Brand New Lifestyle
A blue tattoo that reads “White Pride” etched along Scott Toglin’s neckline once defined the person he was, but now it only reminds him of the life he wants to leave behind.
Toglin, 23, said he joined a skinhead gang during his teens but has since been in search of a different kind of life. Through a program sponsored by the Orange County Probation Department and the Beckman Laser Institute at UCI and championed by Superior Court Judge David O. Carter, the Orange probationer is erasing the label as well as the ties to his troubled past.
“It’s a constant reminder of the person I used to be,” said Toglin, who was recently placed on probation after being convicted of assault and extortion charges. “So, taking it off makes it easier to put my past behind me.”
Considered among the Probation Department’s most innovative projects, the program is losing one of its pillars of support this year when Carter steps down from his post overseeing the county’s criminal court cases.
The jurist became instrumental to the program’s success by helping to enroll people who appear before him, usually for arraignment or probation on a variety of charges. But with his new trial court assignment, Carter no longer has access to the voluminous pool of candidates.
Organizers say that although the judge’s absence will not jeopardize the tattoo-removal project, it will certainly be a loss.
“We were doing this before Carter, but he really kind of made it into something,” said Dr. Michael Berns, president of the Beckman Institute at UCI.
Offered mostly to former gang members on probation, the program has helped 63 people since July 1995. Carter single-handedly enrolled 28 of those since he became involved in 1996.
“We’ve done a good job identifying [gang members]” for arrest and prosecution, Carter said. “But we haven’t done a good job on the back side of it, and that is helping those who want out [of criminal life]. . . . I think this program does that.”
More than decorative skin art, gang-related tattoos stigmatize, preventing reformed gang members from getting jobs and hampering their efforts to change their ways, Carter said. A tattoo also can endanger a person who might be targeted by rivals who don’t know that he or she has left the gang.
It’s hardly a cure-all, but many of those who have completed the painful procedure have gone on to get jobs that enabled them to leave criminal activity behind.
The removal of the tattoos not only changes the way others look at them, but also the way they look at themselves, said Sandra Swallow, the county probation officer who coordinates the program.
On a recent morning, Jose Maciel appeared before Carter to ask for help--the first step to being enrolled in the program. He was first branded as a street gang member when he was about 13. But when his first daughter was born about six years ago, he said he began thinking differently.
“I want to try to raise my kids the right way,” said Maciel, whose body is nearly covered in gang tattoos. “I don’t want them to get involved in the things that I’ve gotten myself into.”
Carter ordered him to approach the bench so he could examine the tattoos. He asked the 33-year-old Anaheim resident many personal questions, including whether he was employed.
Looking at Maciel through spectacles that slid down the bridge of his nose, Carter told Maciel that he would help. Maciel’s tattoos are scheduled to be removed in the upcoming weeks.
Julio Sevilla, another probationer enrolled in the tattoo-removal program, got his first gang tattoo at 16. On his right hand is a happy face alongside a sad face, which he described as a common gang motto: “Laugh now, cry later.”
Three dots forming a triangle on his left hand means “mi vida loca,” or “my crazy life,” he said. On his arm is a star, marking a year spent in county jail. These three inked symbols are believed to be among the most popular gang tattoos, probation officers said.
Tired of the gang violence, Sevilla said he recently requested that his tattoos be removed after deciding it was time to stay out of trouble and get a legitimate job.
“When I go to a job interview, employers would take a look at my tattoos, and I can tell I wouldn’t get it,” Sevilla said. “They say they don’t judge by looks, but they do.”
Probation officers hope that those like Sevilla will go on to become a role model for others.
One of the department’s most successful cases is Lisa Stevens, who joined a motorcycle club at 16 and was in and out of the legal system for years, once jailed after stealing $575 from her mother.
Now, the 37-year-old Orange County woman has a steady job and recently regained custody of her two children, ages 14 and 16.
Stevens arrived at the laser institute every few weeks for the past year. With each layer of ink that is removed, Stevens has incrementally taken hold of her own life.
She said she is more confident and smiles more often now, and the best part of it all is that her family has forgiven her.
“So many things have changed for the better since I decided to get the tattoos off,” she said. “It’s pretty awesome.”
The procedure is simple. Volunteer doctors run a laser beam over the tattoo, scattering the ink into tiny fragments that are then absorbed by the body.
The average tattoo is erased after about six treatments, doctors said. The process can cost thousands of dollars, but probationers in the program only pay a nominal fee or nothing at all, depending on their income.
The cost is subsidized by the Probation Community Action Assn., a nonprofit arm of the Probation Department, and contributions from Carter and others.
Not everyone completes the program, and one 15-year-old who was enrolled even got a new tattoo. But many are committed to returning month after month for the treatments, which Stevens said feel like “rubber bands popped against your skin.”
Afterward, the painful swelling can last for days. And Carter says that’s part of the point.
“There’s no anesthesia. I don’t give anesthesia,” Carter said. “I want them to remember the pain. . . . I want them to be serious about this.”