Cholo Dharma

Sanathavihari Bhikkhu used to despise and avoid gangs. Now, he befriends gang members and tries to show them there are other, more skillful ways of living.

Sanathavihari Bhikkhu
28 January 2025
Photo of buddha poster on street in Los Angeles
Photo by Sheldon Fajardo

I was raised in Los Angeles, California, from the mid-1980s to the early 2000s. When I was growing up, my mother used to caution me not to interact with gang members and would prevent me from purchasing or wearing clothes that might be associated with gang outfits. Relatives often talked about “cholos,” which is a term for Latino-American gang members, often in the SoCal Latino gang subculture, and conversations frequently revolved around drive-by shootings, thefts, drug trafficking, and assaults.

It wasn’t just talk. The danger was imminent, lurking on the streets and within the walls of my house. When I was only five or six years old, my family and I lived on Union Drive. My mom rushed into the living room and pushed my younger sister and me to the ground after she heard gunshots from what turned out to be a drive-by shooting. Not too long after, I recall overhearing my father share with my mom how he’d just hidden some local gang members from the police. 

A few years later, my older brother, who was a preteen or teenager at the time, suffered a gunshot to his torso. I remember seeing him at the Los Angeles Children’s Hospital and curiously asking if water would flow through one side of his wound and out the other, prompting only a smile from him. As a teen, my brother faced conviction for participating in a robbery that escalated to murder. Tried as an adult, he served more than twenty years in state prison. 

“Through the lens of the brahmaviharas, I could empathize with cholos and recognize their desire for happiness and liberation from suffering.”

I had numerous incidents and direct confrontations with gang members in Los Angeles, including being questioned about my gang affiliation, getting chased several times, and even facing gunpoint. As time passed, my perspective shifted from fear of cholos to hating them. I began to view them as adversaries responsible for the dismal state of my neighborhood and an embarrassing shortcoming of the Latino community. For many years into my adulthood, I felt disgust toward gangsters

In 2015, after leaving a nine-year stint in the U.S. Air Force Reserve, I was ordained as a novice monk within the Theravada Sri Lankan tradition at the Sarathchandra Buddhist Center in North Hollywood. Soon after my ordination, I gained permission from Bhante Kolitha, the abbot of the Sarathchandra, to occasionally venture outside the temple for walks.

Once, during a routine walk from my temple to the Noho Arts District, I experienced a profound shift in perspective. It was a typical sunny day in Southern California as I practiced walking 

meditation along Vineland Avenue. My eyes were cast down, but I had an unsettling feeling of being watched, so I raised my gaze and noticed a man approaching. 

With his oversized T-shirt, baggy work pants, tattoos, and short haircut, he looked like a cholo, and I sensed a potent energy emanating from him. He asked if I was a priest, which I confirmed. Then immediately his hard exterior softened, and he openly shared his and his girlfriend’s struggles, his tears flowing freely in broad daylight on the sidewalk.

I was initially apprehensive, but soon realized that beneath his tough facade lay vulnerability. This man wasn’t an adversary or a source of shame for the Latin community; he was merely another human grappling with life’s hardships. In response to his plea for guidance, I mentioned that life is in constant flux, that change is inevitable, and that difficult times will also pass. My words were simple, but as a Buddhist monk, I offered him nonjudgmental presence and listening—a chance to be seen beyond the cholo stereotype. He thanked me before going on his way. 

Following our encounter, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy and connection to him and to all the individuals in my community, including those I’d once feared and despised. I believe that the transformation within me was influenced in part by the focus my monastic mentors placed on the divine dwellings (the brahmaviharas)—goodwill (metta), compassion (karuna), selfless joy (mudita), and equanimity (upekkha). The brahmaviharas are states that both expand our minds and break down the barriers between ourselves and others. These divine abodes encourage us to expand our scope of care beyond ourselves and those close to us, embracing a limitless concern for the well-being of all beings. 

Abiding in these states liberates one from fear, animosity, envy, and partiality. It was the cultivation of these mental states that facilitated a shift away from the societal-instilled fear and animosity within me. Through the lens of the brahmaviharas, I could empathize with cholos and recognize their desire for happiness and liberation from suffering, seeing their fears, sorrow, anger, desire, and distress as interconnected with my own existence. 

I’ve been inspired by my own teachers’ interactions with local gang members. Our monastery is in the area of the Clanton Fourteenth Street gang. One particular interaction between the monks and the gang members showed me how the practice of the dharma could be both transformative and appreciated even by non-Buddhists. According to my teacher, one day back in the nineties, the local gang graffitied the temple. The monks were uncertain how to navigate the situation because they were newcomers to the neighborhood and were concerned about gang reprisal if they removed the graffiti. Not too long after, when the monks were outside conducting their daily cleaning and maintenance of the monastery grounds, a gang member approached. He told them he was sorry that the monastery had been graffitied and that the gang member who did it was young and new and that the monks shouldn’t worry because it would not happen again. In the nine years I’ve been at this monastery, none of the local gangs has ever graffitied it. This was mostly due to the constant efforts of the monks to connect with the local community. Simple things like saying hello and good morning, sharing food and drinks, and treating the local gang members like regular people have nourished a sense of trust and respect between the temple and the local gangs. 

My teachers have influenced my own approach to working with gang members. I’m reminded of how the Buddha asked us to be a light in the darkness for others, and how the spiritual friend, who walks alongside us on the path, is the model for transformation in the dharma. Both in my time in the Air Force and as a monk, I’ve seen the power that a positive male figure can have on young men. Therefore, I’ve tried to the best of my ability to conduct myself in accordance with the dharma and, by living this way, show other young men that there are skillful alternatives to managing the many challenges in our neighborhoods.  

My initial encounter with cholos set the stage for numerous future connections. Since then, various gang members have openly shared their personal struggles with me. Through a social worker in our lay sangha, I’ve been able to assist young cholos and other youths involved in crime, and our temple has even offered a place of refuge to those seeking food, water, and even shelter from adversaries.

These experiences gradually replaced my earlier negative perceptions with feelings of affection and brotherhood.

Sanathavihari Bhikkhu

Sanathavihari Bhikkhu is a Mexican American Theravada Buddhist monk. He has a BA in religion and an MS in counseling psychology and is currently enrolled in the Buddhist Chaplaincy program at Upaya Zen Center.