A teen prospect: Worth the trouble?

Close up you see his soft brown eyes. He’s a handsome young Maori boy. A little lower you see a spider web tattoo on his elbow, angel wings on his back. Behind his cheerful smile lies a regretful past. Zoom out a little more and his metal cuffs are revealed. His stance is staunch with a head held high, although deep down he is not proud of what he has done and his head hangs with sorrow and anger. The bars separate him from the outside world: his loved ones. Where did it go wrong?

When Hemi was young, his surrounding environment was full of whanau, it was loving and supportive. Growing up around the marae was secure and safe. This was his home and how he knew it. Hemi was playful, he listened to his aunties, played sport and did well in school. Suddenly he had to move away from his country home to South Auckland. Bright lights. Tall buildings. Crowded streets and strangers. He was introduced to an alien environment. Unfamiliar with all this, Hemi joined a crowd. He had no whanau present in this city and no father figure around. Hemi had been an outstanding athlete, but due to a serious knee injury he had to stop playing in his prime. With all this taken from him, this thug like crowd became his family. Hemi; still young and naïve at this stage finally felt he belonged. Things were going well until one of his “mates” introduced him to an even bigger sort of family. Black Power.

I had asked him why he joined. He replied, - “I had no one. I had nothing in Auckland. I felt in place being in a gang because we had all been out casts, from schools, our own family or some other group. We wanted to feel apart of some group. This was us”.

The Car thefts, robberies and drug dealing were all tasks that Hemi would have to complete in order to become a prospect. Being finally accepted at age 19, Hemi was then forced to assault a person who had supposedly beaten one of his fellow gang members. On the way, following Hemi was a swarm. In front of Hemi was a single oblivious person: The future victim. In a flash Hemi had then finally realised what he was about to do. In a moment of frustration he backed out; he couldn’t make it obvious though. In order to accomplish this he had to add little to this stupid act of violence. “It happened so quickly”. He says.

The brawl hit head lines all over the North. It spread like fire, news flew to the Far North where Hemi’s whanau lived and they quickly fled to Auckland. Little did Hemi and his fellow members know that they hit the wrong person, the victim sadly passed. This was a “gang bash”, not a “solitary bash”. So why was only Hemi behind bars? A gang may promise a “family” but when you need them most, they disappear. Gangs are reliant on closed mouths, and that’s exactly what Hemi gave the police. “A closed mouth.” Without enough evidence, police could only put Hemi away.

Loyalty is one of Hemi’s virtues, although this time it became his downfall. “Nine hard years” is his sentence.
“Do any of your friends from your gang visit you nowadays?” I asked. As I did, I watched how his forged stance and upright posture began to slouch, his eyes look down and his mouth trembled. All I needed was a single word. A single word was what he gave me. “No”.

3 years have passed. Six more long years to go and Hemi will be free. His whanau is by his side to this day. So, where is his gang? Nowhere.
Teen prospect; worth the trouble?