3 friends return to graffiti decades after a police sting shattered their world

Episode 12: Paradise Hills Wall Transcript 

Julia Dixon Evans: Paradise Hills is a residential neighborhood in Southeast San Diego, tucked away in the canyons just inland of National City. In the 1980s it was growing fast, with lots of Latino, Asian and Black families moving in.

Back then, June, Ron, and Romali grew up together in Paradise Hills going to family parties. They'd known each other their whole lives. As they were becoming teenagers, they were getting to that age where you had to choose an identity or — the way things were changing in their neighborhood — pick a side.

Isauro "Junior" Inocencio: There was this constant pressure of which gang are you gonna join? You know what I mean?

Romali Licudan: You were either, excelled at academics or you excelled at sports, and then the other option was you join a gang.

Inocencio: And for me, personally, it felt like, well, if I join the red team, then that means I'm gonna have to put down the homies on the blue team, which is not cool 'cause we had classes together and we had some cool adventures together growing up.

Evans: But something new was happening that they thought could unite the splintering neighborhood.

Licudan: And then graffiti and hip-hop started coming onto the scene. Just seeing something that's on a wall, out on the street, just saw the colors, saw the characters on there, I think that gave it that like, whoa, what is this?

Inocencio: Yeah, so we did a little nose dive into the art scene, and it was pretty well respected back then on both sides of the neighborhood — blue team or the red team. They kind of looked at us like, oh, these guys are the artists, you know? We pretty much carved our own lane, if you think about it.

Evans: They formed a crew. Not a gang with rivals, just a group of kids who wanted to do art on the big stage, on a wall everyone could see. Their canvas was a wall on Division Street, a busy road in the heart of the neighborhood. It was on private property, so they knocked on the owner's door and asked permission.

Licudan: We typed up a contract and went to him to get it signed so if the cops came through, we'd just show him the contract and like, hey, we got permission to paint the wall.

Inocencio: And back then we typed up the contract. We didn't just use Microsoft Word, you know what I'm saying? We used the typewriter.

Evans: And they also got permission from an artist a couple years older than them, Romy, who'd painted the wall before.

This was around the time of the Gulf War, and these kids were tackling big themes.

Inocencio: He pretty much documented what was going on at the time and the irony of being on Division Street between the neighborhood gangs as well as in the Middle East.

Ron Recaido: He gave us the blessing and we went over there and painted our first one to pay homage to his piece, "Apocalypse." We originally painted "Revelation," kind of on the same theme. When I look back on that piece right now, it was very subpar. The skills are subpar, but it…

Inocencio: It wasn't timeless. It wasn't timeless.

Recaido: But it was… It was a thrill. It was a thrill to say, all right, finally, hey, we got something up.

Evans: The crew was in business. They had a wall. They had a purpose. And they weren't in a gang. But behind the scenes there was an elaborate operation in the works to take them down. And when they were least expecting it, it came to June's front door.

Inocencio: I open it up and it's the police and I'm like, oh. They come in, they take everything. They take my old pictures, my old yearbooks — anything that was tagged on. And on their way out, they turn around, they're like, oh yeah, we also got a warrant for your arrest.

Evans: This is a story about three friends — second-generation Filipino immigrants — and a tight-knit community living through America's crime epidemic and the policing strategies that came with it.

It's about how you can be punished for staying out of trouble. But also, how you can come back, pick up the pieces and paint again.

From KPBS Public Media, this is The Finest, a podcast about the people, art and movements redefining culture in San Diego. I'm Julia Dixon Evans.

[Theme Music]

Evans: We heard about the Paradise Hills mural from our KPBS colleague Kori Suzuki. He recently wrote about how three old friends — Ron, Romali and June — reunited to paint a mural on their old wall, and we'll get to that later.

But the story of what these friends had been through together before that was so surprising and powerful that we just had to know more. So we invited them to our studio to get into the saga in more detail. Now in their 40s and 50s, they're a funny crew with the chemistry you only get with decades of friendship.

Recaido: We were like artistic jocks.

Inocencio: I think we were the original parkour. Yeah, climbing freeway bridges and buildings and whatnot. It's like, dude, that's parkour. You get a varsity letter for that one.

My name is Isauro Inocencio Junior. I go by Iz at work. Good friends call me June. You can call me June. I work as an elementary school teacher — second grade at the Chula Vista Elementary School District.

Licudan: My name is Romali Licudan. I'm a tattoo artist and I paint murals too. I live in Paradise Hills.

Recaido: My name is Ron Recaido, grew up in Paradise Hills, currently reside in Paradise Hills, active duty in the U.S. Navy. And supposed to say that, all the opinions stated here are my own and not a reflection of the U.S. Navy.

Evans: Ron, June and Romali's bond and the roots of their neighborhood trace back to the other side of the world. And it has a lot to do with the United States Navy.

Recaido: Our parents are immigrants from the Philippines and they're actually all from the same town.

Evans: Before World War II, the Philippines was a U.S. colony and during the war, soldiers from both places fought side-by-side against Japan. After their victory, the U.S. granted the Philippines its independence, but they made a unique arrangement: the Military Bases Agreement of 1947. The U.S. could have military bases in the country and Filipinos could join the U.S. Navy. While U.S. military presence abroad has its complications, it was for some a chance at the American Dream. But competition for those jobs was fierce. As many as 100,000 Filipinos applied each year, but only about 400 got in.

Recaido: And so our parents just so happened to be one of the lucky ones to get into the Navy. And when they got stationed, they all ended up in San Diego. During the '80s, there was an older part of Paradise Hills and they started a new development, which was around the time that our fathers started making rank and were able to afford the homes. And it was a whole brand new neighborhood: fathers in the military, kids everywhere. Junior's dad is my godfather, Romali's sister is my mom's goddaughter, and so on and so forth. And they would have family parties. Just all the immigrant Filipinos that all lived in the neighborhood. Filipino parties are just ridiculous with the amount of people they invite to the house and the amount of food that they have there. And that's how we grew up. We just grew up with each other.

Evans: And in between family parties and playing outside, the boys were enamored with the art that would inspire their graffiti future.

Licudan: Comic books. Comic books were a major influence.

Inocencio: "X-Men" for sure.

Licudan: We watched a lot of cartoons, like "Robotech."

Recaido: "Robotech" the animation style was different being that it was Japanese. You know, our fathers being in the Navy, it was a cartoon about an intergalactic space Navy. So when everybody talks about anime today and are super into anime, I’m like, man, you guys don't know anime. You guys don't know "Robotech."

Inocencio: I think back in the days, along with Romali, but Ron would school me on how to draw. And we both had comic books back in the '80s. We checked out the Comic Convention before it was the Comic Convention.

Licudan: Pretty much just carried a book around with me and I'd even be drawing on my notes in class. And I just love drawing. I just love drawing.

Recaido: When I think on it, I was like, why is it that all three of us whose parents came from farmland — working in the farms in a very rural part of the Philippines — come out here and just have some kids that are artistic. I think the Navy created a stable enough life where their kids didn't have to worry about their next meal, so they had the opportunity to be creative or to be expressive 'cause we're kind of like Navy brats, you know?

Licudan: And I think, I will say for me, my mom, she's an artist, but because during the time when she was young, her dad had told her that there's no money to be made in art in the Philippines, so she studied to become a doctor and because of that, I think she's living vicariously through me and would push me to do my art and be creative.

Recaido: When I look back on it, it was like our parents had brought us here to create a better life, which they did. But it just so happened that they landed on the '80s and the '90s.

Evans: The boys' shared childhood was happy and filled with creative wonder. But as the '80s turned to the '90s, and the boys started high school, Paradise Hills started to change — like many communities throughout the U.S. The seeds of this change stretch back decades. In 1935, the area was designated as a redlined neighborhood. Redlining was a discriminatory practice in real estate and housing where mortgages and other loans were denied based on the race or ethnicity of a given neighborhood, generally communities of color like Paradise Hills. Redlining is no longer a legal practice, but its ongoing impacts are severe like poverty and inadequate funding for schools and services.

That built up pressure came to a head during the so-called crack epidemic and Reagan's "War on Drugs." There were lots of drug dealers and guns and police aggressively targeting redlined areas. San Diego's violent crime rate hit its all time high in 1992 at 10 incidents per 1,000 residents. And Southeast San Diego specifically had higher crime rates and a reputation for gang activity. For kids growing up in that turbulent environment, gangs offered protection, self-worth and identity.

Licudan: And then when graffiti and hip-hop started coming onto the scene, that became the avenue to go if you didn't want to get into a gang or if you weren't good at sports. Like NWA, A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, stuff like that.

Recaido: Hip-hop was there to help us express ourselves creatively. And we could still battle somebody or express our aggression, but not to where we're hurting each other.

[Music: "Electric Relaxation" by A Tribe Called Quest"]

Evans: Graffiti along with DJing, rapping and breakdancing were the four founding pillars of hip-hop culture. It emerged in the 1970s in the Bronx. It was all about expression and having a voice. And  in Ron, Romali and June's day, San Diego had some of the best street art in the world.

Recaido: San Diego had the frontrunners at the time. These guys were doing things that you had never seen before. You take something that they did in the '90s and it's classic, it's timeless.

Evans: So when they saw some pieces in the neighborhood, they jumped at the chance to put their cartoon-drawing skills on display for the whole town.

Recaido: It was a rush. It was a rush 'cause you put something up and knowing that everyone's gonna see it. You don't know how they're gonna respond to it. It is kind of like art. You're trying to put forth a message.

Evans: And even if the piece would be washed away or painted over, it was still a chance to make a mark.

Licudan: I feel like it gave you a voice, you know what I mean? Even if it isn't gonna be permanent, someone seeing that and it leaving a stain on their brain is just as permanent as a wall being up for like years, you know?

Recaido: The tag itself might be gone, but the memories remain.

Inocencio: That's right.

Licudan: I'm younger than them. So when these guys were painting the wall in the beginning, I was that little grommet. 'Cause for me, I would have to drive by that wall every morning to go to middle school. So when I was in middle school, I would always drive by the wall, see the pieces — or even see these guys painting it — and tell myself like, one day I'm gonna paint that wall, you know? My favorite piece on that wall is a piece that these guys painted, which was a "Lies and Cries" piece. The techniques they were using were very advanced for the time being.

Recaido: The first one we blasted through it and got it up there. By the time that we painted that, maybe a year or two later, we had been practicing and developing the craft. There was a theme, there was like a color scheme, like, all right, we started getting the whole composition of the things. I think it was during the time when you were dating, so I was like, OK, put "Lies and Cries" and tell a story of there's a chick right here and she's having a tough time. She's on the phone, you know what I mean?

Inocencio: On the phone.

Recaido: The concept, OK, pretty cool. But like Romali said it was the technical execution. It was like hearing one of your favorite jazz musicians do something new with his instrument. You know?

Evans:  They were mastering their craft and putting it up on their wall on Division Street for the whole neighborhood to see.

Inocencio: So it was a good feeling, you know? It was almost like winning the Super Bowl. Nah, that's too much, huh? Let me tone it down a little bit. It was almost like winning a CIF Championship game in high school, you know what I mean? There were other graffiti artists from different high schools at the time and we had a chance to put our mark up and say, hey, you know, we're up.

Evans: Ron and June started to organize a whole graffiti crew, one that was about expression and craft and bringing people together.

Inocencio: I think back then I was more on the tip of like, why don't we just unify everybody? So there's a north side of the crew and a south side of the crew and the east side of the crew, and we can just take over, you know what I mean? So it was almost like, I guess, in my mind, it felt like everyone was trying to get in where they fit in. And I guess I wanted it to be where, well, if you're down with art and you got a pretty sick style, then you get down with us.

Recaido: Junior was like — I don't know if you watched the movie "Warriors" — but he was like Cyrus, can you dig it?

Inocencio: He got shot in the movie, but I ducked in real life. I ducked in real life several times.

Evans: They were all painting together. Eventually Romali was old enough to join the crew. But one fateful day they stumbled upon what seemed like a golden opportunity.

Inocencio: They put a little ad out on some underground magazines back then that would talk about, hey, we're making a documentary on graffiti artists. We've been to San Francisco, we've been to L.A., we're gonna do one in San Diego. Being young and all about that getting up, we were like, oh, we represented our neighborhood, we represented our schools, and we could get up here on the map. And I think that was the whole Icarus story, where you flew too close to the sun and it was just like, ah, damn, it was a trap. Like it's Star Wars. It was a trap.

We ended up following through, showing up, displaying some artwork around the neighborhood. I think Ron even busted a little freebie mural for them.

Recaido: Oh yeah, they invited us to their studio.

Evans: Romali happened to miss the documentary filming, which he would soon find out was a blessing in disguise.

Licudan: I actually had to go on a family trip, so I kind of lucked out 'cause around that time, that's when they were getting all these guys' information and like getting them on film.

Evans: The documentary crew turned out to be cops trying to bust graffiti artists. At this time, police were coming hard after gangs. There were new laws that characterized gangs as "street terrorism" and created gang injunctions, court orders that basically gave police expanded power to target suspected members in certain areas. The gang injunctions specifically mentioned graffiti as a signature gang activity. So it's no surprise that the cops saw going after graffiti as a way to combat gangs.

Gangs "tag" — write their names, sometimes in stylish lettering, to mark territory. Ron, Romali and June were tagging too but their focus was murals. It wasn't about turf. It was about artistic expression. But to the police, it was hard to tell the difference. In 1991, the L.A. Sheriff's Department staged a fake graffiti TV show and arrested "auditioners" who showed off their pieces. The lead investigator behind the operation said, quote, "Most taggers are heavily involved with petty theft and they go on to become the gangs."

Soon after, police in San Diego launched a very similar operation here. And to them, it didn't seem to matter that Ron, June and Romali's crew was not a gang at all but an alternative to that life. The neighborhood started catching on to the operation, but it was too late for Ron and June.

Inocencio: Some other local crews were hitting everyone up, like, hey, don't go, it's a trap.

Recaido: They were like, hey, Star Productions is not who they say they are. Be on alert, they're undercover cops. And it's like, oh man.

Evans: But after Ron and June met up with the fake documentary team, nothing happened for months. They figured they were off the hook and practically forgot about the whole thing. And at that time, tragedy struck the crew. Their friend and fellow graffiti artist was accidentally shot and killed.

Recaido: When our friend TJ passed away, it was like a wake up call. It was like, OK, all right, what are we doing? It was time to reflect. He was a good kid. You wouldn't wish any bad on him, but it happened to this guy. He was a good dude. We went straight from his funeral, I remember his father giving a very powerful eulogy speaking to all of us, everybody that was there. I was like, oh man.

Inocencio: It was raining too.

Recaido: Yeah, it was raining. It was…

Inocencio: He said something like, this is my only son. That was one of the moments where I was like, wow.

Recaido: He was basically like, look at what you're doing. What are you guys doing? And it was just like, man, let me try to sort it all out. It was a crazy moment in time. And like I said, with that raw energy, we drove straight from the funeral right up there, so it was just all that emotion through your fingertip, just expressed what we were feeling on the wall. And that was just to pay tribute to our friend.

Evans: So Ron went up to Division Street to put up a memorial mural for TJ. But the cops they forgot about? They were springing into action at this very moment — and coming for June.

Inocencio: My story after the funeral was a little different. What had happened was, after the funeral everyone's kind of dazed. We're all dazed and confused. I go home and I get a knock on the door and I open it up and it's the police and I'm like, oh. And they come in, my mom's tripping out. She's like, oh, what's going on? I was like, nothing. They just wanna get some spray paint. And on their way out, they turn around, they're like, oh yeah, we also got a warrant for your arrest. And I was like, what? And I look at my mom, she's getting all teary-eyed. And I'm like, oh, snap. And I look at the cop and I'm just like, can I get a jacket? Because it was cold. It was rainy that day. And I ended up going.

It was a trip because when they brought me to the station, they showed some of the clips that they got of our crew and they paused it right on TJ. As the camera panned over the crew members painting, they paused it right on TJ and they're just like, we heard about what happened to your friend. And I was just like, dang, dude. I just remember putting my head down, just thinking, man, like shaking my head like, that's cold, man. They even made a comment, something like, oh, we were about to pick him up too. And I was like, dang.

That was a lot to go through for teens. I can kind of relate to some of that post-traumatic stuff every now and then.

It felt like the end of the world in that little world.

Recaido: It was like an episode of "The Dukes of Hazzard" where Bo and Luke would be in the General Lee and they'd be going off a cliff and it'd pause, and then the narrator would be like, oh, wonder if the Duke boys are gonna get out of this one. And then it's like there's no end in sight. But it was like that. It was like, oh man, everything came to a crescendo.

Evans: The sting operation ultimately arrested 37 people allegedly responsible for causing a quarter million dollars in damages to homes, business and walls in the region. Ron said he wasn't arrested because his work was focused on the Division Street wall, which they had permission to paint on, but that June had painted on other walls around town.

I wondered what they thought about how the sting was portrayed in the press at the time.

I was just reading a news article that was in the paper right afterwards. There are a couple things I want to read to you. So it was immediately following the sting, Susan Golding, the mayor, she was quoted in the Union Tribune calling graffiti "low class." And then the district attorney, Ed Miller said, "Tagging is a serious crime, not a harmless prank. Taggers do this to get attention. Now law enforcement in the community have given taggers the kind of attention they deserve." Hearing that now, how does that make you feel? What is your response?

Recaido: I think they're right. They're right in the sense that the kids, the youth, they do need attention. They need positive outlets and for many, the neighborhoods that are within the redline district, there's not many opportunities out there 'cause their parents just don't make enough money. So do they need attention? Yeah. I think kids need a lot of attention. Had somebody reached out to us and be like, hey, look, you guys have some talent, some skill. Don't use it all on defacing the city or something that'll get you busted. You can go work for Disney or you could be an artist, you could paint in your garage. There's more positive ways, but we didn't have that type of mentorship. So yes, they're correct, I believe. Yeah, they're right, but the way they skew it.

Licudan: If you go back to the history of graffiti too, it was born through poverty in the Bronx. And these kids were in schools where they're being taught that they're not gonna amount to nothing. And so that's where graffiti comes about 'cause it's allowing an adolescent or a teenager to make his mark on the world by just writing his name on a wall and letting people know that, hey, I'm here, I'm alive, I exist.

Evans: After his arrest, June had to do community service and his dad took his spray paint away and told him no more art. And June took that seriously. Ron went off to college, where he found it hard to trust people and make friends. Romali — still in high school — kept up the wall for a while but it faded out eventually.

But slowly, art crept back into their lives. Romali had an art teacher in high school who became a mentor.

Licudan: I was going to join the Navy 'cause that's what my dad did. He pulled me off to the side, sat me down and told me like, you have something with characters and a passion for art, you should do something with it 'cause that's what you love to do. He convinced me to go to art school. So I went to Cal Arts to study animation and I've been doing art ever since then.

Evans: He worked as a slot machine designer and in video games for a while, and today is a tattoo artist and muralist back in Paradise Hills.

June kept his promise to his dad of no more art, and became a teacher. But when a principal saw his graffiti arrest on his record, he suggested he teach art, which he did for a decade.

Ron worked through some tough times and depression with some motivational books that changed his life like "The Art of Living Consciously." He found new purpose and joined the Navy.

And as the years passed, they started families of their own and the neighborhood changed, but people still remembered the crew for their Division Street murals.

Recaido: People from the community who got their doctorates want to improve the community through art. And I think our names — just 'cause we've been doing it for so long — came up and so they reached out to us. And it was just like, all right, let's give it another go.

Evans: So last year, the guys got the band back together ready to paint on Division Street again.

This time, they wanted to tell the story of their community and create something that could be a positive influence on young people in Paradise Hills today. A few weeks before they came to the studio, Ron, Romali and June showed their new mural to our KPBS colleague Kori Suzuki.

Inocencio: I thought it was just a beautiful thing how everything worked out. Romali being an artist, Ron being an artist and myself as well as the other artists who are involved, we all have different art styles, but to put 'em all into one wall, it's pretty challenging. And I think it came out beautiful.

Evans: The mural is bright orange with three distinct scenes: On the right, are protesters holding signs and American, Filipino and Mexican flags. It's a depiction of the Delano Grape Protests, when Mexican and Filipino workers in California came together to form the United Farm Workers. They went on strike to protest low pay and poor working conditions. And ultimately, it resulted in big change — improving pay and hours for farm workers.

Recaido: We're trying to think of a message to give to the community and while I was in school, I took Asian American studies and from there is where I learned the role that the Filipinos played during the 1960s grape strike in Delano, and how Filipinos worked alongside Cesar Chavez to make that movement happen. And I felt that this piece of history would've been a good thing to know in this community because when we were going to high school, the Filipino, the Mexican community or the Black community, we were at odds with each other sometimes. And if there was anything to teach us, it should have been about our history to learn that actually our communities worked together in a way to better their situation.

Evans: In the center of the mural are brilliant giant letters, gold and white, that say Isang Bagsak. It's Tagalog, a language widely spoken in the Philippines.

Recaido: Isang Bagsak, it literally translates to one down, meaning if one person's down, everybody's down. And Isang Bagsak was a saying that they used in the grape strike to kind of rally everybody.

Evans: And on the left side of the mural is another homage to their Filipino and agricultural roots: traditional vegetables. And there's cursive lettering above them that says, "Under God, Indivisible."

Recaido: Because the street is called Division, Division Street, we thought, it's pretty witty, "Under God, Indivisible" on Division Street. You see what I'm saying? The vegetables that we painted here are staples of the Ilocano diet. We've got the squash, we got the ampalaya, we got the eggplant, kamatis, calamansi — they're all fruits and vegetables that Filipinos use in their cooking.

Licudan: These are all vegetables that I grew up like eating, and here I am painting 'em now on this wall for the community.

Inocencio: And I think what's cool too is that with our parents growing a lot of these vegetables in our backyards, it also shows that them coming from a farming background, they were able to show us that you get the fruits of your labor.

Evans: It was a group effort: June did the background and the protesters' signs, Ron the lettering and Romali the vegetables and people. And at the end, they signed it with their old crew name: J-V-C. Kori asked them about that name.

Kori Suzuki: J-V-C?

Recaido: J-V-C.

Suzuki: Can I ask, does that stand for something?

Recaido: Well, J-V-C. Back in the day, when we were younger, it was the Juvenile Vandal Crew. Right? I don't know what it stands for now.

Inocencio: It's transitioned and it's grown with us. So it's more of like, just a vigilant citizen. If cops ever get hold of this footage, that's what it stands for. We're just vigilant citizens of the community.

Evans: From Juvenile Vandal Crew to Just Vigilant Citizens, these former targets of a police sting operation turned out alright.

Licudan: I would drive past this wall and always see it blank and just reminisce of all the times. Damn, we used to paint that wall. And always wishing that like, man, I wish we could paint that wall again. And then for us to come back here and do it. Now when I drive by it again, it brings joy to me. You know what I mean?

Inocencio: Absolutely.

Licudan: And it's also, we're not just putting up our names. 'Cause in graffiti, the basis of it is putting your name up. But a lot of people don't realize that graffiti can also be used — or it should be used — as a message board, to inspire. We can show the younger generation what they could do with graffiti and what they can do with their art.

Evans: Today, art is still a big part of each of their lives. Romali and June have done other murals, from the Philippines to San Francisco. Earlier this summer, Ron held an exhibit in Chula Vista that explored his Filipino family's U.S. Navy story through graffiti-inspired art.

Ron, June and Romali told us they learned a lot from doing graffiti — about practicing a skill tirelessly, learning to carve your own path and, eventually finding a voice.

Licudan: We're told not to write on walls and we're told not to do this or say that, but there's times when you do gotta get up and you gotta say what you need to say and go against the grain and go against the norm of society to prove a point and to make a statement.

[Music]

Evans:  A special thank you to Ron Recaido, Romali Licudan and Isauro Inocencio Jr., aka June for sharing their story with us.

 Thank you to KPBS South Bay and Imperial Valley Reporter Kori Suzuki for all of his reporting on this story, and to Allan Manzano, who first pitched this story to KPBS during a recent event.

Thanks so much for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please leave us a rating on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. It really helps new people discover the show. And best of all, if there’s anyone in your life that might like The Finest, please share it with them.

 We're off next week. We'll see you in two weeks.

I'm your host Julia Dixon Evans. Our producer, lead writer and composer is Anthony Wallace. Our engineer is Ben Redlawsk. And our editor is Chrissy Nguyen.

This transcript has been edited for clarity and conciseness.