, he shot my right leg. I turned around, and he shot my left leg.
I drew my weapon and started firing. I shot him, and he ran. They both took off, and somebody picked them up in a car and took them to the hospital. Eventually, they got arrested at the hospital for their gunshot wounds. I went to the pay phone and called 911. The department showed up, and the paramedics stripped me down to check my wounds. I had two bullet wounds in my thighs. At that time, I didn’t feel anything; it was all adrenaline.
Because I was used to violence, something just kicked in—the anger and violence kicked in. I was angry and pissed off that I got shot and mad that I shot the guy. But at that time, I didn’t kill him, so I was upset about that. They took me to the hospital, treated me, and released me.
Once I was home, that’s where a lot of the mental torment started. I blamed myself for not doing something better. I went back to work about a month later as an undercover cop on crutches. Here I was, back in high school buying narcotics. The kids didn’t know I was an undercover cop. They were asking me what happened, so I faked a story, making them believe that I was out there buying drugs in the projects and that some guys tried to rob me.
They ended up introducing me to more drug dealers in the school, so I started buying a lot of drugs. A couple of months into it, they did a roundup when they arrested all the kids I bought from. Then I went back to my unit.
Another month into it, I told my boss I didn’t want to work there anymore; I wanted to go back to patrol. I got assigned to Rampart Division, which is famous for the '90s because there was a lot of gang violence and gang wars. Rampart Division is about an 8-square-mile radius—City Matha Park, Alado, 6th Street, Union, Sunset down to Olympic. That area was infested with gangs, violence, drugs, and extortion.
During the '90s, it was an all-out war. MS-13 was at war with 18th Street, Playboys, Rockwood—they were all at war. I was there for a year in patrol, watching all this happen. Of course, like I said, I’m an adrenaline junkie; I like violence. I had already been through my first shootout, so I was already triggered and in that zone of tactics, self-awareness, and alertness.
One of the sergeants from CRASH recruited me to work Rampart CRASH, which was known back then to be like a gang of cops dealing with gang problems in that area at all costs. I got recruited to the unit and was introduced to police work that was not by the book.
A lot of people read comments from other interviews, but a lot of people weren’t there in the '90s. They weren’t the ones talking to victims like I was. A lot of the victims wouldn’t press charges on gang members who robbed them, extorted them, or even raped their daughters. They would talk to us and tell us, “Hey, we have a problem. We’re dealing with this gang member from this neighborhood, but we’re afraid. We’re in fear for our lives. They threaten to kill us if we say something or do something.”
So, we would take matters into our own hands. Our job was to deal with the problem. The unit was there to let them know they were still going to have to deal with us. If you want to be a gangster and shoot each other, kill each other, do your thing—that’s what you signed up for. If you want to rob each other as gangsters, we’re not going to stop you. We will get in the way and do something when you’re dealing with people who are victims and didn’t sign up for that stuff.
That’s when we would move in and let them know we were going to put the fear in them. If I got a guy for robberies who was robbing all these people and getting away with it, and the victims were still being victimized, we weren’t going to let him get away with it. We’d put dope on him and arrest him for that or get a gun on him and arrest him for the gun.
That was normal operations back then. The gangsters knew what they were about, and we knew what we were about because it was established back then. There was mutual respect: you respect me, I respect you. The rules of the street were that we were going to be the bigger gang. You can’t allow them to run amok and think they’re not going to have to give an account.
I understand that back then, it was established for order. Things have changed. I look at things differently now. I don’t agree with a lot of stuff anymore. I had to go through my own humbling experience to see things better and differently now, but that’s just how it was back then.
In '98, I got into another shootout while working a unit like the movie "Training Day." Our job was to deal with all the narcotics complaints in the city through informants and citizens’ phone calls. We would hit a house if they called us and said there was a house next door moving a lot of drugs—rock cocaine was big back then, heroin, coke, you name it.
We’d say, “Okay, what neighborhood is that? Is there MS-13 in that neighborhood?” We’d hit the house, get informants out of that, or book someone through that. That’s how we cleaned house in that area.
In '98, I got into a shootout through my informants, who were telling me about a guy running amok, threatening apartment managers, and moving drugs for the neighborhood. He was known to be a terror for that area. One day, we were supposed to do surveillance on that guy, and we ran into him. He had a shotgun and turned on us with it. We ended up shooting him, and he died.
Violence became normal for me. I grew up in violence; I understood it. I trained in the life of violence in martial arts, so to me, I didn’t know anything else. Revenge was my number one thing to go to.
In '98, at the end of the year, one of our partners got arrested for some stuff he was doing on his own. He was stealing cocaine from the evidence locker, taking it out to the street, making rock cocaine out of it, and returning it as flour so they wouldn’t know it was switched up. Eventually, he got in trouble and went to trial. He got a hung jury, and instead of doing his time, he exposed the whole unit—the Rampart CRASH unit—and said we were all doing all kinds of stuff.
What upset me was that the department already knew we were doing this stuff; they gave us a green light. So, they threw a lot of people under the bus. I, myself, because I grew up with a lot of anger, violence, and unforgiveness, took matters into my own hands. I decided to say, “Forget the department.”
I rounded up a few officers who were also going through stuff, and I started getting contracted out by different big people coming from Mexico with drugs to take down the competition, rob the competition, and collect debts for them. I started doing that from '99 to 2001. I was hitting houses and got addicted to it. It was free money, free drugs.
I became everything I didn’t like; I became everything I hated. I became my own boss, like a big gang with a lot of people working for me. I became a big drug dealer too. I was selling kilos of cocaine, heroin, weed, and glass. It became a business for me, and I didn’t care about the job anymore. I lost respect for the department and the job itself. I told myself I wasn’t going to get killed for this job. If I was going to get killed, let it be worth the millions I was going to make.
In 2001, one of my cousins and his friend were having private meetings with some Colombian cartel guys in San Diego. They were meeting with them on their yacht, having parties, and showing them cocaine because they were introducing them to it. I didn’t know anything about this stuff; it wasn’t my deal. I wasn’t involved with that. I was doing my own thing.
One day, one of the guys asked me for $100,000. He said he had a connection and was working on a deal with the Colombian guys to buy 10 keys. He needed to borrow $100,000. At first, I said no, but eventually, I got convinced out of pride and lent him the money. He said the guy wanted to meet me to collect and train some of his workers in tactics. I used to be a tactics instructor too, so I said, “All right, I’ll go with you.”
I met the guy on the yacht in San Diego at the pier. They were doing the transaction by the San Diego Pier. Unbeknownst to them and myself, they were being set up by the DA. It was a sting operation against my cousin and his friend, so they got arrested. I got arrested with them that same day, and everything I was doing got exposed.
In 2001, I got arrested, and everything blew up. I was in the news, newspapers, and all over the place. I got exposed. They gave me 18 years, and I did 16 out of 18.
The first few months, I was in solitary confinement, still going through a lot of torment in my head, feeling betrayed and not owning up to my actions. I was blaming everybody, saying, “Forget everybody. People are snitches; people betrayed me.” When you’re angry and full of hatred, you’re really darkened. You don’t see reality; you see things with twisted vision.
I was in there blaming everybody and didn’t want to plead guilty for anything. My goal was to go to trial and fight the case. During that time, I had a cellmate who was an ex-Hells Angel. He started preaching the Bible to me about salvation and forgiveness. Everything was closing in on me. I was hearing all the negative things; everybody started telling on me. I had cousins turning on me, so-called buddies and friends turning on me.
At this time, I was contemplating not knowing how much time I was going to get. I was only looking at the 10 kilos at the time, not aware that everybody was already snitching on everything I was doing. I thought these guys weren’t going to say anything. Whatever time I got, I was going to get out and take everybody out for revenge. That was my initial plan in the beginning of my first few months while I was in there because I was still thinking violence.
Eventually, months after that, when that guy started sharing scripture with me, I had a major encounter with God. A lot of people say you go to prison and find God, but that’s not how it works. Some people are scared and get the Bible because they’re scared. Everybody’s different; every situation is different.
I was on the verge of going on a heavy-duty suicide mission. I didn’t care about dying; I didn’t care about anything else. I had a lot of anger stored up, and my satisfaction was punishing people, putting pain on a person. That was my satisfaction back then.
So here I am, thinking like that when this guy preaching to me. I ended up praying that day and had a major encounter with God. I knelt down and told God, “I’m guilty. I’m guilty of everything. I want to take ownership because I didn’t want to be a drug dealer. I didn’t want to be a leader of a gang. I wanted to be a guy who grew up, raised a family, and did something positive in my life.”
Boxing and all those sports taught me a lot of good discipline. They taught me a lot of good stuff, but I threw everything out the window because of my own anger and unforgiveness. A few months into there, they moved me to general population.
As an ex-cop, I walked in the yard, and I already knew I wasn’t well-liked in there. In my head, I was thinking, “Okay, here I am. I’m serious about my walk with God, but at the same time, I still have to deal with the people in here.”
The second day in, I got confronted by the gang members who were shot callers for the cells. They told me I had to roll up and go back to the shoe. I ended up confronting them and said, “I’m not going to the shoe, not by myself. We could handle this, us four.” There were three of them and me. I said, “We could take care of business, but I’m not going by myself.”
In a sense, I was standing up for myself. I was going to fight, but the boss shot caller’s boss was a friend of mine from the streets. They called him, and they left me alone. I stayed in that place in San Diego for two years and experienced a lot of stuff.
You see so much in there; my eyes were opened to more stuff. I was already exposed to a lot as a cop, but you don’t know everything in there. I got to see a new world, a different world.
From those two years, I got sentenced to 15 years on my first indictment. They moved me to the San Bernardino County jail and placed me in another special housing unit, isolation, solitary confinement. I was there for five years in what they call “the hole” with 12 other inmates.
That’s where I started having to face the reality of my wrongdoings and my own issues. All the evil inside me, all the demons I had to wrestle with in there, everything just started coming out because I had nowhere to go. I was stuck in a single cell for 23 to 24 hours lockdown sometimes.
You could either spin your wheels all day and torment yourself or sit there and grow through that situation and overcome whatever has been holding you captive for so long. For me, I didn’t want to stay stuck anymore. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I wanted to grow from being the violent person who enjoyed violence and all the negativity.
I was blaming everybody, thinking they were evil and I wasn’t. I was dealing with evil people. That’s how I saw it. I was the good guy dealing with evil people, and I didn’t see that I was becoming worse than the people I didn’t like.
I wanted to admit that while I was there, I was able to see that stuff. I started reaching out for help. I did the five years in there until I got sentenced on my second indictment. They ran it concurrently, giving me 18 years in total.
I was in there for five years dealing with every other inmate from different backgrounds—Arian Brothers, Nazi Low Riders, NF, Mexi Mafia, you name it. They were all in the single cells. I had to deal with all those guys day in and day out. I had to learn how to deal with them without letting the old guy take over.
Those were the hardest challenges but also the best moments of me having to do a solid change. That’s where I got closer to God. I got stronger in my faith. I built that connection.
Being locked up in a single cell, you have so much time to think and reflect. You can either use drugs in there to self-medicate or think negatively and be worse, or you can turn it around to something positive. I was tired of letting little things get the best of me. I was tired of letting my anger control me.
I did the five years in there, and once I got sentenced, they moved me to Arizona. I did two years there, walking the yards again, establishing myself. Every yard I hit, I had to reestablish myself with the shot callers.
Because I’m from Mexico, I would hit the Mexican shot callers up and let them know who I am, where I came from, and why I was in there. That way, they could understand I wasn’t hiding anything. I was real. I wanted to see what the reaction was: were we going to get along, or would we have problems?
Pretty much, I was accepted and allowed to walk the yard without any problems. I walked the yards in Texas, Colorado, Arizona, Herlong. I walked the yards all those years. I was established. I got to share and build programs in the prisons where I could counsel people with mental health and addiction.
I took a lot of classes and courses while I was in the shoe. I studied a lot and took a lot of correspondence courses where I got certificates in addiction, mental health, and spiritual growth. My journey was like I got obsessed with that because I wanted to work on myself.
I didn’t want to stay in prison; I wanted to come home to my children. I have kids, and they’re older now, but I didn’t want to be a distant father for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be there trying to be a daddy. It’s impossible; it’s difficult. You can’t be a father in prison.
The prisons are filled with a lot of people blaming the world and afraid to take a stand and be individuals. They’d rather get caught up with the politics of prison and be followers of the system that’s going to keep them locked up.
I saw a lot of that, and my job while I was in there was to help the guys who wanted help. I took it upon myself to say I was going to help whoever wanted help. I did Bible studies for whoever I could help, but whoever didn’t want help, I couldn’t help them.
I was able to see good results with my studies and programs. I realized I was more effective doing that than being a cop. As a cop, I thought I was cleaning the streets and doing something positive, but I wasn’t. I was making it worse and damaging the reputation that the department already had.
Now, I’m sharing and working with people. I’m helping as a consultant with prison programs, like rehab programs in prison, mostly with kids and adults involved in drugs or gangs. I also work with people trying to leave that lifestyle in churches or juvenile halls.
I was hired to redo their material so it’s more realistic and relatable to the people in there because a lot of these programs are not written by people with experience. I got hired as a consultant to put together some of the programs for them.
It’s called Beyond Bars. It’s one of the programs, and it’s effective. But of course, that’s just a little chip; there’s a lot more that can be done.
I also have a fitness program—martial arts, boxing, kickboxing—where I bring mental health into it. We don’t just work on physical fitness or martial arts; we also work on if you’re dealing with addiction. We talk about the root of the problem and go into that.
If you’re dealing with unresolved anger or any kind of trigger, we work on that stuff. It’s great; it’s something positive. My negative was turned into a positive, but anybody can do the same thing. It’s just a matter of realizing, “Hey, I’ve got to stop blaming the world. I’ve got to own up to my stuff and want to do something good for myself.”
A lot of people don’t know their purpose, and that’s a big problem too. A lot of people don’t find their purpose or don’t know their purpose. They’re wandering around, lost, trying to fulfill somebody else’s purpose or someone else’s made-up lie, like running the streets and doing work for people who are just leading you to more self-destruction.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes as a cop. I saw it growing up with my family, but I also saw it as a gang cop. I saw the violence, the death. When I worked Rampart Division, I saw death every day from the violence between each other or innocent people getting killed.
Once you see that so much, you can become very numb and callous. That does happen a lot, and I was at that place already. I was numb and callous; it didn’t faze me to see someone die or dead. It didn’t bother me; I didn’t have any feelings, emotion, or compassion.
You can’t; it would tear you up if you saw it every day. You’d fall apart. I also believe that the departments need a lot of work. They’re torn up and need a lot of help.
I’m the first to admit that a lot of officers won’t admit when they’re going through something. I believe every human being has a breaking point.
You have a very interesting perspective; you’ve been on both sides of the law.
I’ve been on both, yeah. It’s been my school, and a lot of people don’t understand the vast experience that brings. I went on one side, and that was like my university—on the law side, narcotics, on the gang dope side, moving drugs as a king, as a drug dealer, you name it.
Then in prison, 16 years with different walks of life. I walked the yards and interviewed people. A lot of them would hire me in there on the low to teach martial arts. I know Aikido, Jiu-Jitsu, and kickboxing, so my martial arts is effective for people.
A lot of these guys would pay me in there to teach them martial arts. The shot callers would pay me to teach them good martial arts. I taught weapons, whatever. To me, it was business; it was money. I had to pay my bills in there; I had to buy stuff, food, whatever it was. I was going to survive and adapt, and I did.
The thing is, I got to talk to people from different backgrounds, and I could see the real human being too. From being a shot caller, a tough guy running yards, I got to see a real human alone in the cell talking to me about who he really is.
So I don’t judge; I have a lot of understanding now because I went through a lot. I was an individual who, back in my days, was self-righteous. I thought I was better than others. I didn’t see anything wrong with me because I didn’t think I had a problem.
I had everything—a career, a family home. When I took off to the other side, I still didn’t see what I was doing was wrong. I thought they were not victims. I had to go to prison to learn the hard way the reality of things.
Everybody’s going through something; everybody’s broken. You interview a lot of people who have brokenness and trauma. I got to see it firsthand in there, but I also got to see it through my own life and my own journey of what led me to become a criminal cop.
What led me to be a violent, drug-dealing cop? I got to see that through my own self and find out where it started. A lot of it starts from home, with your childhood, your parents, absent parents, or abusive parents.
A lot of guys in prison I talked to have father issues—absent fathers or abusive fathers. You hit a kid when he’s little, you abuse him, beat him as a child, and you’re going to make him a monster. That kid isn’t receiving nourishment or love; he’s receiving hate.
You can’t help him; you can’t blame him. You can’t be mad until the kid gets old enough to say, “I don’t want to be that guy anymore,” or “Forget the world, forget everybody. I’m going to hate everybody just like I was hated.”
Unfortunately, you pay for that; it bites you in the ass eventually. That’s what happened to me; it bit me in the ass eventually.
Ruben, what would you say is the most important lesson you’ve learned in your interesting life?
The most important lesson to me is that you have to have a stronger foundation than just yourself and human beings. You have to have a higher power. I learned that my big lesson is having my trust in God because my foundation is bigger than my problems.
He’s bigger than anything I can face. When I went through prison and was looking at 100 years, being betrayed by my whole family, I could have snapped and lost it. I could have gotten more angry, but because I put my trust in God and believed in His promises for me, I stuck to my guns.
I said, “I’m going to trust you even if I don’t see you, even if I don’t really know you yet. I’m going to trust what your Bible says and focus on that.” I believe that I know I don’t deserve mercy or grace, but I believe you’re the kind of creator that does that for us.
He showed Himself to me, and my big lesson was connecting with Him and healing through my journey. I realized I’m not a lost cause; I’m not a failure. I’m not going to stay stuck in my mistakes. I can go through that.
Had it not been for that, I would have lost hope. But because of that, I didn’t lose hope; I saw the light. I saw the bigger picture. I saw that all along, God had been knocking on my door, trying to get my attention. I was just being a knucklehead, hard-headed, and rejecting myself and Him.
Going through this allowed me to see how to love human beings, first loving myself and how to love people. When you have a lot of hate, you don’t know any love. When you’re filled with hate, there’s no room for love, and there’s no room to receive it or give it. You’re just selfish, self-centered, and just fighting for yourself.
In there, I got to see everybody for who they were, but also love the ones I couldn’t love before, like the guys I hated who reminded me of my stepdad. That was one of the biggest lessons.
The rest just trickled down because as I healed, peeling the layers one at a time, I started feeling more like a human being. I started feeling the difference of what it is to have peace, a sound mind, and what it is to forgive people.
That was another big lesson. Forgiving people is key because I’m no longer going to be held captive or controlled by that individual who did me dirty in the past, whether it was my dad or someone who abused me when I was a little kid.
I will no longer allow that to control me. Once I release myself from them, I release that person too. Walking in forgiveness has been peaceful.
When I get upset or someone triggers me, I shake it off and do the process of forgiving people. I still have to address situations; I don’t ignore them because we live in a crazy world with a lot of crazy people. But I know how to address things and process them in a way that I don’t stay stuck.
It’s been an important journey of healing, and that’s why I’m able to offer it to other people.
Helping others, I’m sure, helps you.
It helps me, yeah, because at the same time, it helps me get in touch with my human side—the side I’ve never been in touch with. I’ve never been open to my emotions; I always held them in.
But I’m able to be more human and open and honest. I wasn’t like that before. I lied about everything; I pretended nothing was wrong. But deep down, everybody’s going through something.
Awesome, Ruben. Thank you so much for sharing your story. It’s such a fascinating life you’ve lived, and I pray that people listening understand that hope is not lost. There is help; there are a lot of resources. You just have to get out of the darkness, get out of isolation, and reach out.
Awesome. All right, Ruben, thank you very much.
[Music]
Even though "Soft White Underbelly" consists of a lot of videos, it’s really still a photography project to me. If you appreciate the photography, sometimes it’s difficult to enjoy it when it’s scrolling down the screen, which is the only option I had in this horizontal format on YouTube.
Last year, we came out with the first "Soft White Underbelly" book, which is a collection of the best portraits from the thousands of interviews I’ve done. Each portrait in this book is accompanied by an interesting quote from the person’s interview.
Oh my God, there’s more!
Wow, these aren’t as bad as I thought. I look like a witch!
I will not be reprinting this book when it sells out, so once it’s gone, it’s gone for good. You can order yours at softwhiteunderbelly.org for $125, or $150 for a signed copy.
Thank you for watching!