Crime Inc's riders


January 12, 2008

Once a cult of liberty, biker gangs are becoming the corporations of the underworld, writes Jordan Baker.
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Everyone knows when the Hells Angels come to town. It is the menacing roar of 200 bearded men on Harley-Davidsons - ruthless, deadly serious and defying anyone to oppose them. The growling machines are their symbol of freedom, even from the law.

But in Australia, outlaw motorcycle gangs are changing. What was once a cult of liberty has, in some clubs, morphed into a criminal corporation, and many - ex-bikers among them - believe bikies are more about money than motorbikes.

Outlaw motorcycle gangs began riding in the US in the 1940s. Disaffected, angry veterans of World War II, they shunned mainstream society and embraced a culture of liberty and recklessness. They and their outlaw counterparts called themselves "one-percenters": if 99 per cent of motorcyclists operated within the law, they were the ones outside it.

The most powerful club to grow out of the 1950s was the Hells Angels. Now many consider it to be the most criminal, but back in those days its members were heavy drug users and only small-time dealers.

During the Vietnam War, Australian soldiers met members of outlaw motorcycle gangs and bought the concept back. They formed local clubs, such as the Gypsy Jokers, the Rebels and the Coffin Cheaters.

Some were veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder. Some were misfits seeking somewhere to belong. Some struggled with demons, such as childhood abuse. To them, the law-abiding 99 per cent were just "sheep".

For all the emphasis on liberty and independence, club members were expected to obey strict rules and a militaristic hierarchy, with a sergeant at arms doling out violent discipline to any member who dared step out of line.

Harley-Davidsons were compulsory. "Riding rules" had to be obeyed. Aspiring members had to sweat through a lengthy probation as gofers and perform wild initiation rites before they were accepted.

Australia's early bikie groups are credited with pioneering the car rebirthing trade. And it was local Hells Angels who introduced large-scale amphetamines manufacture in the early 1980s.

But for most, the Australian bikie lore will always come back to the Milperra Massacre, when members of the Comanchero split to open a chapter of the Bandidos, sparking a battle that left six men and a teenage girl dead.

Traditionally, Australia's bikers have been hard Anglo men. They paraded their club colours, carried weapons and rode in packs. They wore beards, tattoos and leather, and their mottos were brotherhood, loyalty and secrecy. But that bikie image was stage one of what the NSW Gangs Squad chief, Scott Whyte, describes as the five-stage process of outlaw motorcycle gang evolution.

Early on, bikers hung around with their mates and drank beer, took drugs and rode motorcycles. Then, to raise money to support their lifestyles, they begin to flirt with small-scale drug dealing and car rebirthing.

As profits mounted, the criminal business - and their enthusiasm for it - grew. The clubs got organised. Honchos sent juniors to do the hard work, and skimmed the profits. By stage four, clubs were fully fledged businesses.

At stage five, the motorcycle club is a criminal corporation. To some, the Hells Angels in the US is now organised crime's answer to Macquarie Bank, with tentacles, franchises and spin-off businesses around the world.

In Australia, the Rebels - the largest of the 18 clubs - is at stage five, police believe. The Bandidos, Nomads and Comanchero are at stage four.

Like any well-run business, outlaw motorcycle clubs are making tactical mergers and acquisitions. Slowly, over the past decade, they have begun to consort and blend with Middle Eastern organised crime gangs.

Allegiances open new markets and increase the pool of workers for motorcycle gangs. In turn, they offer Middle Eastern groups the legitimacy and street cred of a famous outlaw bikie "brand".

The Comanchero, Nomads and Bandidos are recruiting in the Middle Eastern community, Whyte says.

"I can't help but feel that the edge has been blurred as to whether they're a bikie group that has Middle Eastern membership, or whether they are a Middle Eastern crime gang that's using the shield, the name and the aura of a bikie group."

Biker culture is still at the heart of most clubs, such as the traditional Rebels. But it appears to police, onlookers and some former bikers, that the focus at some has moved from motorbikes to making money.

Members of some clubs are more likely to drive hotted-up cars and wear Nike than ride Harleys and wear leather. Some cannot ride motorcycles and do not even try.

In one case, an inexperienced biker who tried to ride for a funeral ended up falling off.

"A lot of the people who are in the Comanchero and Nomads and Bandidos you don't see riding bikes very often," Whyte says. "It's not the core business they're in. I think they're more dangerous to the community because of that."

Motorcycle club membership is growing. Police are noticing more probationary colours. But members recruited for business purposes might never get any further. "They don't want to or need to," Whyte says. "I think there are some senior members in senior clubs who are dead against these changes. They just want things to be as they were."

One former member told the Herald he was no longer interested in riding with his old club because today's culture was about business. "It's not about bikes any more; it's about money."

He said club franchises were so valuable people sold their houses to buy into them.

When the powerful Hells Angels club - which has had a presence in Sydney for 25 years - opened a second chapter in the city a few years ago, police heard they were looking for different types of recruits: lawyers and accountants.

This week, police dismantled two drug laboratories with links to several lesser-known clubs. Five members and associates were arrested on drugs charges, and officers found weapons, drugs and thousands of dollars in cash.

Edward Winterhalder was one of the most powerful members of the Bandidos, a US club with chapters in Australia. He has written and contributed to books about his experiences and is developing a reality television series, Living On The Edge.

Winterhalder started as a young biker in the 1970s. By the time he left the Bandidos, he was second in charge and communications director for the international empire, looking after websites, mergers and diplomacy. "When I got involved 30 years ago it was all about having a good time," he told the Herald. "The camaraderie was there. Your only concern was what you were going to do that weekend. It's changed a lot.

"For a motorcycle club to focus so much on independence, it's one of the most controlled environments you can be involved in. You were told what to do more and more. As time wore on, your individuality was suppressed.

"Some people in the organisation condoned methamphetamines. I want to be as far as I can from those people in my life."

Arthur Veno, a Melbourne academic who has spent 20 years analysing motorcycle clubs, has heard of some clubs relaxing their once-strict "riding rules" and says some have dropped the need to have a bike at all.

"However, it's something that's not widespread, nor is it likely to become widespread," Veno says. "Once you get past that, you're out of the biker scene. It's the fundamental identity."

Veno admits there is criminality in motorcycle clubs but he says it is still not the core business. Some chapters are squeaky clean. Some are divided.

"What you find is a set of criminals in the club who have fantastically powerful sway because they'll fund members for the entire riding season," he says.

Bikes cost up to $40,000, and they have to be kept in good working order.

William Marsden, the author of Angels of Death, an international bestseller on the Hells Angels, agrees. "Most outlaw bikers are too crazy or too stupid or just too hopped up on drugs to run a hotdog stand," he says.

"Other bikers hold down legitimate jobs. Some are professional engineers, musicians, stockbrokers, you name it. The gangster biker, one-percenter etc, is a religion. The cult comes first. Crime as a business is just how they make money.

"I have noticed, however, that when business becomes the central goal of a chapter, it creates dissention in the ranks."

In South Australia, the authorities have declared war on bikies, announcing laws that will restrict who they hang out with and where they drink. Police will be given the power to ban the wearing of club colours.

NSW Police have a different strategy, using existing laws to make life difficult for motorcycle clubs by nabbing members for any crime they can: drugs, weapons and even licensing violations at clubhouses.

Last May NSW Police set up Operation Ranmore to stop bikie battles escalating into a war after violence at the nightclubs DCM and Mr Goodbar. Since its launch, police have arrested 340 people on 883 charges ranging from assault to traffic offences.

Veno believes the NSW approach is effective.

"The heart of the problem is the criminals in the clubs," he says. "If you keep targeting those bastards you'll definitely come out on top. Clubs will be better for it - get back on the roads."

The feared war in NSW never eventuated, thanks in part to the police operation. But the clubs are still active: some are recruiting, and the Nomads are struggling to recover from a fire that destroyed a clubhouse.

Whyte is watching South Australia with interest. "I don't have a problem with [bikers] going about their business. I don't really have a problem with them wearing colours, provided it's not threatening to the public. Let's see if South Australia implements its legislation. And let's see if it works."
 

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