How a Prison Gang Quietly Built a Global Empire

A Brazilian prison gang that once fought for soap and mattresses now has a North American division. In the Wall Street Journal, Samantha Pearson charts how Brazil's First Capital Command, or PCC, has quietly grown into what some prosecutors call the Western Hemisphere's largest criminal group, with an estimated 40,000 members in nearly 30 countries. Born in a São Paulo lockup in the 1990s as a pact among inmates seeking basic rights, the PCC leveraged Brazil's overcrowded prisons to build a disciplined, rules-based network that runs on a corporate-style structure that favors profit over spectacle. "The PCC has become a truly transnational group," said prosecutor Lincoln Gakiya.

Pearson details how the PCC moved upstream in the cocaine trade—cutting out middlemen, pushing into the Amazon, and securing direct access to producers in Colombia, Peru, and Bolivia. From there, it ships tons of cocaine through Brazil's massive Port of Santos to European hubs like Antwerp and Rotterdam, helping to drive record drug seizures and fueling violent turf wars far from its origins. The group has also diversified, laundering money through churches, fintech firms, real estate ventures, and other businesses, while branching into crimes ranging from illegal gold mining to cyber activity. Its decentralized, businesslike structure—more marketplace than hierarchy—has made it both adaptable and difficult for authorities to dismantle. As one expert put it, "It became the government of the illegal world."

That reach now extends into the US, where officials have sanctioned PCC figures and identified affiliates in multiple states, from Florida to Massachusetts. Investigators say the gang's growth reflects not only its own discipline but also the vulnerabilities it exploits, including porous borders and prison systems that allow leaders to operate from behind bars. The PCC has evolved to be something like a global regulator of illicit markets—one that blends corporate efficiency with criminal enterprise and continues to expand despite crackdowns. The group's longtime leader, Marcos Willians Herbas Camacho, has been behind bars since 1999, yet authorities say the organization no longer depends on any single figure. As one Brazilian police official put it, "It's so much bigger than I thought." For more about how this prison-born outfit became a global cocaine regulator of sorts, read the full piece at the Wall Street Journal.