It was Gang Violence 101.
"So how many people you know are involved in a gang?" My question was sparked by an incident outside the local school that afternoon in which one eighth-grade boy had attacked another. They were from rival gangs. The victim's father drove to school to pick up his son, only to find him lying on the ground covered in his own blood.
In that afternoon's class, I was the student. The eighth-graders taught me the ins and outs of the various neighborhood gangs in great detail, mentioning some names that I had heard before and others I hadn't. The consensus: Almost everyone was in a gang, loyalties were fierce and you joined because you had to.
These youngsters, though well-versed in the symbols, tags and turf of the Bloods and Crips, were probably not affiliated with the notorious national groups. However, they understood the deadly rivalries and had brought them home to the streets of Durham.
In the documentary "Menace on Main Street" that debuted last Thursday, NBC personality Al Roker explores the "adopted" gang culture that has crept into smaller communities across America. Roker focuses on Durham as the prime example of a small city that has experienced the unanticipated growth of an unwelcome import.
Through a series of interviews with gang members and local police officers, Roker weaves a narrative that is both frustrating and eye-opening, if only because we come to realize that the drama is unfolding a few blocks away.
There are moments that are profoundly tragic. We learn the story of Peggy Davis, a mother who moved across the country to keep her son Anthony out of the gang life but watched helplessly as he was killed in a drive-by shooting. He was 17 years old but had gang experience well beyond his years.
For all the focus on violence, there are hopeful moments in Roker's analysis. He examines a successful program in High Point, N.C., that uses direct intervention to reduce the incentives for gang membership. The gang members meet face-to-face with community leaders and are given a choice: Either accept a job-training and incentive package or return to gangs and face lengthy terms in the state penitentiary. Within a year, violent crime in High Point has gone down 56 percent.
Roker's piece caught the attention of Durham city officials. Four hours before the debut, local leaders gathered to soften the impact of the nationally aired documentary. Most leaders acknowledged that while it captures the essence of the problem, it does little justice to Durham's on-going solutions. For example, officials noted that Durham has implemented a program very similar to the one being used in High Point.
Officials were also quick to point out that Durham has close to 525 documented gang members, many fewer than Roker's estimated 3,000. The numbers debate is never-ending. In June, Durham County's juvenile justice system estimated 5,000; the police department responded with its own figure of 2,500.
The numbers obscure the problem. Gang membership is on the rise, fueled by poor prevention strategies and a surge in immigration. Law enforcement officials face their greatest challenge yet and are short on allies and resources.
Washington is of little help. After the Sept. 11 attacks, funding earmarked for law enforcement was directed toward counter-terrorism-ignoring the very real and very active terrorists already present in communities across America. Nationally, law enforcement is scaling back prevention programs and paring down community-wide initiatives.
But Durham continues to fight the good fight.
Last Saturday, Durham hosted the first-annual Triangle Lost Generation Task Force All-Youth Summit, which brought together speakers, poets and performing artists to educate younger Triangle residents about the dangers of "gangsta" life. For three years, Durham County has had a special prosecutor for gang violence. In 2004, the Durham Police Department doubled its gang unit in response to the steep rise in gang-related activity. Education, legislation, law enforcement.
And guts. When I asked one of my students how he avoided the gang life, his response was shockingly simple.
"I don't know," he said. "You just tell him it's not for you and that you don't want to."
Class dismissed.
Jimmy Soni is a Trinity junior. His column runs every Tuesday.
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