Although the Mafia had its beginnings in Sicily, it eventually spread its tentacles all over the world. Organized crime originally owed its success to providing services that appeal to human weakness. Gambling, illegal drugs and alcohol, and trafficking in humans were among its pursuits. To enforce its hold over prized territory, the mob resorted to extortion and violence. Law enforcement has responded with harsh measures, but organized crime, now engaged in a number of respectable activities, still thrives. This episode, which is part of a five-volume series, returns to the roots of organized crime in Sicily, with an informative chronicle of the country's so-called Five Families. Archival film footage, photographs, journals, personal accounts, and commentary by historians tell the story.
"We do not have borders. That's the way I understand the business." --Ludwig Feinberg, Russian Mafioso A handful of names are given for Russian organized crime -- the Red Mafia, for instance -- but my favorite is unquestionably Redfellas. And they're a charming bunch, as you might imagine -- one FBI agent says that "the Russian mafia is the most fearsome, most treacherous, most violent of all the organized crime groups." In other words, these boys know how to have fun. The roots of Russian organized crime go back to the days under the Czar, and up through today -- that is, they were there before the Communists came to power, and survive long after the Party is over. They even managed to get the best of Lenin on occasion -- he was robbed by a bunch of highwaymen after seizing power -- but Stalin was having none of this. As he did with so many others, Stalin rounded up as many Mafiosi as he could and shipped them off to the gulag; some of them even got suckered into serving in Stalin's army during World War II, thinking it might be the way to freedom. But right back to prison they went, where they were dubbed "the bitches." Maybe this is juvenile, but the name makes for some unintentionally hilarious, overly somber narration: "Ostracized, the bitches created their own society." And there's a whole lot about the prison Bitch Wars, 1945-53. The dysfunctional Soviet economy and the corruption of the Communists made the Brezhnev regime a field day for the Redfellas, and in the post-Communist world, the Red mob poster boy is Ludwig Feinberg, who flourishes as much in Brooklyn's Little Odessa as he does back in the old country. The episode ends with an astonishingly vast bootlegging scheme -- American distilleries press cheap, strong grain alcohol, which is then dyed blue and shipped to Russia as windshield wiper fluid, avoiding high tariffs. The blue dye is then removed, and the ratgut is passed off as vodka to unsuspecting Russian consumers. Bottoms up!
"I think there are very few people in the history of the world that were able to accomplish what Pablo Escobar did in terms of intimidating a country, basically controlling a country." --Joe Toft, DEA, ret. This is less an overview of organized crime in Colombia, and more the rise and fall of one man: drug lord Pablo Escobar. His operation could serve as a sort of satanic B-school model of vertical integration, from the fields producing coca plants right up to the crack for sale at your local street corner. (Depending on your neighborhood, I suppose.) Escobar fancied himself a sort of Robin Hood, and even got himself elected to the Colombian Congress, but he was some vicious piece of work; not only would he routinely kill reporters who wrote things that didn't sit well with him, he would preface the hit by sending the reporter an invitation to his own funeral. The Medellin cartel was formed in the 1970s, and came to supply 80% of the world's cocaine; before long, there were ten murders a day in that city as a matter of course. Escobar died Butch and Sundance style, in a shootout with the authorities, and the episode pays brief lip service to Colombian organized crime after his death; but this installment particularly is plagued with repetitions and the lack of much historical perspective.
"The gangsters didn't buy off the police. They were the police." -- Frederick Wakeman, historian Thousands of years of Chinese history must be full of tales of organized criminality, but this episode is almost more about immigration than it is about crime. Desperate, poor Chinese are stowed away in shipping crates by illegal alien smugglers, known as snakeheads. One low-wage job in the U.S. can support an entire Chinese village: "Even the worst conditions here are better than the best conditions there." These stories are heartbreaking, but given the mission of this documentary series, the fact that there aren't organized crime bosses on hand is a little disappointing. The episode gallops through the millennia, stopping off to discuss the Heaven and Earth Association, which became known in the West as the Triads, the group to which the contemporary Chinese mafia can trace its roots. Much of the history is vague: organized crime may or may not have started in Fujian province, and the founders may or may not have been a group of Shaolin monks, who may or may not have invented kung fu. There's also a good amount of attention paid to the city of Shanghai, which in its day was the den of iniquity: "Every vice was catered to, and that is no exaggeration." As with the Russian installment, the latter portion of the action takes place in the U.S. -- specifically, in New York's Chinatown, featuring Nicky Louie, an especially hardened Chinese mobster who became a role model for a generation, sort of an Asian John Gotti.
"Crime is completely institutionalized all over the country, especially in Bombay, where it's very, very hard to differentiate as to who's the criminal, who is the police, and who really is the politician." -- Pinki Virani, journalist Hooray for Bollywood -- the bulk of attention here goes to the links between organized crime and the Indian film industry, in which gangsters demonstrate a level of control that would make Bugsy Siegel's mouth water. The refusal of India's socialist government to grant the film business "official industry status" meant that producers and studios couldn't get lines of credit, or financing from banks; so instead they turned to the mob, who made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Extortion of stars and producers seems to be a matter of course -- there's an interview with Rakesh Roshan, a producer and director whose son is his leading man; he was attacked by amateur-hour gunmen, demanding a piece of the action. The brazenness is something -- can you imagine Tony Soprano or his henchmen taking a shot at Russell Crowe? Assassins roamed the Indian wilds as far back as the 14th century, and their ancient hits are re-enacted -- strangulation was their method of choice. A good amount of time is lavished on Sir William Sleeman, 19th-century Englishman, who, as part of the exercise of Empire, set about eradicating the thugs roaming the wilderness -- depending on one's perspective, Sleeman was either cleaning up a messy business, or using the cloak of law to get rid of Indians who were making themselves problematic for Her Majesty's government. Finally there's D. Sivanandan, the Bombay police commissioner, who is compared to Elliot Ness. But again, it's hard to determine if he's making the streets safe once more, in a Giuliani-like crusade, or if he and his subordinates are simply shooting first and asking questions later -- in a short period of time, they kill 85 "alleged criminals." Alleged by whom? By their killers, that's who. You go
