Tag: prison

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New Revu | The World of Niño Guerrero

While Venezuela is on its hiatus, in prison life goes on as usual. Journalist Michel Baljet and photographer Joris van Gennip are met at the entrance by two armed prisoners, meant to keep guards out. Welcome to Tocoron, one of Venezuela's most notorious prisons.

Next to me walks a young soldier with an oversized machine gun around his shoulder. Joris, the photographer who traveled with me to Venezuela, walks behind me on the right, our fixer on the left. We have been walking for a few hundred meters along an unpaved dirt road, which we feel leads nowhere, when I again ask Joris to be extra vigilant. From the other side comes a motorcycle with two more soldiers.

Forbidden area

Over an hour earlier, Joris and I arrived at Tocoron to do a report on life in one of Venezuela's most notorious prisons. What was supposed to be a routine job did not go as planned. While we thought we had bribed all the soldiers guarding the outside gate of the prison, our belongings - some cameras and other equipment - were taken away by a major. After mutual consultation, he sent us and the young soldier up the deserted road that ran alongside the prison.

The motorcycle carrying the two soldiers comes to a stop and the soldier accompanying us talks to his colleagues. After a few skittish glances our way, it is decided that we should turn around, to walk back to the prison gate. It will never become clear why we had been sent in this direction in the first place.

After that, things moved quickly. At the gate, we didn't get our stuff back, but were allowed to walk through. In my pocket was another phone that we could use to take pictures. We decided to go in without equipment anyway. Walking into the prison, we breathed a sigh of relief, both with the feeling that this might have ended very differently. From here we encountered no guards, no military and no government employees. Indeed, from here on out, it is off-limits to them.

We walk into the world of Niño Guerrero, an inmate who has been running this prison along with his accomplices for years. The authorities gave up controlling the prison years ago and now focus only on guarding the prison's fence. In 2012, Guerrero escaped with several accomplices, a year later he was back and since then he has not stopped for a day to build his empire. Héctor Guerrero Flores, aka Niño Guerrero (The Warrior Child), is a ruthless leader with two faces. Where on the one hand he keeps the prison and his criminal empire running with an iron fist, on the other he is known as a benefactor. Like a modern-day Robin Hood, he lifts families out of poverty and distributes wheelchairs and medicine to those in need. The Warrior Child not only runs the Tocoron prison; his former neighborhood of 28,000 is also completely under the authority of him and his men. If our fixer is to be believed, his power goes much further.

Power grab

Tocoron, built in 1982 for 750 prisoners, today houses more than 7,500. For years, the government has had no say here. In fact, at the entrance leading to the center of the facility, two armed inmates stand to keep guards out. 3 years ago this security was even more extreme, when there were prisoners with machine guns and you could find an armed prisoner on every street corner. Recently, Niño decided to replace these weapons with knives on visiting days. 'For imaging,' I later learn.

Most of the bullet holes are from a conflict that took place a few years ago. In a gunfight that lasted hours, Niño won back his power

This is not the first time Joris and I have been here. Last week we were there as well. Both fascinated by the developments inside this prison, we decided to go back today. The first time I visited this wonderful world was in 2014. I even volunteered there for a few days to understand what is going on here.

Walking through the gate of the prison, you come to a main road leading to the center of the prison. To its left are the two buildings that once formed the original prison. Inmates are doing restoration work on the flat; they are about halfway there. Under the newly applied exterior coating, bullet holes are still clearly visible. Most of these bullet holes are from a conflict that took place a few years ago. A prisoner was of the opinion that not one person should be in charge within the walls of Tocoron. Niño disagreed. In a firefight that lasted for hours, Niño won back his power. Dozens of people did not survive the power grab. The official death toll stands at 16. Videos taken by prisoners, however, show us a much higher death toll.

Subordinate

Right after the entrance, we find a square on the main street with a basketball court. A stage is ready and the boxes for a performance later in the day are set up. Next to the plaza is the newly renovated swimming pool with a playground for the youngest visitors.

Walking down the main street for a while, we come to the center of the prison. While there is a major food crisis in Venezuela right now, it does not seem to exist here. Several stores and restaurants offer all kinds of food and necessities. Here, unlike in the outside world, customers do not have to stand in line for hours before making a purchase.

Nor is a swimming pool lacking at Tocoron Prison, which is doing better economically than outside its gates.

While developments in Venezuela have stalled in recent years due to a shortage of building materials, developments in Tocoron have continued apace. For example, several buildings that were plywood when I visited 3 years ago are now concrete.

The small, autonomous city offers numerous amenities for those who can afford them. For example, you can get a television connection for 100,000 bolivar a week (a monthly wage). Residents of Tocoron pay an allowance to stay in prison; if you can't pay that, you become a subordinate, recognizable by a tie. You must then work for Niño to pay for your place inside the prison. Subordinates are allowed to walk around and stay in a locked part of the prison only with permission. Subordinates help visitors lift luggage, do maintenance work and drag large buckets of water through the prison. Every day they receive a government-paid meal. We see a long line of skinny men waiting in the afternoon as food is distributed from large pots.

Banco de Tokyo

Tocoron is structured in sectors. The closer you are to the center, the better the amenities. So you have cabins with or without air conditioning, and with or without TV. If you do very well, you can have a store on the main street, with an adjoining bedroom.

There is a bank: the Banco de Tokyo. Prisoners who want to transfer money can have it done to one of the many accounts of Niño's henchmen. After deducting a 10 percent commission, you can collect your money. Borrowing money is also possible, at interest rates between 10 and 20 percent. But oh woe if you pay back late.

Joris and I had decided that it was not smart to walk into prison with large piles of money. Due to the massive inflation in Venezuela, 100 dollars is worth 430,000 bolivars today (now even 600,000). Recently there have been new banknotes up to and including a value of 20,000 bolivar; however, these are nowhere to be had. The largest bill available has a value of 100 bolivar. Instead of putting over 4,000 bills in a backpack, we decided to bring dollars. As we had been told, we had these exchanged in no time at a good rate within the walls of Tocoron.

Together with our fixers, we do a tour of the prison. One of the fixers has been stuck here and knows many people inside the walls. With every turn we make, I see photographer Joris' amazement increase. Besides the pool, playground equipment and shopping, Tocoron has plenty of other amenities. For example, there are bars and Tocoron has the most famous disco in the region: Disco Tokyo. Famous artists from home and abroad perform there, and there is even airtime purchased on the radio to announce the next party. Currently, the disco is being renovated; from what I understand, the just-new marble floor is being replaced with a lighted floor.

Corrupt arms deal

A little further on we walk into the zoo. While the inhabitants of the zoo in capital Caracas are starving, here we see the opposite. A wide assortment of animals, including flamingos, monkeys and a panther live in a well-maintained area on the north side of the prison. Food is plentiful, day and night inmates keep busy caring for the animals. A new arena has been built in the zoo for cockfighting, and further along is a stable with competition horses.

Cockfights also regularly break out in Tocoron.

Through the pigsties, we walk past the baseball field to one of the prison's quarters. It is a coming and going of motorcycles, a mode of transportation available only to Niño Guerrero's henchmen. Small houses made of plywood form a kind of slum here. This is still the better part of the prison. Entering one of the houses, we enter a small room with a double bed. White A4s make up the wallpaper, the roof is neatly sealed with a system ceiling. It is cool, the air conditioning is on, a music program is on television.

With the weapons and grenades on hand, Niño and his crew can win a small war

Back downtown, Joris and I, over a beer, talk about what we've seen. "I actually feel safer inside the prison walls than outside," Joris says. Indeed, at first glance, it seems that the gigantic crisis currently plaguing Venezuela is passing Tocoron by. Developments continue apace. Food is plentiful and everything functions. You would almost forget that you are not in a resort, but in one of the country's most notorious prisons. Hundreds of people die there every year. In fact, a day after our visit, three bodies are found at the gate of the prison. And a week later another one.

Empire

To maintain order, Niño Guerrero's henchmen are armed with modern, sometimes automatic weapons. In a corrupt arms deal with the government in 2014, more than 1,400 weapons were turned in. For that, at least as many more modern ones were returned through the back door. With the weapons and grenades on hand, Niño and his crew can win a small war. In addition, Niño has a court in his prison, of which he is the judge. While Venezuela does not have the death penalty, in the court of The Warrior Child, that is different. We are shown gruesome pictures of lifeless people from various prisoners, some mutilated before they were murdered.

Niño and his men live a safe distance away at the edge of the prison. His home appears to be fully equipped and is guarded 24/7. Niño's revenue comes not only from cell rental fees, but also from a commission on restaurant and bar sales, gambling revenue, his bank, extortion, drug trafficking and theft. According to officials, 90 percent of crime in the region has a link to the prison. It even goes so far that a carjacking victim will get a call from Tocoron a few hours after his car is stolen with the amount of the ransom to get the car back. The victim may then come and pay this off inside the gates of the prison, after which he or she will get back the location of the car as well as the key. The price to get your stolen car back is between one and seven monthly wages, depending on how new it is.

It is difficult to estimate how much Niño Geurerro's empire is worth. A rough calculation tells us that at the current rate he is bringing in around 200 million bolivars with the rent payments alone, or nearly 2,000 regular monthly wages. The rent payments are just the tip of the iceberg.

Greetings from The Warrior Child

After talking to some people and walking around a bit, we decide it's a good time to go. On going out, the major who took our belongings does not want to give them back. A plea from our fixer does not help. Even offering money, something that is the order of the day in Venezuela, offers no relief.

A prison with a zoo, anything is possible in Tocoron.

To still try to get our cameras and other belongings back, we try to get in touch with the Guardia National outside the gate. A phone call to inmates inside Tocoron offers relief after a few hours. In the evening, when we are back in Maracay, the redeeming call comes: 'Your stuff is no longer with the major but in the prison.' The next morning we can come and pick it up.

Early the next morning, we drive back to Tocoron. And lo and behold, after an hour of waiting, an accomplice of Niño Guerrero walks out of the gate of the prison with our shoulder bag. Everything is still in it. What that cost us? Nothing, courtesy of The Warrior Child.

 

PHOTOGRAPHY JORIS VAN GENNIP AND MICHEL BALJET

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Voluntarily incarcerated in Tocoron, Venezuela's most notorious prison

Tocoron is Venezuela's most notorious prison. There are hundreds of deaths every year and really anything can be had there. Weapons, cocktails and even a crocodile can be found within the walls. I willingly allowed myself to be locked up there.

Normally, the access road to the prison that overlooks an open field is deserted. This morning, however, when I arrive with my motorcycle at 7 a.m., the road has been transformed into a veritable boulevard. I park at a sort of secure stall built up for the day and leave my helmet, phone and other belongings with the same people.

It is still early and the gate of the Tocoron prison will not open for at least another hour. Me and my fixer decide to have coffee at one of the temporarily erected restaurants.

7500 prisoners

My fixer is a Venezuelan guy around my age. He has been detained "inside" for a year a relative convicted of armed robbery. Soon he will be my guide, when I will have myself locked inside the walls of Tocoron.

Tocoron is notorious. Hundreds of people a year die there because of violence. Originally the prison was built for 900 prisoners, but today it holds more than 7,500 prisoners, spread over several areas.

To avoid hours of queuing and checking for cash, we decide to bribe the Guardia Nacional (who guards the outside of the prison). Soon, after handing over our ID, we are inside without a check. This will be the last time I see a guard today, because from this point on, guards and authorities are no longer welcome. They will even be shot if they do try to enter.

El Niño Guerrero

Tocoron is led by captives with El Niño Guerrero, or "the Pran," in charge. The feared leader has been keeping the strings tight within the walls of his city for the past several years. He is respected and even considered an icon by many.

El Niño Guerrero and the Pran are nicknames of Héctor Gabriel Guerrero Flores. On Aug. 30, 2012, he and 14 of his accomplices escaped from Tocoron. Later, he was arrested again. However, because he used a fake ID during his arrest, it took three weeks for authorities to figure out that they had already detained the country's most wanted criminal. Upon his return to Tocoron, his iconic status meant he was welcomed with open arms.

As I walk in after the Guardia checkpoint, I enter a boulevard of sorts. I pass a square with live music and a DJ, a swimming pool under construction and several restaurants, stores, bars and a dentist. In front of me, an electrical company made up of prisoners is working on an electrical pole.

Nothing in prison happens against the will of El Niño Guerrero. Therefore, should I do something stupid, it is a problem for my contact inside the walls. Therefore, I am kept under close watch and photographs are taken for me.

Pistols and machine guns

Everything you can think of is available within its walls. From food to electronics and from drugs to weapons. The latter are carried openly within the walls of Tocoron, from small pistols to large machine guns. Every now and then you will see the Pran or his brother riding by on the motorcycles imported exclusively for them.

Tocoron is considered one of the most violent prisons in Venezuela and perhaps on the continent. It soon becomes apparent, then, that the Venezuelan government's claim that all of the country's prisons are disarmed is false. Official figures of the number of deaths per year are not known, but in 2012, according to leaked figures, it would be a good 600.

Crocodile

El Niño Guerrero loves animals, so as we walk further into the prison grounds, we pass a zoo with dozens of types of animals in cages-including a crocodile-and a horse run with about six adult and two younger horses. My contact likes horses so we hang out there for a while.

Slums

The prison consists of different parts. You have the flats at the beginning of the compound, then a giant slum and finally a tent camp. Your status within the walls determines where you end up. The tent camp is actually a small prison within the prison; there is even a fence around it.

My contact lives in the slum, which doesn't really live up to its name because it is one of the better places to live. Hundreds of structures covered in plywood and corrugated iron form streets and neighborhoods. The thin wooden storage boxes in which new Bera engines are transported make up 80% of the building materials.

Three by three

As we walk through the alleys we are closely watched by the armed boys in the checkpoints. My contact's "house" is about three by three meters and is shared with another person. Besides a bed and a clothes rack, he has the luxury of a small air conditioner and a TV. In the corner of the room is a bucket that serves as a toilet, the place is damp and teeming with vermin. This will be my room for the next few nights.

The place is damp and teeming with vermin

We walk around some more and my contact introduces me to some people, shows me their baseball field and we eat something at one of the dozens of primitive restaurants. What strikes me is that even things that are hard to get outside these walls because of the crisis in Venezuela, such as shampoo, oil and bread, are sold here in abundance.

Discotheque Tokyo

Later that evening we meet up with some people I met earlier that day. We meet at Tocoron's nightclub called "Tokyo. Over some cocktails, we talk about their lives inside the walls. Some have been here for years, others are just there. Behind us, the DJ plays music, and standing inside like this, this disco is indistinguishable from a disco outside the walls.

When we go to sleep I share my bed with another while two more prisoners lie on the floor next to me. Before I fall asleep I hear some gunshots nearby. I ask myself what happened again.

Banco Nacional de Tokyo

In the morning I decide to go out before the others. In the alley I sit down among the mud on a small plastic chair. I look around and think about how dangerous it is here. What if there's a fire and what if you get really sick.

Around seven o'clock we walk again. Over breakfast, my contact tells me about the dentist, the prison bank "Banco Nacional de Tokio" and the other businesses that have sprung up on the property over the years. Within its walls, Tocoron is a self-contained city including garbage collection services, a remodeling company and an electrical maintenance company.

The brother's house

Near the entrance to the compound are two large apartment buildings. In the walls of these buildings are hundreds but hundreds of bullet holes, on the buildings armed prisoners stand guard. Most of the bullet holes occurred after a battle a few years ago between El Niño Guerrero and a rival who believed that power should be divided. In an eight-hour battle with pistols, machine guns and grenades, that rival was then eliminated.

Today the apartment is the home of El Niño Guerrero's brother. When I walk into the apartment, it begins to feel like a prison. It is dark, chilly, and the fences make it real. We are watched intently downstairs by the two inmates with machine guns who make up the first checkpoint. The more stairs we climb, the greater the scrutiny becomes. The brother lives on the top floor in a kind of cell-connected multi-room apartment. It is not the nicest place to sit in Tocoron, but then he sits there for the statement, "Only one is in charge.

Amusement Park

I am invited to a barbecue, and we walk along the promenade toward the other side of Tocoron. The promenade, meanwhile, looks more like an amusement park. Prisoners dressed as jesters, sometimes on stilts, are walking around, and balloons and other things are being sold to visitors. Behind us is a dental office, and in front of us the prisoner-run electrical company is working on wiring. A poster from the "Banco Nacional de Tocoron" explains how inmates can transfer money from outside the prison.

During the barbecue, I talk with El Niño Guerrero's father and his sons. He is proud of them. Within the walls, they garner respect and they clearly hold the power. Food and alcohol abound, there is a lot of laughter above all, business is good for El Niño.

Two days after my visit, I read in the newspaper that another person has been killed in Tocoron. Two weeks later, El Niño's brother is released.