Crime, Class, and Carceral Stereotypes in Media
Image Description: Sketch of a prison watch tower; rows of prison cells surround it along a red background.
Prisons have long been a permanent fixture in film and television, a steadfast embodiment of justice amidst constantly changing legislation. As feminist activist & prominent voice for the prison abolition movement Angela Davis deftly stated in her book “Are Prisons Obsolete?”, the prison is considered “an inevitable and permanent feature of our social lives.” This established immutability of the carceral system in the American psyche has made it increasingly difficult for people to imagine life without prisons, or to change our preconceptions about it.
In films, books, and even children’s cartoons,the common criminal is personified as an unkempt, anti-social individual with shifty eyes and possessing traits that already mark them as social outliers: low socioeconomic background, racial or ethnic minority status, mental health struggles, strange physical appearance or disability. Their transgressions seem to be committed out of both self-preservation and greed; the “criminal” is ever so desperate to hoist themself out of poverty and subjugation— by any means necessary. This individual endlessly lies, steals, and deceives without remorse, actions that further solidify their social status as an oddball, a pariah, a weirdo.
These stereotypes underlie a number of famous media, such as Disney’s Aladdin (1992). The animated movie was originally meant to be set in Baghdad, Iraq, but this was changed following the 1990 Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, which kickstarted the year-long Persian Gulf War. Aladdin creators consequently formulated the fantastical kingdom of Agrabah, which consisted of a compilation of different Middle Eastern cultures (already problematic) to set the scenes. Protagonists Aladdin and Princess Jasmine have softer, Eurocentric features (rounder eyes, light skin tones), whereas scheming vizier Jafar possesses over-exaggerated Middle Eastern traits like a long hooked nose, a thin face, and dark, angular eyebrows. Additionally, Jafar is the only character in the movie who speaks with a heavy accent; everyone else speaks in a standard American accent. The phenotypic and linguistic juxtaposition between Jasmine and Jafar illustrates the racist biases within the perceived parameters of who is allowed to be a hero or a villain. This subsequent fictional “othering” of Jafar serves as a parallel to the manner in which criminals in American prisons are harmfully type-casted in broader society.
A more modern embodiment of these socially constructed criminal stereotypes is shown in Trey from the American drama teen TV series, “The O.C..” In the very first episode of the show, main character Ryan Atwood and his older brother, Trey, are arrested after a failed car-stealing attempt. Because of his clean record and status as a high school student, Ryan is let off on a warning. Trey, with prior felonies and misdemeanors, is sent to prison for three years. When Ryan is later adopted by a wealthy family in Newport Beach, Trey reaches out to Ryan from prison to ask for one last favor: to commit a crime in order to repay the debt Trey owes to prison gang members.
Though he was a crucial figure in Ryan’s upbringing and a key influence on Ryan’s life-changing move to Newport, Trey’s character is defined only by violence, impulsivity, desperation, and criminality. Trey’s depiction reinforces the stereotype that individuals from lower socioeconomic backgrounds are predisposed to a life of crime, inadvertently making them both scapegoats for societal unrest and the main victims of systemic classism. Trey’s character arc is written to offer little room for redemption or growth—unlike Ryan’s, who benefits from the privilege of being given a second chance by a wealthy and supportive family. By painting Trey as a one-dimensional figure trapped in a cycle of criminal behavior, the show perpetuates the notion that people with criminal records are irredeemable while simultaneously ignoring the complex social factors that contribute to their circumstances, their individual intellect, and overall humanity.
On the other hand, white-collar criminals are represented within media as charismatic, intelligent, and morally ambiguous, encouraging sympathy or support from audiences. Shows like Breaking Bad and Ozark center on protagonists who commit financial crimes, launder money, and manipulate systems;their motives—family protection, ambition, or survival—are presented as complex and relatable. Similarly, Suits glamorizes corporate fraud, while Billions showcases the cutthroat world of hedge fund managers engaging in insider trading and corruption, often depicted as high-stakes games, rather than intensely destructive crimes with serious repercussions on economic stability. The romanticization of white-collar crime as a form of ingenuity serves as a stark contrast to the spurning shamefulness of ordinary civilian crime in television and film.
Whether it be a children’s animated film or a classic Y2K teenage soap opera, the harmful conceptualization of criminality is one that is overwhelmingly common in media, literature, and broader social discourse. The racist and elitist biases behind this monolith reinforce a one-dimensional archetype that not only overlooks the existence of white-collar, upper-class criminality, but also completely erases the nuanced role of positionality, class conflict, racist policing, and cyclical poverty in shaping crime and its offenders.
The American prison quite literally severs all ties between the real world and the prisoner through a system of social isolation, deprivation of physical and mental comforts, and state-sanctioned violence or discrimination––even after prisoners have served their time. In the U.S., formerly incarcerated individuals are disenfranchised and struggle to find employment opportunities. As a result, these citizens are often concentrated in transitional housing centers located in impoverished neighborhoods, thus making it profoundly difficult to avoid recidivism.
Outside of detrimental legislative and economic ramifications, former prisoners are looked down upon in general society—especially those who joined a prison gang. The stigma of prison communities hinders what should be the ultimate goal of any criminal-legal system: repentance, rehabilitation, and reintegration into society.
Therefore, we must learn more about incarcerated populations in order to understand how the key objectives of prison abolition and criminal justice may be achieved. Specifically, there needs to be a focus on debunking not just stereotypes regarding who goes to prison, but also what goes on within prisons themselves.
Though understanding organizational structures among prison inmates is key to dissolving the cloud of stereotypes and biases surrounding American prisons, this topic is rarely discussed in film and literature. Once an inmate enters the prison, they become a part of an understudied, all-encompassing, intricate social realm constructed solely by generations of inmates––past, present, and future.
In his book, “The Social Order of the Underworld: How Prison Gangs Govern the American Penal System,” political scientist David Skarbek debunks stereotypes surrounding prison gangs as perpetually anarchic, racist, and murderous. Skarbek shines light on the extralegal governing institutions that arise within prisons and how they are reflective of broader systemic failings within the carceral system. Prison gangs, like most governing bodies, operate off of principles from rational choice theory, which states that individuals make decisions solely to maximize their self-interest.
For instance, prison gangs actually operate within a governmental framework not unlike America’s three branches of government. The NorCal-originated Mexican-American gang, Nuestra Familia (NF), has a system of voting to determine elected officials that make decisions on the gang’s business operations and other gang activities. There are also methods for NF members to ‘impeach’ an official if they believe he is stepping out of line, paralleling checks and balances of the U.S. government. Gang members who are not in authority positions act as the policing bodies of the community and receive direct orders from executives regarding when and on whom to carry out “a hit”.
In fact, even the very nature in which prison gangs perpetrate violence is rationally organized––contrary to popular characterization of gang members as bloodthirsty individuals. Every prison gang possesses a “Green Light List” in which the higher-ups in the gang vote to determine which individuals or gangs get the “green light” to be killed at any time. This list is often written on a piece of paper that is passed between gang members whenever it is updated. Once an individual or rival gang is added to a particular gang’s list, any member of the particular gang has the “green light” to kill that individual or any member of the rival gang whenever they want.
Conversely, gang members who murder rival gang members without approval from the Green Light List are often physically punished and repudiated by the rest of their gang for defecting from the pre-existing rules. In fact, a recent article in the LA Times reported the death of Samuel Villalba at a Long Beach homeless camp at the hands of the Mexican Mafia. Villalba was removed from the prison syndicate after assaulting a fellow gang member, and his death was the price he had to pay for his violation of MM’s rules. This harsh enforcement of rules contradicts stereotypes of prison gangs as unruly and illogical, instead highlighting their calculated systems of control and order––even at the expense of a member.
Furthermore, prison gangs consciously avoid injuring or murdering innocent people. This stands in stark contrast to general social sentiments that expressly portray gang members as willing to threaten and hurt uninvolved bystanders in their crimes. The Mexican Mafia (MM), for example, established a “one foot on the ground” policy for drive-by shootings across the gang after an increase in injuries of innocents. The implementation of this rule was designed solely to reduce the amount of attention that law enforcement and media paid to gang activity, since deaths of innocent bystanders caused publicity and policing of gangs to skyrocket. This policy allows prison gangs to extralegally regulate their actions in order to protect their members.
Nuestra Familia, along with nearly every other prison gang (MM, Aryan Brotherhood, Black Guerilla Family), has an extensive screening process to ensure that all gang members remain committed to their prison community for life. New recruits must be vouched for by a reliable gang member and upon entry, are required to attend classes held by senior gang members about how to handle a drug deal gone wrong, how to make a shiv (prison weapon), and other procedures crucial to maintaining internal gang order. The existence of a makeshift education system within gangs demonstrates how incarcerated individuals construct an alternate social reality in order to survive within a justice system that actively fails them.
Another unrecognized key component of prison gangs is the “convict code,” which emphasizes loyalty, secrecy, and respect among gang members. Many prison gangs have a list of rules, whether written down or transmitted orally, and these rules are taught to new gang members to ensure that the existing social hierarchy is respected and carried on to future generations. For example, some of NF’s rules include never attacking another gang member without permission; never insulting a gang member’s girlfriend, wife, or mother and always respecting the chain of command.
Prison gangs provide protection in an environment where official systems fall short, highlighting how these failures of the carceral system force the formation of extralegal governance and alternate social norms. The elaborate rules created by convicts challenge stereotypes of criminals as chaotic, impulsive, and inherently violent, instead revealing a system driven by logic, self-preservation, and adaptability.
This complexity is rarely acknowledged in mainstream narratives that often depict incarcerated individuals, particularly those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, as one-dimensional villains with no potential for redemption. In contrast, white-collar criminals—who often commit far-reaching societal harms—are frequently portrayed in media as cunning, sophisticated, and redeemable, reinforcing a classist double standard in how crime and criminality are understood.
The dichotomy within media portrayals of criminality underscores the broader societal bias that dehumanizes the poor and over-criminalizes marginalized communities while downplaying the institutional failures that perpetuate cycles of crime. Understanding prison gangs’ governance systems—rooted in the failures of the carceral state—forces us to confront these media-produced biases and reimagine justice not as punishment, but as an opportunity for social progress and redemption. Bridging this gap is essential to creating a society that acknowledges the humanity of all individuals, regardless of their identities.
